With how close the Headmaster's office was to the boy's dormitory, it took Robert only a few moments to pinpoint where the scream had come from. He charged forward, bursting through the door to the office, and we both went still as we took in the sight before us.
Lord Bentley, holding a cane. He had frozen as soon as we had entered the room, and the cane stayed high in the air, poised to strike.
Little Lottie, her dress discarded on the floor, leaving her in just her pantalettes. They had been pulled down, exposing her backside- it ran red with strips of bloodied marks. Her arms, too, held similar bleeding stripes, trailing all the way down to her palms. Unlike the Headmaster, she had not noticed us enter, and continued to bawl and shriek as Lord Bentley held a hand against her lower-back, forcing her to lean against the table as he pinned her down for the horrificly gruesome beating.
"Release her!" Robert's voice came out as a snarl as he charged forward, and Lord Bentley immediately removed his hand from the child, retreating away from the furious man aiming for him. It did little good, though, and I saw Robert grip the Headmaster by the collar and pin him to the wall as I darted towards the little girl- as soon as Lord Bentley had loosened his hold on her, she had collapsed into a gasping heap on the floor.
"Lottie," I called, alarmed by the paleness of her face. She looked deathly ill, and as I examined her wounds, I realized that they were not all new. The ones bleeding had clearly just been made by the cane, but similar marks seemed to date back weeks, or even months. And some were horribly untreated- the child was hot to touch, and I feared infection may be causing fever.
The others had heard the scream, as well, it seemed- or Robert's outraged holler as we had entered the room and taken in the sight before us. Elizabeth, Michael, John, and Eli were all suddenly standing in the doorway.
Michael and Eli were quick to rush to Robert's side, helping him restrain Lord Bentley against the wall without asking for explanation. The blood dripping from the child seemed to be all they needed to see. John hurried to kneel beside me, his sharp eyes taking in the injuries. He moved to pull Lottie's pantalettes the rest of the way down her legs, noting marks trailing down her thighs that I had not noticed myself.
Elizabeth stood in the doorway with her mouth agape, seeming too stunned to speak.
Lottie was still weeping hysterically, her breaths escaping in a constant high-pitched shriek, and did not notice as she was stripped to be entirely exposed in a room full of men. I took her in my lap, and John pulled off his waistcoat, covering her as best he could while keeping all of the wounds exposed.
"Amelia," My friend urged, reaching to gently lift the girl from my lap and cradle her in his arms. She whimpered at the movement. "Go and find me some meadowseet or tincture and chlorine, as well as a rag, soap, and boiling water."
I stared at him anxiously. "Look at the conditions they are living in! Certainly there are no medical remedies here."
John growled under his breath. "Then go and find some alcohol and charcoal. Make haste!"
As I flew to my feet and bolted for the door, I bumped into Elizabeth. This seemed to spur her into movement, as well, because she gasped and moved to follow after me.
"And for the love of God, do not forget the soap and water!" John called after us.
I set the kitchen kettle over the fire, then began raiding the pantry for alcohol. There was a large bottle of rum, which I thrust into Elizabeth's arms as I then whirled to search for a bar of soap. There was none in sight, so I threw the backdoor open and hurried to the washbin outside, finding a bar just near the drying line. While there, I ripped a shred off of one of the hanging uniforms and curled it around my hand to use as a cloth. Hurrying back inside, I filled a bowl with both hot and cold water, but could not locate any charcoal.
John was dismayed when we returned without the charcoal, but he took the rest of the items from us. "That means we have nothing to treat the fever," he told me gravely.
"I brought cold water," I said hopefully, noting how limp Lottie had gone. "Miss Lancing often put a cold cloth on my head when I was ill- she said the best way to treat a fever was to keep the head cool and the body warm."
Though John nodded and dipped his hand in the cold water, drizzling some over the child's forehead, he turned to the other boys. Lord Bentley was unconscious now, and I assumed there had been more of a struggle after I had run for supplies that led to that.
Or perhaps Michael had decided to land the punch, even after the Headmaster was restrained. I couldn't fault him for that. Not under such circumstances.
With the Headmaster properly under control now- as nothing caused docility as well as unconsciousness- John turned to Eli to give an order. "Eli, go fetch a doctor and send word for Lord Baldwin to come immediately!"
Though never one for taking orders, Eli nodded, and was gone from the room at godspeed.
Unable to assist John any further, and certain that I did not need to worry about the Headmaster at this point, I stood and began to make my way back to the dormitory. Surely the other children were wounded, as well, some working through their own untreated infections and raging fevers. Despite our visits, we had never noticed any wounds- the long sleeves on the arms, as well as the skirts and trousers that went down to the ankles had covered them. I would send out a call for new uniforms at once- ones with short sleeves, that only came to the knee.
This would never happen again. I would do anything and everything to ensure that. Uniforms would only be the very start of the reform that was about to take place at this school. Somehow, I would return it to the safe haven for children that it was intended to be. I would make sure that these children were protected.
I felt sick as I realized how far from a sanctuary this school had become.
This place- this Safe Haven for children, meant to shield them from the abuse and neglect and hardships of cruel, child-run workhouses- had become the very thing it aimed to abolish.
And it had been happening right under our noses.
The walls around me began to spin as I was overwhelmed with guilt and grief, and I stumbled slightly. A hand caught me by the arm, helping me stand upright.
"Are you alright?" Robert asked me, pulling me to his side.
I nodded, not quite sure how honest my answer was. But I had to be alright- I was certainly better off than the children who had been promised safety and then left in such conditions. Despite all of the inspections, all of the visits- none of them had ever come forward to ask for help, or to tell me of what was being done to them. And how could I blame them? When all they had ever known was abuse and hardships, why would they even expect any different?
"It wasn't supposed to be like this," I whispered, my voice breaking on the last word. Robert pulled me to sit beside him on a bench in the hall as I swayed. "They- they were supposed to be safe- we promised them-"
He rubbed my arm, and I realized that this situation- sitting here, alone in a hall, with a man's arm around me, was near scandalous. I was treading a dangerous line. But I could not bring myself to care, and leaned into him.
Robert reached for me, cupping his hand against my cheek and bringing my face up to meet his gaze. "They will be safe," He promised. "We will right this wrong, and they shall all receive the care they deserve. You have my word."
Despite how recently I had met this man, I found myself believing his words without a doubt. He had found a way to come here and observe what was taking place at the school based on nothing but my word alone. And I would do the same- his word was good. Perhaps foolishly, I trusted him implicitly.
He kept his hand on my cheek for a few moments, and I froze when Elizabeth suddenly stepped into the hallway. Robert was quick to react, though, quickly pressing his hand firmer against my face. "I don't think you have a fever, Miss, but best to stay seated until you feel better."
My sister hurried over to us, concern on her face as she knelt on the ground before me. Robert pulled his hand away as my sister gripped my own. "Amelia, are you unwell?"
I shook my head, knowing the heat in my cheeks was not caused by fever. "No- I think it was all just too much to take in."
That much was certainly true. I still felt incredibly nauseous.
Elizabeth nodded, her face dropping. "How could such a thing have happened? All of the donations, the inspections, the food deliveries. Father even came in and observed the lessons the children were being taught, did he not?"
I nodded. "Yes. But always with prior notice. It was staged- all of it. Lord Bentley played us as fools, sister."
Elizabeth looked just as furious as me, but handled it much better. She stood and straightened her skirts. "I am going to go and check on the boys- call forward the injured ones, get the others water and make certain they know they can stop working. Perhaps you could go and attend to the girls?"
"Of course." I stood as my sister hurried into the boy's dormitory. As she disappeared around the corner, I turned to make my way down the hall, and then to the opposite side of the school where the girls were trying in vain to complete a large dress order that they never should have been assigned.
I did not need to turn to know that Lord Robert was following just behind me. I could tell by the sense of security I felt as I made my way through the halls of this horrible school that had once been my own dream.
********************
"Adele works for the Undertaker now," The girl I had been speaking to earlier told me- I had come to find out that her name was Agnes. She fiddled nervously with her fingers, then seemed to catch herself, and clenched her hands into fists to keep them still. "She was sold after her sister... well, after what happened to Violet. Once her sister was gone, Lord Bentley said that her face was so pitiful that she would make for an excellent mourner."
I knew what she was speaking of, though I had not attended many funerals in my life. Mourners were people- often women and children with sweet faces who could act out grief well, since it was not socially acceptable for men to cry- hired to stand beside the coffin of a deceased person and sob as they were lowered to the ground. Having crowds of people mourning at a funeral was seen as a great honor for the wealthy, and those whom were rich but without close family or friends often had it planned out in their will that there were to be mourners assigned to their ceremony.
But Adele was young- she could not have been any older than perhaps five or six years of age, and would be unable to pay for boarding elsewhere. If hired by the Undertaker, she would have been forced to live in the funeral home, sleeping among the bodies that were scheduled to be buried. "The home in Northern London?"
"Yes, Miss."
I turned to Robert, but he was already on his feet, reaching for his satchel of money strung to his hip. He glanced inside of it, counting through his coins. "I have enough. I shall go and buy her back at once."
"I shall pay you back, Robert." I had no money on me at the moment.
He waved me off, heading for the door. "Do not be ridiculous, Amelia. This is not a roast I am purchasing, it is a child which should not be a business transaction in the first place."
With that he was gone.
"Is he your betrothed?" Agnes asked, looking up at me.
Despite myself, I smiled a bit, and shook my head. "He is not. He is courting my sister."
"You should ask you sister if she will allow you to court him instead. He fancies you, I think."
Shaking my head at the little girl- and a bit uneasy at how much her eyes seemed to see and understand at her young age- I brought the conversation back to what truly mattered. "What happened to Violet?"
Agnes shifted nervously. "I am not supposed to speak of it."
I took her hands in mine, noticing the way she flinched away. Still, I kept my hold on her, making sure I was gentle. "Agnes, you must. Please. I will not allow any further harm to come to you. The way you have been treated is sinful, and I swear to you that I will do all in my power to protect you from harm. Lord Bentley will never return to this school. Never."
For the first time, her lips formed into a slight small, though I could see she was weary of trusting my words. She frowned again just seconds later, though, staring towards the back window of the dormitory. "Tom dug the grave- he is the only one allowed outside to do so, because he is mute. The Headmaster knows he cannot speak, and that he is unable to read or write. I suppose he figures that even if Tom did escape, he could never tell anyone of what was happening here."
Though I had suspected that Violet had passed, my chest felt constricted at the confirmation. She had not looked to be any older than perhaps eight years of age when I had seen her just several weeks earlier, scrubbing the floor with her younger sister. "Did she fall ill?"
Agnes nodded, though she looked as if she wanted to say more. When she did not speak, I squeezed her hands gently. "What is it?"
"Lord Bentley had beaten her just a few days before," Agnes whispered to me, glancing about nervously as if she was concerned with being overheard. "She fell to the ground, but he did not stop. He picked her up and threw her on to a bed afterwards, saying that he would beat her again if she did not rise in time for afternoon chores. But she did not rise. Not that night, nor the next morning. Nor the day after that. Some of the older boys tried to go for help, but the gate was sealed shut, and they were punished for leaving the school. We are never allowed out in the yard."
Agnes and I both took a steadying breath as she continued, glancing up at me, her eyes seem distant. "Violet never woke up. And- and Adele was crying as they carried her sister out back, and Lord Bentley struck her and sent her away to the Undertaker, saying that she may as well go somewhere that her pitiful face was useful."
Once again, I found myself fighting back nausea. But tears were streaming down Agnes' little face, and I forced myself to stay calm for her sake, pulling her into an embrace.
The child stiffened in my arms, and I recalled how similar I had been in my early days, just after being plucked off the streets. I had been unused to hugs, and had done my best to dodge any form of touch, gentle or otherwise.
Just as I decided it was perhaps best to pull away and give her time, Agnes leaned further into me, gripping me with all of her might as she began to weep.
I allowed her to cry for several minutes before asking the necessary question, though I hated to push her so. "Violet is buried out back? Beside the garden?"
Agnes looked up at me, and despite her youth, her eyes held a weariness and exhaustion that I rarely saw in even the oldest of people. Her next words sent a chill throughout my entire body.
"They all are."