Page 61 of A Modest Independence

Tom didn’t fail to notice. When they paused to examine the hieroglyphics, he discreetly pressed her hand. “There are desperate people in every capital of the world, Jenny. It helps no one if you make yourself wretched over it.”

“I can’t just ignore them. It’s too cruel. If there were children like this at home—”

“What do you mean if? Have you never been to the East End? To St. Giles or any of the other neighborhoods in London where people live in poverty and despair? You must have heard of such places.”

“I have. Of course I have. But I never thought… I never considered…”

“It’s nothing to rake yourself over the coals for. When you—” He broke off. “If you decide to return to England, there are things you can do to aid the poor. But while we’re here, we shouldn’t interfere.”

Jenny didn’t understand how Tom could call it interference. He’d been an orphan. He knew what it was to go hungry. “You believe I should refrain from giving them coins?”

“Give them coins, by all means, but don’t fall into the trap of thinking only we can help them. We’re visitors to their country, not their saviors.”

They returned to the hotel in grim silence. Jenny and Mira retired to their room. After they’d both had their bath, Mira patiently combed the tangles from Jenny’s freshly washed hair.

Jenny felt suddenly much younger than her eight and twenty years. Young and woefully ignorant. “I mustn’t involve myself,” she said. “But how can I not? Am I to just walk past it all, as if it were of no more consequence than an exhibit at the Zoological Gardens?”

“Madam?”

“There will be more children begging in India, won’t there? I shan’t be able to give coins to all of them.”

Mira met her eyes briefly in the looking glass before swiftly dropping her gaze.

“What is it?” Jenny asked. “I’d value your opinion on the matter.”

The maid hesitated. “My mother…”

“Yes?”

“She said we must not give them money. That it is better to give them food and clothing.”

“Did your mother do so?”

“Often.”

“That was very kind of her.”

“She was a very kind lady.”

There was a note of sadness in Mira’s voice that touched Jenny’s heart. “Were you quite young when she died?”

Mira’s olive-green eyes brightened with unshed tears. “I was not yet nine years of age.”

Jenny reached up to clasp her hand. “My own mother succumbed to fever when I was just ten years old. It broke my heart. I was still grieving when my father came to me and said that I must be the little mother of the family now, for my brothers’ sake.”

“Babies,” Mira said with a nod of understanding.

“Hardly. My two brothers are much older than I am. Older, and I must confess, terribly useless as far as household matters are concerned.”

“What did you do, madam?”

“What could I do? I grew up. Far too quickly, I expect.” Jenny gave Mira’s hand a final squeeze before releasing it. “Females are incredibly resilient.”

“Strong,” Mira agreed.

“Yes. But not infallible. I shall have to find my own way out here. I can only hope I don’t make too much more of a mull of it.”

After a leisurely dinner at the hotel, they all boarded the omnibus to the Alexandria railway terminus. There, they encountered many of their fellow travelers from the Indus—including the Planks and the Hardcastles.