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To the second cup, she added generous milk and an extra spoonful of sugar. If the girl was anything like Caroline had been at her age, she would prefer it sweet and mild. And according to the doctor she had worked for, sugar was a remedy for shock.

Caroline placed the cups on the table and sat across from her.

“What is your name, little one?”

“Annie,” came the hoarse reply. “Annie Greer.”

The child’s tears had ceased, but her expression remained bleak, her reddened eyes fixed on the cup before her. Caroline’s heart twisted at the sight.

No personal relationships, do you hear?

She silenced the voice. Now was not the time.

“And why are you so upset, Annie Greer?”

The girl was too thin, with pale skin and the hollow look of a child who did not eat enough. Her gown had been let out and mended multiple times.

“My mum is sending me away to Bath, and I don’t want to go.”

Caroline tapped the teacup gently to encourage her to drink. Annie obeyed, taking a cautious sip. The taste seemed to soothe her, and she drank with greater enthusiasm. When she set the cup down, only half remained, and her features had softened.

“What is in Bath?”

“My mum found someone who would take me on, but I cannot leave her alone. Mum is sick, and she needs me.”

“There is no one else to help care for her?”

“No. It is just the two of us. She tried to find me a place here in Chatternwell, but no one is hiring.”

Caroline mulled this over as she sipped her tea. She had not yet taken on any apprentices, as she was still lodging nearby and had no household of her own. Apprenticeship often required room and board—something she could not yet provide.

And you are not to get entangled with the townspeople.

“What sort of position in Bath?”

The girl’s throat worked as she choked out the word. “Washerwoman.”

Caroline winced. It was a grim path for a child. Exhausting, and with little hope of advancement. Clearly, Mrs. Greer was desperate.

Do not do it, Caroline. You swore you would not get involved again.

But she could not look into Annie’s face and ignore what she had once been herself: a girl alone with an ailing guardian, frightened and uncertain of the future.

Her own fortune had changed when Mrs. Harris, honoring an old friendship with Caroline’s grandmother, had promised to find her a position. Then Miss Annabel, observing Caroline’s skill with a needle, had arranged for her to be apprenticed in the arts of millinery and mantua-making.

Without that act of kindness, she would not now be mistress of her own shop.

“Would you like to learn to sew?”

Annie looked up. Her face was still damp with tears. Caroline took out a handkerchief and gently dabbed her cheeks.

“I can sew.” Annie tugged at the sleeve of her dress to show a neat little darn near the seam.

“That is excellent work.”

“Thank you.”

Caroline drew in a breath. She was about to break her vow. But what was the point of success if it could not be used to lift someone else?