Free Betrayed by Arnette Lamb Page A

grumbled. “If last year is any indication, ten children will be buried in the Penny Cairns by Christmas next. What will you have done to prevent it?”
    â€œPenny Cairns?” Michael asked, staring at her hand.
    The velvet of his sleeve felt soft and warm beneath her fingers, and the inquiry in his eyes gave her pause. Had she gone too far? No. She applied a gentle pressure. “Shallow graves topped with a pennyweight of stone rather than a proper cairn of rock.”
    â€œBut the ground is consecrated?”
    Tears thickened her throat at the cruelty visited on the poor. “Not always.”
    Fordyce put down the unfinished orange. “This is hardly the proper place to discuss the dead or the customs house.”
    Sarah’s passion stirred; retreat was impossible. “Not the proper place? Even if one of the dead is most likely a child who’ll never know a third birthday? Don’t you see?” She looked from one man to the other. “A small part of the collected tax will buy the customs house.”
    â€œOut of the question!” the mayor snapped. “Seek private subscriptions if you must. The city hasn’t the money. The lord provost told you so.”
    Her preparation saved her. “I have collected other support. I’ve spoken to the carpenters’ guild. It offered to make some of the needed cots. The mercers in Bull Close will give the blankets and linens. Saint Margaret’s will donate the school desks we’re already using, and the stonemasons have promised new slates.”
    â€œYou’ll be decades getting enough money from common folks.”
    Yes, thanks to the countess of Glenforth and her cruel vengeance, the titled families no longer included Sarah in their social events. The citizens at large had been Sarah’s source. “I never thought to do it alone,” she admitted. “But someone must give it a start.”
    Into the fray, Michael said, “How much is the property worth?”
    Sarah rejoiced; he did not know who owned the building, and he was sympathetic to her cause. “As is, three thousand pounds—an outrageous amount. It’s tumbledown from top to bottom. The plaster’s falling off the walls, and most of the floors are rotting. The back stairs are passable. The main staircase hasn’t a bannister.”
    â€œHow much will the renovations cost?”
    The mayor looked justifiably puzzled.
    â€œNine thousand pounds,” Sarah said. “That includes food for a year. It’s not so much money, but just enough to do the job properly. Once the property is donated, I’ll even learn to hammer a nail myself if necessary.”
    â€œYou must understand, Elliot,” the mayor rushed to say. “ ’Tis a bad idea from the beginning. We ought not think about new furnishings and a staff to keep the place up—even if the building is handed over, which it will not be. Apprenticeships are good enough for the children. Imagine,” he scoffed, “orphans having servants and a house of their own.”
    â€œCaretakers, my lord,” Sarah insisted, “women to clean and prepare the food, someone to tend the children’s cuts and bruises, adults to help wash their hair and dry their tears. They’re just babes turned into orphans by parents who did not care.”
    Fordyce’s sarcasm knew no end. “What of the laundry and the darning of socks?”
    â€œLaundry?” That injustice cut her to the bone. “Most of the children have only one set of clothing at a time. The apprenticeships you speak of are no more than forced labor.”
    â€œThe answer is no.” Fordyce carefully folded his napkin and addressed Michael. “ ’Tis too grand an effort. But even if it was done, there’d never be an end to it. Lady Sarah’d be coming to me every week begging for this or that. Next she’ll have us sending those urchins to Edinburgh