19. No Wonder

NO WONDER

A melia left the dining room slowly, more than a little upset that she'd said something to send Mr. Beckworth storming away so abruptly.

But it wasn't that alone that bothered her. Their brief conversation had managed to send her thoughts spiraling as well. She'd believed that giving toys to the orphans was a good thing.

Once she was back in her chamber, her gaze shot to the small basket of yarn and crochet hooks. She had no doubt he'd been disgusted that she found something he considered so trivial to be important to her—that she believed it could even be valuable.

He would know, wouldn't he?

He didn't approve of foundling hospitals. He'd made his opinion quite clear. Did providing goods for the children who ended up there make her complicit?

She'd visited a few of them before she'd come out last spring. There had been nurses, clean beds, classrooms… but no toys. Amelia had grown bored crocheting the regular items and, after several attempts, discovered she could make the shapes of various animals—and then stuff them with straw, old fabric, or anything that would give them shape.

Her little contributions, they couldn't hurt, could they? Those children needed something in their lives to provide a spot of color, of fun. Right now, she couldn't do much of anything to address the rest of the circumstances Mr. Beckworth had told her about, but this was something she could do.

Picking out a green-colored yarn and a hook, Amelia claimed the most comfortable chair in her chamber and went to work.

They might seem frivolous to a man like Mr. Beckworth. Her own father had actually laughed at more than one of her creations, but she'd wanted to do something to help relieve the hopeless looks in those children's eyes.

Was she fooling herself?

She looped the yarn around her hook, and as the shape appeared in her mind, her hands followed. Even foundlings needed toys. They needed food, and clothing, and sometimes medicine, but they also needed toys.

But if they did, why did he react like that?

Amelia ignored the taunt in the back of her mind, continuing to crochet the body, and then two squatted legs with feet. She'd examined toads more closely than she'd ever imagined in order to get the shape as accurate as possible.

Just as she went to work on the head, someone rapped on her door. "My Lady?" It was a woman's voice.

Amelia stopped but didn't stand up. "Come in."

The door opened on near-silent hinges, and one of the maids Amelia had met earlier stood in the doorway holding a silver tray. "Bessie asked me to bring up some biscuits and tea. Since you've not come out all day."

Amelia glanced toward the window.

Focused as she'd been on her work, she had indeed lost track of the time.

"That's thoughtful of her—and you."

The maid stepped inside and then deposited a tray on the desk across the room. After she'd arranged the cup and plates just so, she turned and studied Amelia.

"It's a rare sunny day," she said. "Mr. Beckworth says you can walk along the cliffs as long as you take a maid and one of the men with you."

"How very generous of him." Amelia didn't want to sound churlish, but really? He couldn't even tell her himself? "That won't be necessary. But thank you, Miss…?"

"Fanny. Just Fanny." The plump, brown-haired woman, who looked to be a decade or so older than Amelia, tilted her head. "You aren't sick, are you, my lady?"

"Just working." Amelia lifted her hands and then second-guessed herself. Did calling her crocheting "work" offend the maid—a woman who did real work in order to live?

But Fanny's stare was focused on Amelia's hands. "Is that… a frog you're making? With the yarn?"

"A toad, actually." Amelia turned the little body to explain. "See how short the legs are? Frogs don't come out as well—they're skinnier. But if I make a toad's body, I can add these little bumps… like the toad's warts."

"Oh, that's right clever, isn't it? Do you have children?"

"No. Do you?"

"None for me." But her attention turned back to Mr. Toad. "What do you do with them, then?" It was just the right question to lift Amelia's mood, and having lacked female companionship for days now, she suddenly found herself telling the maid all about her little project.

"And you don't sell them? You just give them away?"

"Yes." Amelia frowned. "Mr. Beckworth wasn't amused by the idea, though. Do you think it insensitive for me to give those children toys instead of… more food?" The question sounded ridiculous to her own ears. Of course, those children needed food first. But Fanny was shaking her head.

"I think the toys are wonderful. Even urchins need reminders to be children." She claimed the chair adjacent to Amelia's. "I wouldn't have minded something like that. Although, I can't imagine Mr. Beckworth would have known what to do with a toy. Even as a young'un, I don't think he had much patience for childish things—of course, he's seen more than most…" She grimaced and shook her head.

But she'd piqued Amelia's curiosity. "Did you know him before he bought Smuggler's Manor?"

Fanny pinned her stare on the fire, and for a few seconds, her open demeanor fell away. But then she nodded, turning back to Amelia. "There was a gang of us, running between Whitechapel and the docks. If not for Bex—that's what we called him back then—I'd have ended up working in one of the brothels. Or dead." Despite the grim words, a little smile crested her mouth. "There was always something different about him. Did you know they call him the King of Bond Street now?"

Amelia nodded. "But how did he rise above all of that?" He could not have simply worked and saved enough to purchase property. She was na?ve, but not that na?ve.

Fanny scrunched up her nose. "I'm not sure I should tell you. Don't folks from your set have delicate sensibilities?"

Amelia waved a hand in the air. "Not all of us. And I really would like to know." Still seeing doubt in the other woman's eyes, Amelia leaned forward. "I promise. I can handle it."

Even so, Fanny pinched her mouth together. But after a few moments of deliberation, she nodded.

"When a person gets so hungry that their belly feels like it's glued to their back, there isn't much they won't do. Eating trash, dead rodents, thieving… Desperate people do desperate things." The woman stopped and reached her hand to her mouth, and what she did next had Amelia rethinking her ability to keep her promise.

Because she removed her teeth—the bottom row anyway, and held them out for Amelia to inspect. "Early on, we found a man who was willing to pay for teeth."

Amelia blinked. She was aware there were members of the ton who wore dentures, but they didn't come cheaply. And she never thought she'd see them outside of a person's mouth. The sight was… a little unsettling. But she shook her head.

"They're pricy, aren't they?"

Fanny nodded, putting the teeth back inside her mouth.

"A bunch of us did it." She shifted her jaw around. "But it hurt something fierce. It wasn't for everyone. So most of the boys kept to pickin' pockets. Get caught, though, and you're sent to the workhouse."

Amelia dipped her chin, fascinated but still waiting to hear how Mr. Beckworth had accrued enough money to build his small empire. He certainly appeared to have retained all of his teeth, but then, so had Fanny until just a moment ago.

"Bex made up this metal tool, called it his ‘pinchers'. It wasn't long before he was selling enough teeth to feed us all. And more. Especially after Waterloo."

"He sold his teeth?" Amelia was trying to piece together what the woman was telling her.

"Not his own. Dead people's." Fanny grimaced, and Amelia's eyes widened, unable to completely hide her shock. "Like I said, desperate people do desperate things. Wasn't hurting anyone though, really. The dead don't have much use for them, now do they?"

All the blood must have drained out of Amelia's face, because the maid rose from her chair, fanning her apron and looking concerned. "I shouldn't have told you all that. You'll keep this between you and me, won't you? ‘Cause Mr. Beckworth takes care of his own. Made sure we had jobs back in London, and then brought those of us willing to work to this lovely manor. He even bought me these a few years back." She tapped at her mouth. "So I'll never betray that man. This is between you and me, right?"

Amelia nodded again. And then met Fanny's stare. "I won't tell a soul," she said. "I promise."

Long after Fanny closed the door behind her, and long after the tea she'd delivered was cold, Amelia sat staring into the fire.

Shocked initially. And then horrified.

And then humbled.

She'd imagined tightly-bound stays were the worst a person could suffer, but what would it feel like to be so hungry you could believe your belly pressed into your back?

How desperate did a man have to be to rob the dead of their teeth?

And Amelia had been boasting about making silly little toys.

No wonder he'd marched out of the dining room.

No wonder.