Free The Tutor (House of Lords) by Meg Brooke

opinion on this subject,” he said, thinking again of what she had said the other day, about his obligation to use the power he now had to help those who were less fortunate. When he had gotten over the initial shock of her scolding him, he had realized that there was merit in what she said.
    She looked away. “I suppose I do. But you must form your own. I would not wish to influence you.”
    Was this her way of apologizing for her outburst? Once, Charles might have toyed with her, but she looked so serious that he said instead, “I’m inclined to agree with you. The workhouses may be awful enough to encourage the poor to seek employment, but those who have no other choice must suffer terribly in them. There must be...how does he put it? There must be preventative solutions. We cannot just expect these people to die obligingly and decrease the surplus population.”
    “No,” she agreed. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way.”
    “What I cannot understand,” Charles went on, feeling his curiosity overwhelm him, “is how he expects us to bring about such solutions without education. How can we teach the poor how to improve their quality of life without first teaching them to read and write?”
    She favored him with the strangest smile. He could have sworn she looked almost proud. “I must confess those are my sentiments exactly,” she said at length. “Education is the key to many locks. But that is a great battle, far greater than the Poor Laws alone. I do not know if it is a battle we will be able to fight in our lifetimes.”
    “But isn’t that the purpose of Parliament? Isn’t it our duty to fight the great fights?” he demanded, throwing her words of the other day back at her.
    That cryptic smile again. “I think so, Your Grace.”
    “Well, I’m glad you agree with me at least. What have you brought today?”
    She laid the book on the table. “It is Jonathan Swift’s A Modest Proposal . Do you know it?”
    He picked up the thin volume. “No.”
    “Why don’t you take a look at it while I select a few other items from your shelves?” she asked.
    He nodded his agreement and opened the book. In the time it took her to lay two volumes on the table, he was thoroughly disgusted. She stopped what she was doing when he threw the book down.
    “This is horrible,” he said. “Is the man actually suggesting that we eat the children of the poor?”
    She sat, her face grim. “Do you not think it a reasonable solution? After all, they will only grow up to populate the workhouses and prisons.”
    “Every child should have hope. Every child deserves a chance, at least. And no parent would care so little for their child, or allow such a terrible thing to happen, no matter how poor or desperate they were.”
    She smiled. “I am glad to hear you say that. Swift’s proposal is satire. He does not actually mean it. But you will notice the way he cleverly parrots the words of many of the leading politicians of his day to highlight their hypocrisies. Masterful work.”
    He glared at the book. “Horrible, but masterful,” he managed, though inwardly he was still disgusted. Was this the sort of thing academics thought about all day? He knew that Roger Endersby belonged to debate societies and academic clubs. Did he sit in a comfortable chair somewhere calmly discussing such topics? The idea horrified him.
    Miss Endersby was watching him intently. “It disturbs you,” she said at last, in such a clinically detached tone that he felt suddenly angry.
    “You’re damn right it does,” he said. “I beg your pardon,” he added when he realized he had sworn.
    “It’s all right. I am pleased that you find it disturbing. Would you believe there were some who actually championed the position when his writings first came out?”
    He gaped at her.
    “There will always be those who do what is politically expedient or fiscally prudent. I hope that you will be able to choose wisely, more wisely than they.”
    “I