A Memory of Violets by Hazel Gaynor

pat on the shoulder. “Which is just as well. With my dear wife insisting on producing daughters, I am forced to look to my nephews to take over the running of the charity when I am no longer able to see to things myself.”
    â€œI doubt anyone will be taking over for many years yet, Uncle,” Herbert said as he turned back to Tilly. “My uncle has been blessed, Miss Harper, not only with the ability to save impoverished children from a life of destitution but also with the ability to continually deny the fact that he is not a well man.”
    Albert laughed. “And long may my abilities continue—on both counts!”
    Herbert then excused himself, said he looked forward to seeing everyone at chapel, and left the room, his brother following quietly behind. Tilly was disappointed to notice that, of the two of them, it was Edward who gave her a brief backward glance as they departed.
    â€œI hope you had a comfortable journey down to London,” Albert continued after his nephews had left the room. “All the way from the glorious Lake country, I believe. Quite the distance traveled.”
    â€œYes. It seems like a long while since I left this morning,” Tilly replied. “But the train was very reliable and made good time.”
    â€œAnd Mrs. Pearce informs me that poor Mrs. Harris isincapacitated. I hope we haven’t startled you too much by providing you with an immediate promotion to post of housemother! Although I’m sure Queenie can be relied on to help out, should the girls become too unruly.”
    Tilly nodded, wondering which of the girls Queenie was.
    â€œLife here will be very different for you at first, Miss Harper,” Albert continued, “but I’m quite sure that, with the support of the girls and the other members of our staff—and of course with the blessings of God—you will come to love London and family life with us, just as much as you do your own family and home.”
    His words weighed heavily on Tilly, as if they demanded an immediate acknowledgment of the truth: that she didn’t love her home, or her family. Not anymore. Not since Esther had arrived to spoil everything with her perfect face and perfect manners and perfect white-blond hair.
    Esther! Esther! Where are you? I can’t see anything. Esther! Where are you?
    The unfamiliar sound of the budgie chirping in its cage drew Tilly back from her thoughts. Albert Shaw stood in front of her, waiting for her to speak. All she could manage was an uninspiring “Yes. Thank you. I will.”
    â€œVery good. Now, I must go and prepare for my sermon.” If Mr. Shaw had noticed Tilly’s distraction, he chose not to draw attention to it. “I look forward to seeing you all at chapel, and”—he continued, lowering his voice and leaning down to be closer to the faces of the girls—“I have some most exciting news to share with you all, most exciting indeed!”
    With that, he bid them farewell and walked out of the room, leaving the space of twenty men behind him.

Chapter 12
London
    June 1876
     Florrie
    D a is dead. Dead and gone wherever the likes of men such as him go.
    He didn’t say nothing before he passed, just stared at me, though I don’t think he was looking at me proper. It’s awful to say, but I weren’t even sad. I didn’t cry—not one tear. I know he was my da, but I don’t feel nothing for him like a daughter should. I don’t miss him at all and that’s the truth of it.
    Auntie May’s all me an’ Rosie have now, and she’s not well, neither. She talks to herself a lot and screams at me sometimes. “Get out of my house!” she shouts, jabbing her finger at me. “Get out, ye little tinker.” Swears she’s never seen me before and thatI’m after stealing things. Mrs. Quinn says it’s syphilis. Syphilis can do that to a person,