Only Mr. Boothroyd had been willing to accompany them. A sacrifice which had endeared him to Mrs. Bainbridge all the more.

“Miss Hartwright?” He offered Clara his hand.

She took it, permitting him to help her up the carriage steps and into the warmth of the cab. With a murmur of thanks, she squeezed in next to Mrs. Bainbridge.

Mr. Boothroyd climbed in after her, shutting the door behind him.

“We’re obliged to you for escorting us, sir,” Mrs. Bainbridge said as the horses sprang into motion.

“Make no mention of it, ma’am.” Mr. Boothroyd settled in the green velvet and leather-upholstered seat across from them. He wore a heavy woolen coat, with a worsted muffler wound around his neck. “I couldn’t in good conscience permit you to travel into the village alone.”

Mrs. Bainbridge pursed her lips. “I’d anticipated Mr. Archer would escort us, but my niece’s husband has a will of his own.” She withdrew a handkerchief from her jet-beaded black reticule. “I’m sure he had good reason to stay behind—and to keep Laura with him. Mind you, he’s not irreligious. He often attended services with us in Surrey. But he’s not a particularly reliable sort of gentleman, if you take my meaning.”

Clara shrank back into her corner of the carriage, clutching her Bible in her lap, and fervently wishing she was somewhere else. Her previous employer, Mrs. Peak, had often gossiped with friends and family, talking to them as if Clara wasn’t even in the room. But this was the first time Mrs. Bainbridge had done so. It was never a comfortable experience. Indeed, it felt rather like eavesdropping.

“The gentlemen do have their reasons for staying away, ma’am,” Mr. Boothroyd replied. “It’s very much a matter of conscience. The churches hereabouts weren’t always as charitable to orphan boys as they should have been.”

“My niece tells me that you’ve known Mr. Archer and his friends for some time. Since they were small children. I must confess, I was puzzled. Were you affiliated with the orphanage in some way?”

“I was secretary to its patron, Sir Oswald Bannister, the former owner of Greyfriar’s Abbey. He was a particular villain to the boys. They would often come to the Abbey to make mischief for him. It was then I first encountered them.”

“And took them under your wing?”

“I tried to redress a great wrong. In many respects, I fear I was too late. By the time I recognized the type of man I was working for, considerable damage had already been done.”

Mrs. Bainbridge dabbed at her nose with her handkerchief. “You make it sound rather dreadful.”

“Not for me, no. But for them—the four boys—dreadful doesn’t begin to describe it.” He frowned, as if at an unpleasant memory. “I’ve long wondered why any of them wished to remain in these parts. Far better to start anew in some other locale. I daresay Mr. Archer had the right idea.”

“I’m constrained to admit that Mr. Archer’s life has been, thus far, ignoble.” Mrs. Bainbridge lowered her voice. “A gambler, sir. On the continent. And not, I fear, of the honest variety.”