Mr. James Gordon Bennett Senior got to his feet. He was dressed in an old-fashioned coat with a high cravat, was very tall, and had a thick head of white hair and a beard trimmed in a Newgate frill. His features were large. He was distinctly cross-eyed under a pair of fierce, shaggy brows, giving him the look of a battle-hardened general rather than a partially retired newspaperman.

“Lady Margaret,” he said, his voice belying his appearance for he had the soft accent of the north-east of Scotland, “a pleasure to meet you. Won’t you take a seat?”

She did so, her heart beating wildly, vaguely aware of Randolph disappearing into the background. She had, as he would say, one chance at this. “I understand you might be interested in helping set up the sanctuary I want to build in Five Points.”

“I’m interested to hear what you have to say, Lady Margaret, especially in that accent which reminds me of the old country. You’ve made an unusual choice, in the people you wish to help.”

“Someone has to help them, Mr. Gordon Bennett. They deserve a chance, the same as every other child in this city.”

He smiled, gently shaking his head. “When Randolph was trying to persuade me to meet you, he gave me that piece you wrote for the Revolution, so there’s no need to cover old ground. Don’t tell me what I should be feeling; tell me what difference you want to make.”

“I can’t promise anything,” Margaret said, regrouping her thoughts, “because as far as I’m aware nothing like it exists, but I want to build a safe space where children can escape the drudgery and the misery of their lives.”

“The missions—”

“Do a wonderful job,” Margaret said, interrupting him. “I have been a volunteer at the Ladies’ Mission for the last eighteen months, but they have limited resources and must therefore spend them on the causes which they deem worthiest. It is the same with the House of Industry, and the Howard Mission, too—they judge the children by their parents—or their lack of parents. I want to help the ones who fall through the cracks, so to speak. It is not a child’s fault, Mr. Gordon Bennett, if their father is a drunkard or their mother a streetwalker. I hope I have not shocked you.”

He laughed gruffly. “I’m an old hack, Lady Margaret. I don’t shock easily. What I find interesting is that you don’t shock easily.”

“Oh, I never fail to be shocked by what I see in Five Points, but it doesn’t make me want to close my eyes and pretend I haven’t seen it,” Margaret said earnestly. “Besides, Five Points is sadly not unique. In London . . .”

“I THINK I’VE HEARD ENOUGH,” Mr. Gordon Bennett said sometime later.