Ellen began to have a decent idea of what type of donor Mrs. Chisom and her group were. Almost all their donations were provided by women—usually groups like a church’s handbell circle or a neighborhood quilting association. All women of middle class who used their free time to do good works or volunteer with Christian charities. They were the wives of bankers, solicitors, businessmen. These women all took their religious duty to minister to the poor quite seriously, though some did it with more loving-kindness than others. Mrs. Chisom seemed to be one of the others.
Still, even if Mrs. Chisom was doing this more to assure herself she was a good Christian woman rather than actually helping the less fortunate around her, the donations made a difference. Mrs. Chisom was using the dispensary to showcase her benevolent character; Ellen would use her in return to get much needed supplies to Amelia’s patients.
Mrs. Finley sidestepped into the dispensary, eyes wide, as willowy and slight as Mrs. Chisom was voluptuous. She shivered even though the weather wasn’t too cold today. “My goodness.” She gave a little laugh and met Ellen’s eyes. “How do you come here every day to care for the poor? I thought we would be nicked on the way here!”
Ellen’s smile turned tighter. “This street is quite safe. Just because it isn’t Bloomsbury or St. James doesn’t mean it’s crime-ridden.”
Mark stood silently, one hand still on the door handle, watching the exchange like he was an explorer attempting to decipher a newly discovered language.
“Of course not.” Mrs. Finley blinked, as if not sure she’d been chastised. “It’s an adventure to be sure.” Her voice dropped to aconspiratorial near-whisper. “I shan’t tell my husband where we went today, though. He takes my safety so seriously.”
Mark frowned and looked to Ellen as if to confirm the subtext embedded in the conversation.
Mrs. Chisom, distracted by whatever freight driver she’d paid to deliver the crates, finally turned back to re-enter the conversation. “This is our first time donating to Dr. Hart’s charity work.”
Ellen nodded. “We’re very excited to see what you’ve brought. Amelia, Mrs. Daugherty, and I are always running out of supplies, as this community needs so much.” She paused, hunting for words. “I know Amelia has great plans for the dispensary. If we are able to secure funding, she plans to purchase a wheeled chair and other equipment. Perhaps your quilting group can consider that in the future.”
Mrs. Chisom sniffed, causing her front to rise and fall like the tide. “Perhaps. I’ve found, however, that we must be very cautious with our pounds and shillings because of the propensity for the poor to misspend. So many have a great love for gin, as I’m sure you well know. We’d be loath to inadvertently enable the able-bodied to remain paupers rather than seeking independent labor.”
Mark looked distinctly uncomfortable.
Ellen cocked her head and folded her arms. “Oh?”
Mrs. Chisom either didn’t notice Ellen’s frostiness or didn’t care. “It is our Christian duty to care for the widows and orphans among us, of course. But we try to focus our efforts on the deserving poor. Those who would rise above the sin in their nature and overcome their poverty with virtue, rather than paupers who would continue their path of iniquity.”
Mrs. Chisom, it seemed, could rival a vicar when it came to sermonizing.
Ellen took pity on Mark. She turned to him. “Would you please help bring the boxes inside?”
He slipped by Mrs. Chisom and Mrs. Finley with a nod.
“Good idea,” Mrs. Chisom commended crisply, as though shehad the moral rectitude to approve or disapprove of everyone’s behavior. “We’d hate for it to be stolen from your own steps.”
Ellen was tempted to toss the woman back out into the street.We need baby bottles,she reminded herself.Just finish this up and then Amelia can handle any other interactions with the woman. I never need see her again.She forced a bright smile. “Well, I thank you both for the donations. Amelia sends her regrets that she could not thank you in person. I am delighted to open the boxes and discover what you’ve gathered for us.”
Mrs. Finley beamed like a child who’d received praise for winning a spelling bee.
Mrs. Chisom gave a sharp nod. “We included some literature with the items. I’d request that you pass the pamphlets out with the donations.”
“I’d be happy to do so,” Ellen lied cheerfully. Anything to get them to leave.
Mark coughed behind the women, a small wooden crate in his arms.
Mrs. Finley squeaked and moved out of the way.
He slipped past Mrs. Chisom, angling to get by, and set the first crate on the floor beside the counter, then silently went back outside for the second box.
“I shall be reaching back out to Dr. Hart in a few weeks to see how donations were distributed,” Mrs. Chisom said, stern as a governess. But between her front and her bustle, she made the perfect, fashionable S shape when sideways, which made for a rather bewildering experience for Ellen.
Ellen fought to keep her expression pleasant. “We have the utmost respect for people who donate to our work, as well as the people who will benefit from these items. I assure you they will be put to good use immediately.”
Mark silently walked past with the second crate.
Mrs. Chisom sniffed. “Good. I suppose I must trust that the dispensary has its own system of weeding out those who would take advantage from the deserving.”
“We have it well in hand,” Ellen got out, her hands balling into fists behind her crossed arms. “Have a safe journey home.”I’m not sure the bottles are worth all this.
Mrs. Finley trotted outside, clearly looking forward to being safe and snug in her own home in time for tea. She was ready for her adventure to end.