“Poor relief is funded from the parish rates. In impoverished parishes, such as this, there are many people in need but few ratepayers, and this heaps pressure on available funds.”

“So they deliberately make desperate people miserable?”

“In order to make the alternatives more attractive,” Susanna said bitterly. “Even if it means risking gaol.”

Like the woman who stole the rabbit, Margaret thought. “Do women really abandon their newborn babies on the doorstep, as I’ve heard?”

“Tragically, they do.”

“Because they can’t afford to feed them?”

“That is one reason,” Susannah said, looking uncomfortable. “Lady Margaret . . .”

“I am not a fragile flower to be protected from the realities of life. Please don’t spare my blushes.”

“If you must have it, they are more often than not women whose child has no father.”

“You mean women of the night?”

“No, I don’t. I mean servants who have been abused by their masters, girls who have been foolish enough to succumb to the blandishments of the chap they’ve been walking out with. Young women desperate to save their reputations or their livelihoods but quite unable to do so and still keep their child.”

Margaret stared at the huge workhouse door. If the vile story told about her in the Morning Post had been true, what would have happened to her child? They would have taken it away from her, but what would have happened to it? In that moment, it didn’t matter that there had never been a child. The fury that gripped her made her hands curl into fists. Looking at that door, she tried to imagine a young woman like herself creeping up under cover of darkness, clutching a screaming bundle to her chest.

“Do they leave notes? Names? Do these poor women ever know what becomes of the little ones?”

“I believe it is thought to be for the best not to maintain any ties. Each workhouse has its own method of naming the children.” Susannah forced a smile. “You know, there are worse lives. There is a school attached to this workhouse that provides a basic education for both girls and boys. When they are of age to work, they are found a trade or placed into service. If they are sick, there is a dispensary. The food is nutritious if not exactly tasty—and it’s a lot better than the poor fare our soldiers endure when on campaign. And talking of Christian soldiers, here comes my brother.”

Father Sebastian was dressed all in black, the skirts of his coat flying out as he strode towards them, a smile lighting up his face. “Lady Margaret, welcome to our humble parish.” Doffing his hat, he made a bow.

“It is a pleasure to be here, Father Sebastian. But you should know that I am to be plain Miss Scott.”