Jade Lee - [Bridal Favors 03] by What the Bride Wore

subject he extolled by rote. “We’re an old Roman church, rebuilt after the Great Fire by Sir Christopher Wren. There are quite a few distinctive features.” He put on a rather pained smile. “Did you wish a tour? I could fetch Father Alfred. He knows the most about—”
    “That won’t be necessary,” she said to save them both. “You mentioned a difficulty? Nothing terrible, I hope.”
    The man shook his head, but at that very moment a crash came from the back of the church, near the vestry. Then they heard a small child wail.
    “Oh goodness,” breathed Irene. Clearly some disaster had just occurred. “I believe you should go check on that.”
    “Er, yes. I’m terribly sorry.” But he hesitated, looking painfully back at her. “I do not wish to delay our conversation, Lady Irene—”
    Of course he didn’t. She was here on a charitable mission, and he didn’t want to lose that. “Please, Father Michael, the boy sounds quite desperate.” Then she touched his arm. “We can go talk in there together. I quite enjoy children.” She winced again at uttering a second lie in as many minutes. Truthfully, children pained her a great deal, as she likely would never have any of her own. But she kept that from her expression. “His wails are growing quite loud.”
    “He is hungry, my lady,” the father answered.
    “Then by all means, let us convene in the kitchen.”
    He walked quickly, his dark robes flapping as he moved. They passed through a door to the side of the altar and then back into the offices of the church. It was dark and cramped back here, and now, she heard another voice—a young girl’s—but there was no lessening in the child’s wail.
    Then she saw them. The boy was thin and sporting a swelling bruise on his face. He was held in the arms of a girl of approximately eight years. About them lay the scattered remains of a pile of books. Clearly, one had hit the little boy.
    “I’m sorry, Father,” the girl said, her eyes welling with tears. “He grabbed for the cup, and it all tumbled.”
    Only now did Irene see a heavy stein had rolled under a table.
    “No matter,” said Father Michael as he knelt to pick up the boy. At least that is what she thought. In truth, he picked up both children—boy and girl—holding them together in his arms. The novelty of it startled the little one into temporary silence. “Where is your mother?”
    Just what Irene was thinking. The answer came when the girl waved her arms to a bench. There, slumped like a sack of old rags, was a young woman with sunken cheeks and a frightful pallor. For a moment, Irene feared the woman was dead, but when she looked, she saw the slight movement of her chest. The woman was asleep and clearly exhausted, since she’d apparently dozed through her son’s book disaster.
    “Come along, shall we?” said Father Michael as he began walking down the hallway. “Let’s let Mama sleep a bit.” He smiled at the boy who was still perilously close to wailing again. “I promised you some broth.”
    He started walking faster, bouncing his arms as he went to keep the boy quiet. Irene spared a last glance at the paper-thin woman then rushed to follow. They made it to the kitchen where a tiny woman with gray hair stirred a watery stew. “There’s not much left,” she said by way of greeting. “And it’s mostly water.” Then she took one look at the boy and grabbed a hard piece of bread and shoved it into his hand. The child went to work on it immediately.
    Meanwhile, Father Michael set the children down, putting the boy into a rickety high chair.
    “Lady Irene, I’m sorry—” Father Michael began.
    “Please don’t bother about me. I can happily wait,” she interrupted as she watched the woman ladle what little there was into a bowl for the girl. “Is there nothing else?” Then she mentally chastised herself. Hadn’t the woman just said there wasn’t anything more?
    Meanwhile, the woman glanced significantly to the