beneath her fingers. “It is quite fine.”
As the carriage pulled away from the curb, Rachel stared back at the house. At the face she fancied she spotted peeping through the drawing room curtains.
Claire shifted to get a better look at Rachel. “What’s the matter? Are you not happy with the dress? Or perhaps you’re nervous about the interview. Is that it?”
“Of course I am happy with the dress!” Rachel assured her. The last thing she wanted was for Claire to think her ungrateful or spineless. “And I am a trifle nervous about the interview, but that’s not what is bothering me. It’s one of the maids. Molly. She found my letter from home and now she knows about the trial.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Indeed.” Rachel shuddered, as much from exhaustion as worry. She relayed to Claire her encounter with Molly as the carriage rumbled toward the center of town. “I have not been able to sleep, petrified Molly will show the doctor my letter. And for the past two days I have crept about like a frightened rabbit, certain I would be called to Dr. Edmunds’s office and told to leave his employ.”
“She won’t dare show him the letter.” Claire sounded convinced. “The fact you saw her coming in late, smelling of alcohol, is just as damaging to her as the little she’s learned about you. She would risk losing her position without a reference. Her threat to show Dr. Edmunds the letter is just that—an empty threat.”
“I hope you are right.”
Claire patted Rachel’s knee. “I am right. I know servants.”
Rachel leaned back against the carriage seat and rested her hands—encased in their new gloves, another gift from Claire—at the waist of the gown. “You have been too kind to me, Claire.”
“For listening to your concerns about Molly? Or for giving you that dress?”
“For everything you’ve done.”
Claire waved off Rachel’s thanks. “Think nothing of the gown. It used to be one of mine. I instructed my maid to remake it from an old day dress, had her add a few trimmings, and now it’s perfect for you to wear to the interview. Mrs. Chapman will be impressed.”
“By a dress?” Rachel asked skeptically, though her mother had often told her a good cut of material, a row of mother-of-pearl buttons, and a neckline edged with a modest amount of guipure lace could transform a woman.
“By the woman in the dress.”
“I will do my best, Claire.”
“I know you will.” Claire glanced out the window as the carriage slowed. “Here we are.” She reached across the narrow gap between the facing benches and gripped Rachel’s fingers. “Erase that look of terror from your face. These women know nothing about you, other than you are my cousin, but they’ll scent nervousness like a hound on the trail of a fox. Believe you are the answer to their prayers, and they shall believe it too.”
Rachel breathed deeply and nodded her head. She would forget about Molly, think only of what she needed to accomplish today. Her future depended upon her poise and self-assurance. So she placed a confident smile on her face and climbed out of the carriage behind Claire.
The school was a narrow three-story building leaning against its neighbor like a drunk in need of support. Broad windows filled the expanse of the first two floors, though Rachel doubted they let in much light, given the dirt crusting their panes. However, the front steps were clean and the sign declaring it to be The School for Needy Boys and Girls was freshly painted in bright blue letters.
Claire told her coachman, Benjamin, to wait for them and marched up to the door on the right marked Girls. Within a few moments, a young girl of about ten, dressed in a faded woolen gown that reached no further than the tops of her ankles, answered Claire’s knock. She curtsied politely and showed them up the uncarpeted stairs. The aroma of cooking meat drifted up from a distant kitchen to intermingle with the smells of vinegar and lye that seemed to permeate the very walls. Voices swelled and receded. Somewhere, an adult shouted for attention.
“Watch your step here, miss. Tread’s loose,” the girl alerted them, heading ever upward. Each time she took a step, a hole in the bottom of her shoe revealed itself.
“Can we wait a moment?” Rachel asked. They reached a landing and Rachel spotted, across a hallway, an open door to one of the classrooms. “I would like to go see.”
“Ma’am doesn’t like to be kept waitin’,