“Tea?” Tiffany halted in her tracks.
“Yes, tea, Miss Bentley. Is there a problem?”
“Oh, no, not at all really. It is just that I am not . . .”
“I think that McClellan and Michaels can manage tea, especially with Grace’s help, Miss Bentley,” Lord Northbury said dryly. “Come, come, you are the lady of the hour, for you are the one who knows what it is like to live on the streets of the city and our village.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Tiffany replied.
They all followed Lord Northbury through a door at the back of his study. It was fortunate that Tiffany was the last in line for she stopped at the door and looked about her in wonder. Not only did shelves line the walls, but there was a second level balcony that was equally filled with books.
Where the walls were not covered with shelves, they displayed the heads of various trophy creatures, both prey and predator. A great, shaggy bear stood to the right of the entrance, its head nearly as tall as the bottom of the balcony. To the left of the stairs was a suit of armor, flanked by a rack of weapons.
McClellan and Grace were just putting the final touches on a tea table set in front of a fireplace where a modest, but cheerful, blaze crackled behind a fine-meshed fire screen.
“Do you like it?” Lord Northbury asked.
“It is magnificent! I have never seen this many books in one place, not even in Crazy Clancy’s Book, Stationery, and Printing.”
“Do you enjoy books, Miss Bentley?” asked Mr. Kenault.
“Oh, I do! Very much. Before Father Bentley passed away, I used to save my weekly pay and my birthday money for books. When he discovered that I enjoyed them, he started giving me a new one for my birthday each year.”
“A well-read street urchin,” commented Mr. Quentin. “What an amazing thing. Were you able to take any of your books with you?”
Tiffany shook her head. “No. When Father died, Mrs. Bentley insisted that I put my books in the parlor. If I had tried to take them, she would have reported me for stealing.”
“This was important to you? Not to be seen as a thief?” Percival asked.
“It was, at first. But it was hard to find work since I had no references. Hunger can very quickly erode moral principles.”
Percival glanced at the other two gentlemen who met his gaze. “I think that is a very good place to begin. But first, let us sit down to this excellent tea. Miss Bentley, will you pour?”
Tiffany carefully filled all the cups, pausing to inquire as to what each gentleman would take in their tea. Then she poured a cup for herself, and they all sat around the table.
“I am curious,” Mr. Quentin said, “Just how did you manage on the street? It would seem to me that working in a bakery would have been poor preparation.”
“Yes and no,” Tiffany replied. “I learned how to bargain, and I knew my figures. Knowing how to read put me a bit ahead of some of the people. I had some idea of whether something was of value or not, so the fences had a harder time taking advantage of me.”
“What was the hardest part?” asked Mr. Kenault.
“Finding a way to be private,” Tiffany answered. “I had to be careful not to reveal my femininity. That made personal care difficult.”
After that, the questions came thick and fast. Percival took over pouring the tea so that she would not be distracted from her discourse.
Finally, Mr. Kenault asked, “If you were setting up an orphanage, what would be the first thing you would do?”
“I would ask the children if they have parents,” Tiffany said promptly. “Not all of the small pick-pockets and slight-of-hand artists that frequent the market are orphans. Some of them have parents who are unashamed to live off the proceeds of their youngsters’ efforts, but others have a mother, father, or grandparent who is in poor health, as well as several siblings at home. If you can get the whole family moved into better circumstances, you will bring a stop to many of these activities.”
“That sounds almost like a poorhouse,” said Mr. Quentin.
“I wouldn’t know,” Tiffany said. “I avoided the poorhouse because it was said to be a terrible place. If you could make someplace better for families, I think you would be well rewarded.”
“She might have something, at that,” Mr. Kenault commented. “But what about the children who truly are orphans, Miss Bentley?”
“Could you hire some of the family members to look after them? Babies need to be cuddled to thrive, or at least that is what Father Bentley always said.”
“And what did Mrs. Bentley say?” asked Percival.
