Page 34 of The Not So Perfect Duke

Boy age 5

Mother: Dora Mitchell-deceased Evercreech, Somerset

New Name: Mitchell Evercreech EC

Adopted 1870 to Gerald Simpson, London

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“Explain this entry,” Damon snarled at Mrs. Seddon.

Tentatively, she came to look at the page Althea held toward her.

“It means the child was brought here because his mother died and then fostered or adopted the next year. These adoptions are not legal as there are no laws. In the early days of Chellenhome, the youngest children were often given new names. This boy’s name was an amalgamation of his mother’s last name and the village they came from. I do not follow that practice, Your Grace. If a child comes here with a name, they keep it.”

Mrs. Seddon took a step closer. “Please, believe me, Your Grace. I was an orphan myself. I love children, but thanks to a botched procedure when I was fifteen, I cannot have any of my own. All the children here are under my care, and I do my best for them. At first, I tried to remain distant, for I didn’t want to become attached to any of the wee ones. It was all for naught. I cared for them anyway.” She dashed away a tear.

Althea watched her closely. Mrs. Seddon seemed sincere, but who was to know for sure?

“What is this EC after his name?” Damon demanded, taking the ledger from Althea and waving it toward Mrs. Seddon.

“Oh,” Althea said softly. “Edward Cranston. It means this child is his. Is that correct, Mrs. Seddon?”

“Yes, or it could mean he was the one who referred the child. He never explained his reasons for anything. The late duke gave me the information to enter into the ledger. But if I were to guess, yes, the child is his.”

“And the other initials next to other children’s names?” Althea asked.

“I do not know. I was never given a list of donors, so I couldn’t compare. That is what the duke, or the late duke, begging your pardon, called the other initials. Donors. At the back of the ledger, you will see the recent transactions and the lack of funds. There are more ledgers like this one, as I caught a glimpse of them when Mr. Browning removed items from the safe.”

“Silas Browning?” Damon asked.

“Yes. I never liked the man. The duke himself had not been here in over five years. I want to assist you, and I will answer any questions I can. Please, Your Grace, sit. And Miss Galway. I will do my best to relay what I observed here.”

Grumbling, Damon nonetheless sat on the sofa, handing the ledger to Althea. She flipped to the back and quickly glanced at the numbers. In the past four months, Edward Cranston had abandoned Chellenhome to its own devices. Miserable man.

“Your father was a steady customer of mine at the brothel. When Wilton’s Music Hall closed due to a fire, Nicky’s felt the brunt of the loss. We were out of business in no time at all. Not knowing what would happen to me, your father mentioned that he sponsored a charity home for street waifs, and would I be interested in running it? Well, I jumped at the chance. To leave that life behind?” Mrs. Seddon shook her head sadly.

“When I arrived, there were forty-two children and babies. The farm was a going concern and supplied us with fresh vegetables and meat, and even some fruit. But I could see a slow but steady decline, and I found that surprising, for I knew there were more homeless children than orphanages.”

Mrs. Seddon exhaled on a shaky breath. “There is no legal adoption in Great Britain, so these children are not protected under the state. Many are left on the streets, turning to crime and prostitution. There is no continuing education available. Several are forced into horrible labor conditions. Many die. Alone.”

“Good Christ,” Damon muttered, clearly dismayed by this information.

“The woman who ran the place before me was called Mrs. Loretta Parsons. I have no idea what happened to her. She kept meticulous records, the place was clean, and the children were healthy. I barely saw her recent records before Browning ripped them from my hands. He gave me a new ledger—the one Miss Galway is holding—which contained a list of the children, past and present. I received a small salary and one percent of any fees. I never kept that remuneration. I put it back into the home for food, clothes, and the like.”

Althea laid the ledger on her lap, reached in her bag for her notebook and pencil, and took notes of the conversation. This was all very distressing.

Damon crossed his arms, clearly still angry. “My father was corrupt, incapable of anything so basic as human emotions.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Seddon replied in a quiet voice. “He was that, Your Grace. He told me more than once that he had a superior lineage, and it was his right and duty to ensure that it continued. That his progeny would exist in every corner of England. He sought attractive, vulnerable women so his children would be good-looking. It was crucial to him. I said, ‘But the children will not have your name.’ He laughed, ‘It is the bloodline that is paramount, not a name.’”

Althea shook her head. Most in the peerage claimed the name and title were everything. What a twisted worldview the late duke possessed. “He was purposely reckless, and that’s why the late duke kept exacting records. He wanted to know how many children he produced and where they were. Is that right, Mrs. Seddon?”

“Yes, you have the right of it, Miss Galway. I don’t know if he knew about all of them, though.”

Damon stood. “Show me where this safe is. If it is not too large, I will have my driver assist me in placing it in the carriage. Miss Galway and I will head into Barking and buy food until I can send further assistance. We will hang on to this ledger for now.”

Mrs. Seddon burst into tears, then dabbed at them with the corner of her apron. “I’m sorry to cause such a scene, as it’s a relief to have any assistance. Thank you, Your Grace. Miss Galway.”