Free A Lady's Secret Weapon by Tracey Devlyn

now?”
    “The new unfortunate makes twenty-eight boys.”
    “No girls?”
    “Thankfully, no,” Mrs. Drummond said, with an ugly twist to her mouth. “I shudder to think of the problems we would have with boys and girls under the same roof.”
    “What are the boys’ ages?”
    “Most of them are between five and thirteen.”
    “What happens at the age of thirteen?”
    “Mrs. Kingston finds them a situation where they’ll spend the next five years apprenticing.”
    “How wonderful that you prepare the children for a life beyond Abbingale.”
    “It’s too bad, however, that our funding only provides for a change of ill-fitting clothes, a hat and coat, and a coach ride to their destination.”
    “What a dreadful way to begin a new life.” Sydney produced a tittering laugh. “I suppose you’re going to tell me the boys are dropped off with little or no understanding of what they’ll be doing for the next five years.”
    The nurse’s back went rigid. So much so, that if a strong wind blew against her, she would likely snap in half. “There’s simply not enough time or money for such things, Mrs. Henshaw.”
    Sydney sighed. “Poor little dears. Their fates are not unlike a new bride’s. No one dares to explain The Act to her, so she goes to her husband’s bed ignorant and frightened and makes quite a mess of it.”
    “My word, Mrs. Henshaw,” the nurse said. “There are children about.”
    Whirling, Sydney exclaimed, “Brilliant. Where are the little darlings?”
    Mrs. Drummond sputtered, “They’re not here in this room, but they could pass by at any moment. It wouldn’t do for them to hear such scandalous talk.”
    “Do not tease me so, Mrs. Drummond.” Sydney infused disappointment into her voice. “I am ever so anxious to meet the boys.”
    “I was not trying to tease you, ma’am—”
    Sydney sailed away, scanning the next room with an intent eye masked behind airy nonchalance. The more she played the role of twit, the more she liked it. There was something oddly liberating about hiding one’s identity in full view of others—and saying whatever came to mind. “How are their apprenticeships chosen if they’re not exposed to the various crafts ahead of time?”
    “Matron decides where the boys go.”
    “Do their new masters expect them to be at least peripherally aware of their livelihood?”
    “They have only two expectations of our boys—learn quickly and work hard.”
    Anger simmered beneath Sydney’s thin facade. She had heard many tales of abusive masters. Last year, a shipwright beat an eight-year-old boy to death for losing his draw-knife. The only punishment served was to force the shipwright to pay the boy’s annual wage of five pounds to his parents. “How does Mrs. Kingston ensure the boys are being sent to a good situation?”
    “If the craftsman or merchant is unkind, the boys choose the streets rather than endure years of abuse. I don’t blame them their choice. However, I’m not sure they would fare any better living hand to mouth and thieving their way through life.”
    “How horrible,” Sydney said. “Mrs. Kingston knows all this and does nothing about it?”
    “Matron knows everything concerning the boys.” Mrs. Drummond paused in the massive dining hall. “Thankfully, the poor situations do not occur often.”
    “Why don’t the boys return to Abbingale, rather than live on the streets? Surely, Mrs. Kingston could find another apprenticeship for them.”
    “Who’s to say? Children are beggars at heart. Perhaps, pickpocketing is a truer vocation for them at that age.”
    After an arrested moment of silence, Sydney dug deep into her repertoire of acting skills, rather than doing what she really wanted—wrap her hands around the woman’s scrawny neck and finish her off with a rather zealous bout of squeezing and shaking. “Dear Mrs. Drummond, you quite had me under your spell for a second. ‘Beggars at heart,’ indeed.”
    Sydney linked her arm with