The rectory sat in the shadow of the church, the front step leading directly onto the street. “It was in a dreadful state of disrepair when Sebastian moved in,” Susannah said, leading the way onto a series of narrow streets. “Though we have made it habitable, there is always another call on our funds which prevents us doing any more than keep it watertight. The houses generally are very cheaply built, and I’m afraid most of the landlords are reluctant to spend money fixing roofs or supplying fresh water. And damp—that is the very worst problem here. Sometimes water is literally running down the walls.”

Her father, Margaret knew, owned an immense portfolio of property, including any number of parochial houses and estate cottages, but he had factors to manage it all. She couldn’t recall him ever mentioning repairs or costs, but if he had, would she have listened? “I am so horribly ignorant,” she said, frowning, “but surely there are laws requiring landlords keep their properties in good repair?”

“There are regulations, but enforcing them is another matter entirely, and a fine balance has to be struck. If a property is actually deemed unfit for habitation, the tenants are made homeless, you see, and alternative accommodation is in very, very short supply. Poor Sebastian spends an enormous amount of time lobbying landlords directly, or via the vestry—that is the parish committee responsible for inspecting houses and sanitation—but with limited success. The men who sit on the committee are very often landlords themselves, and so have an interest in maintaining the status quo.” Susannah smiled ruefully. “They are united in their hearty dislike of my brother. Not that Sebastian gives a fig about that.”

“Aside from telling stories to children,” Margaret said, rather overwhelmed, “I’m not quite sure how I can best be of assistance to you. I’m happy to try my hand at anything, but I’ve no practical skills or experience.”

“Can you sew?”

“Plain stitching, hemming, yes, but anything more intricate—no. Mama once said that my sampler was the finest example she’d ever seen of how not to embroider.”

“There’s not much call for embroidery here, but if you are willing to help with some plain sewing, perhaps teach some of the little ones?”

“I’d love to do that. What else?”

“A good many of Sebastian’s older parishioners cannot read or write, and need assistance sending and receiving correspondence. You could act as his scribe, if you don’t consider that too menial a task. It would relieve some of the burden on him.”

“Oh yes,” Margaret said enthusiastically, imagining herself sitting opposite Father Sebastian at his desk as he dictated letters. “I can absolutely do that. What else?”

Susannah laughed. “Your mother agreed you may spend a few hours a week helping out, no more. I am sure the duchess would consider sewing or letter writing appropriate activities, but as for anything else . . .”