CHAPTER NINE

      Dickens encountered Rebecca Wood by chance in the hallway of Urania Cottage. She was carrying an armful of sheets.

      ‘How are you settling in, my dear? Do you have everything you need?’

      ‘Yes, sir.’ She met his gaze calmly, but without enthusiasm. He thought she had gained a little weight in the few days since he had seen her, which was no bad thing.

      ‘I’m looking for Mrs Wallace,’ he said.

      ‘She’s in the laundry.’

      He nodded his thanks and hurried down the basement stairs, anxious to give the Matron his news. He heard her voice before he saw her.

      ‘No, my dear,’ she spoke slowly and patiently, ‘you fold it like so, with the outer corners tucked in.’

      She looked up from the sheet as he arrived in the doorway. Kathleen Chalk also looked up, her mouth hanging open unattractively. She was their least intelligent resident, a borderline idiot, in his opinion. He regretted the impulse that had made him take her in, for he doubted she would ever be fit to emigrate.

      ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you here today, sir,’ said Mrs Wallace. ‘Is there something amiss?’

      ‘No, not at all. On the contrary, in fact. Would you join me in the parlour for a moment?’

      ‘Certainly.’ She handed Kathleen the pillowcase. ‘Keep practising, dear. I’ll be back to see how you’re getting on in a few minutes.’

      She followed him up the stairs and into the parlour, where he waited until the door was safely closed before flourishing an envelope.

      ‘Open it,’ he said.

       The Royal Academy and the Mayor of London invite Mr Charles Dickens to a Reception and Grand Gala, Tuesday 16th February

      She looked at him, puzzled.

      ‘Turn it over,’ he instructed.

      She read the handwritten note on the reverse.

       Dearest Charles, I thought you might like to bring Mrs Wallace to this reception, together with one or two of our more presentable girls. I judge it to be time we showed to the world at large the value of the work we are doing at our Cottage.

      It was signed by their patron, Angela Burdett-Coutts.

      ‘A capital idea, don’t you think?’ said Dickens.

      Mrs Wallace didn’t look as pleased as he had expected.

      ‘If you say so,’ she muttered.

      He chose to ignore her tone. ‘We will have to select the girls carefully. They should be able to make at least a little conversation, and know how to behave in public. I saw Rebecca Wood just now in the hallway. I imagine she might do very well.’

      ‘Actually,’ Mrs Wallace hesitated, ‘I wanted to speak to you about Rebecca. I doubt she’s said more than ten words to me since she’s been here. She seems terribly low-spirited.’

      ‘Have patience. We have no idea of the trials she may have suffered before she came to us. It may take her a little while to adapt.’