That Silent Night by TASHA ALEXANDER Read Free Book Online Page B

laughter. It made one think that Mr. Dickens had not cast quite harsh enough a light on poverty for his readers. The Cratchit family lived in luxury compared to these poor souls.
    We consulted with the director of the institution, who pulled down a large record book and opened it, bending over it to better read the scraggly entries through his monocle, which kept falling onto the page. “There, now,” he said, fixing the lens back into place. “Adelaide Hartford, you said?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œShe was here for less than a year,” he said. “I am afraid she ran away and we know nothing further about her.”
    â€œWe understand that she died,” Colin said. “Her sister would very much like to visit her grave.”
    â€œI am most heartily sorry,” the man said. “You might try paupers’ cemeteries but, given her youth, I would not be surprised if there are no records of use to be found. Things end very badly for children who try to live on their own. It is likely she was buried without anyone even knowing her name. I am only sorry we were not able to keep her with us. I see your expression, Lady Emily, and cannot fault you for it. This is not a pleasant place, but it is, I believe, preferable to living on the streets.”
    We thanked him and quitted the sad building. “Are you thinking what I am?” I asked.
    â€œThat we ought to adopt every child in that hateful place and bring them to Anglemore?” Colin’s countenance darkened. “Even that would not begin to address the problems of the poor in London.”
    â€œQuite,” I said. He took my hand.
    â€œI gave the man a sum that should be more than enough to ensure a happy Christmas for them all. It is something, at least.”
    â€œYou are very good,” I said. “And I am ashamed I did not think of it.”
    â€œWhat are you thinking, then?” he asked.
    â€œThat no one knows what became of Adelaide.”
    â€œHave you any concept of the difficulty—nay, the impossibility—of finding a young girl who ran away from an orphanage so many years ago? We could interview every person in the East End and learn nothing.”
    â€œI agree, it is a daunting prospect,” I said. “Unless, of course, the woman standing on Park Lane is someone who knew Adelaide.”
    â€œIt is possible, I suppose.”
    â€œWho else would know where to find Mrs. Leighton?” I asked.
    â€œIt should be simple enough to detain her,” Colin said, “assuming she comes back.”
    â€œI do not want to rely on assumptions,” I said. “I have an idea.…”
    He did not balk at my scheme. I believe the festive and charitable nature of the season had at last taken hold of him. We returned to Park Lane, where I used the telephone in Colin’s study to ring Mrs. Clara Parnell in Essex.
    The woman, whose voice trembled as she spoke, explained she did not receive word of the uncle’s death for months after it happened. When the news reached her and she learned Adelaide had been sent to an orphanage, she immediately went there to collect the girl, but she was too late. Adelaide had already run away. Mrs. Parnell had done everything she could to track down the girl, but never found any sign of her. Neither, however, did she find any evidence that her niece had died.”
    â€œShe invented the story of Adelaide’s death?” Colin asked.
    â€œYes,” I said. “She felt it likely true, particularly as no one legitimate responded to her offer of a generous reward for information about the child. Which means, of course, that if Adelaide is not dead, it is entirely possible the woman I saw is, in fact, Mrs. Leighton’s sister. Mrs. Parnell is beside herself at Penelope’s troubles, and takes all the blame. She could not afford to take in both girls from the beginning—“
    â€œA wretched situation,” Colin said.
    â€œYes,