I awoke early the next morning.

I stared into the darkness, listening to the soft snores and slight creak of the bedsprings that came from the other girls. Despite how tired I felt, I could not fall back to sleep and just stared at the ceiling above. The occasional gust of wind caused a small whistle to be emitted from the window and I could hear Matron moving around the halls nearby. She never seemed to sleep, she just waited for the right time to come in and wake us up.

After a few minutes of staring at the ceiling, I kicked the blanket off my body. Goosebumps formed along my arms and legs. I glanced down at the graze on my calf to find it had bled a little during the night, but it did not sting so I chose to ignore it. Instead, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and walked to the small trunk that sat at the end. We were to keep our Sunday best in our trunks so they would not get wrinkled or dirty before Chapel.

Charity mumbled something on the other side of the room as I pulled out my dress. It was simple enough, a faded pink colour that came just below my knee. Compared to the fancy clothes I had seen other girls my age wearing, this hardly seemed to cut it and it certainly did not appear to fill the criteria Matron had given the previous day. Nonetheless, she had instructed I wear it, so I pulled off my nightdress and put the pink dress on.

My stockings were still torn from the previous day, having not had the time to repair them due to a hole in my grey dress that needed more attention, I had no choice but to put them on. I slipped my feet into my boots, the leather peeling away from the soles and the front scuffed and damaged.

With my appearance not likely to get any better, I thought the least I could do was run the brush through my hair. Most of the time I did not bother since it was so short it did not get tangled all that often. Still, if I wanted to look presentable, the hair would need to be brushed. I crept across the room and grabbed the brush from on top of Sally's trunk, running it through my dirty-blonde hair a few times before replacing it.

By the time I had returned to my own bed, perching on the edge of it and wringing my hands together, Matron had opened the door and stood with a large bell in hand. She rang the bell twice, never seeing the need to ring it more than that.

"Up, girls! Breakfast is in ten minutes and you have your chores to complete," Matron said. She walked the length of the hall, her eyes following everyone as they moved around in bed or kicked their blankets off. She stopped in front of me and just stared, her eyes raking every part of me and lingering all too long on the hole in my stockings. "Well, it shell have to do." Matron said. "You will have to skip breakfast; the Atkinson's will be here in five minutes."

"Yes, Matron."

"Go downstairs, I will be down in a few seconds."

"Yes, Matron."

Matron nodded her head towards the door before turning towards Charity and the mess she had left with her dress the previous night. I made a quick getaway, jogging across the room and through the door before Matron raised her voice and told Charity off. Something told me I would have company for my extra chores that evening, much to Charity's disgust.

I made my way down the hall and into the entranceway, standing beside the side table and looking more out of place than the empty coat stand. Part of me wanted to run back upstairs, change into my normal dress and join the other girls in the dining hall for breakfast of lukewarm porridge. Even agreeing to meet the Atkinson's felt like a mistake, a rather large one at that. They could be nice people but standing in that entryway waiting for them scared me.

Anyone can feel nice on the surface, my foster family did, but that all changed, and I would not put it past the Atkinson's to do the same. That fear gnawed away at my insides as I stood in the entranceway, the rest of the girls appearing at the top of the stairs and jogging past me, disappearing into the dining hall. Charity passed and gave my arm a reassuring squeeze, but the fear remained.

"You'll be fine," she said.

"Goodwin! Dining hall, now!" Matron baulked, appearing at the top of the stairs.

Charity offered me a small smile and darted off to the dining hall before she got in trouble for a second time that morning. Matron stood in front of me and straightened her apron and dress, she readjusted her bonnet and made sure her hair was tightly wound with not a strand out of place. She looked at me again, tutting at the site of my faded dress and torn stockings. I do not know why she had to tut, the stockings and dress were old, and I could have lived up to her expectation if she allowed us to buy new fabric bolts every once and a while.

We stood in silence, Matron continuing to play with her apron and dress. I stood playing with a crack on my nail, running my other finger over it. It became somewhat calming and helped to fight the anxiety that continued to boil away in my chest. I knew Matron would have punished me if I changed my mind, the one thing she never wanted to do was look bad in front of our benefactors. Me changing my mind just minutes before the meeting would be considered bad.

A knock at the door pulled me out of my thoughts and I stopped playing with the crack in my nail. Matron made one final attempt to straighten her dress, if that were even possible, and approached the door, twisting the handle. The bubble of anxiety in my chest reached its peak and I quickly tucked my hands behind my back to keep the shaking from the public eye. I fought to keep my breathing steady as Matron opened the door.

"Mr and Mrs Atkinson! How wonderful to see you again," she said, putting on a fake smile and cheerfulness that they no doubt saw straight through.

"Good morning, Matron Webster. Don't you look lovely, Lizzie," Mrs Atkinson said. She too smiled, though it appeared genuine.

"Thank you," I said.

"Well, I should go and watch over the other girls during breakfast. I shall entrust Miss Hayworth into your hands for the remained of the day. Miss Hayworth, I shall see you this evening."

"Yes, Matron."

Matron smiled again but I knew she wanted to warn me about my behaviour during my outing with the Atkinson's. I had no intention of misbehaving in any way, I was not sure if I even intended to speak. Without another word, even though she may have been itching to say one, she turned and walked down the hall to the dining hall where the conversation abruptly came to an end the moment the door had been opened. That led me with Mr and Mrs Atkinson, none of us really saying anything.

"Shall we get going?" Mr Atkinson said after a few seconds of a rather uncomfortable silence. I nodded.

I followed Mr and Mrs Atkinson out of the door and into the cold, London air. Once again, my dress offered no protection from the cold and within seconds of stepping out of the threshold, I was shivering. There was little doubt in my mind that I would be frozen by the time I returned to the orphanage later that day. How anyone could think walking around in the cold of winter a good idea remained a mystery, but I would not question it. That sort of thing would fall under being impertinent and I had no intention of being impertinent.

The three of us walked up the London streets. The wind was bitter and nipped at my exposed skin every time it blew past. I directed my attention to the ground, trying to protect my cheeks a little but also doing whatever it took to make sure I did not make eye contact with anyone. I rarely left the orphanage and I did not like the idea of doing something as simple as walking down the street and being something for people to stare out.

Mr and Mrs Atkinson led me through London, past shops and houses and further away from the orphanage then I had been over the past few years. They did not say anything too may and I did not know how they planned on getting to know me if they never said so much as two words to me the entire time we were out. It all seemed like a little bit of a waste.

"Before we do anything else, perhaps we should get you a shawl or something, just to cover your arms. It is far too cold out here for you not to have one," Mrs Atkinson said.

"Oh, no, I'm fine," I lied although the shaking in my hands from before had stopped being from nerves and had started because of the cold.

"Nonsense. As Lydia said, it is far too cold for you to not have one."

I realised I did not have a leg to stand on in this argument. The Atkinson's led me through London's busy streets, people continuing to mill about despite the cold. There were those who spent all their time outside, selling papers on street corners in hopes of earning some money for their family to eat at night, and there were those who were out simply to peruse what the London streets had to offer.

There always seemed to be a startling difference in those who could afford to be out in London for pleasure and those who had no choice but to stand in the cold. I would always notice how our other benefactors would oftentimes look down on us simply because we were orphans, almost as though it were our fault. Many only became benefactors to seem like charitable people to their friends. At least that was what the cook had said.

They led me to a small, clothing shop that appeared to sell more outwear than anything else. I had never dreamed of owning anything other than my nightdress, day dress and my Sunday best let alone a shawl that had come from a real shop. Everything else I had had to make myself and would mend or add to for it to fit properly. This would be something of my very own that I had not had to make, but I did not know if I could accept a gift from the Atkinson's.

Mrs Atkinson held up a shawl made of what appeared to be rather fine silk, dyed a rather bright red colour. I turned it down, deciding that it would be far too fancy for the likes of me and knowing full well that Sally would try and take it at the first opportunity. Instead, I decided on a simple grey, woollen one. It seemed to suit my clothes a little more than anything else would and no one would intentionally steal it.

"Are you sure?" Mrs Atkinson asked for the umpteenth time since I had picked up the shawl.

"Yes, it is far better suited to me and my dresses," I said.

"Do not pry so much, Lydia. Allow the girl to make her our choices."

"If you are certain. I may purchase this blue one for myself, I think it would go well with my dress."

"Very well," Mr Atkinson said. "Let us pay and then we can have a little wonder around before luncheon."

Mr Atkinson took the grey shawl off me along with a light blue silk shawl from Mrs Atkinson and approached the owner of the shop. He denied the offer to have my shawl wrapped and simply handed it to me as it was, allowing me to wrap it around my shoulders and offer a slight respite from the cold. Mrs Atkinson's shawl was placed into a white box and secured with a ribbon which she took once the money had exchanged hands.

With Mrs Atkinson's shawl in hand and my own shawl offering protection from the wind, we stepped back out onto the London streets. A few people stared at me when we emerged from the shop, no doubt confused as to why someone like me would have been inside such a place. Their eyes lingered all too long on the scar on my cheek and the length of my hair, several ladies turning their nose up at me and, in turn, the Atkinson's as well. They did not seem to notice.

The shawl certainly offered a lot more protection from the cold than not having one did, but it still felt strange to have accepted a gift without knowing the people it had come from. They had both been so adamant that this day out would allow for an opportunity for the three of us to get to know each other, but they had made no attempt to do so and buying a shawl did not seem to fill that criteria.

"We have a little while before luncheon, where shall we go next?" Mr Atkinson asked, rubbing his hands and peering through the streets.

"Why don't we just wander around and see what we find? Far better than making a real decision."

"Alright."

We walked a little while longer, Mrs Atkinson stopping on occasion to peer through windows and make comments on the small trinkets that were on sale at the stalls. I hung back as much as I dare, not wanting to appear rude but also not wanting to attract more attention and have more people stare. Neither of them seemed to notice and if they did, they did not comment.

"Well, well, well," a voice said from behind me. "It seems you have picked up a stray, Lydia."

~~~

A/N - Here we go, Chapter Four! Hope you enjoy :)

First Published - November 6th, 2020