[CW: reference to child neglect]
 
Ruth tried to hide her nervousness as she sat in the private saloon in the back of Mrs. Howard’s tearooms, waiting for this Miss Penelope Wells. She had left her white kid gloves on to hide her sweaty hands. Booking the private saloon, a place she had only heard of before, was scary enough. She had never had tea in a tearoom, let alone in a private one. But Mrs. Howard’s daughter had asked no questions. Ruth had been dressed the part and had money to wave around. But she doubted dropping her children in the care of this Miss Wells would be as easy. She imagined more questions would be asked and Ruth had no idea how real toffs made these childcare arrangements. God, a regular school girl had corrected and copied her letter in a neater hand. She was on thin ice here.
 
But if she did manage to find a decent person to look after her children, she could cut ties with her family. She had dropped Sam and Lucy off at her parents’ place when she had started working at the Pony and even when she had moved into the delightful cottage that Magnus had arranged for her, she hadn’t picked them up. Magnus didn’t know about them and she wanted to keep it that way. Even Tilly didn’t know. But with each day her children remained in that filthy Tate Hill slum, the chance increased that the two worlds met. She’d still go and see her children, dressing down and hoping Tilly wouldn’t notice, avoiding questions from her father about how much she was earning and whether she couldn’t help out more, snapping back at insults instead to distract him. She couldn’t keep up this game much longer. And she hated seeing her children in that place. She wondered how she had managed it. Once she could find a place for her children, she’d never look back.
 
And so this morning, she had picked them up from her parents’ home – only James had been there to look after them, for fuck’s sake, but at least her father wouldn’t ask questions – had handed James some money for sweets in exchange for standing guard, had washed and changed her children with growing rage at her family’s incompetence, and had put them in the new sailor suit and dress she had brought. James had asked questions about her fine clothes and jewels and the clothes she had brought for the children. Ruth had told him to run away from home. A haircut and de-lousing session later, a perfectly groomed pair of children sat on the floor in the corner of the room fighting over a wooden toy train. “Stop that,” Ruth told then, which went completely ignored.

Penny prided herself on punctuality and was anxious as she checked for the time. Perhaps she was just nervous for the job, hoping it would help make her more independent. She was not about to let any meddling mamas try and coerce her into meeting their sons, not that it was much of a problem... It's not as though some man had come running. She sat up straighter and gave a firm nod. "It's the principle of the matter," she muttered as the cab came to a stop and such.

She made it to the ground safely, thanked the driver, and then made her way into the tea house. Her eyes lit up and she found herself enjoying the smell of pastries much like when she spent time in her brother's kitchen while Pippa cooked for tea.

Her mouth watered. She was shown to the room once she gave her name and a polite curtsy. Her eyes took a gander at everything before honing in on the little ones. She broke into a rather winsome smile at the children as she approached the family.

She gave a small curtsy to Ruth. "My name is Penelope Wells and I am here to hopefully be of help to you, Mrs. Walker, I presume? You have very lovely little ones," and then she did something rather unconventional to try and gain the attention of the children. She moved to kneel so she was at their level, and gestured for them to come to her, and, assuming they did, she would look at them each in the eye and say, "Your mummy needs you to calm yourselves so that she and I may talk. If you allow for that, perhaps I can get her permission to give you each something magical and special. I can't tell you what it is though, it's a secret and you can only find out if you  do as your mummy wishes. Can you do that?" She said it loudly enough for the woman to hear. And then she pretended locking her lips with an invisible key.

Ruth gawked at the woman who walked in. She was tall, graceful and completely unable to pass off Ruth's children as her own if questions were asked. But she had showed up. She even curtsied to Ruth, showing she believed the toff act so far. And Ruth was desperate. She'd devise a new plan.

"Yes..." she said vaguely, remembering that she was in fact Mrs. Walker. And then things got even weirder. Instead of sitting down at the table and continuing to talk to her, Miss Wells turned to the children, stooping down to their height to address them. Why?

The children were probably younger than Penelope had imagined. The boy could be no older than two. His hair was dark like his mother's but lay flat on a rather pale face. Dark eyes were fixed on the newcomer and grew large as she crouched down in front of him and his sister. The train which he had managed to wrench out of his sister's hands by force was now held tight against his chest for comfort as he cowered away from Penelope. The girl looked hardly a year old. She had inherited her mother's curls, but hers were a surprising gold. She looked equally anxious as the stranger crouched down and began to talk to them. Her mouth hung open. Her lip trembled.

Then her brother threw the wooden train at the lady.

"Oi, cut that out!" Ruth shouted in her thick Whitby accent, rising from her chair. There was the sound of a cup being dropped on a table in the other room. The noise of chatter instantly ceased. Then the two young children started bawling. "I'm so sorry," Ruth begged Miss Penelope over the noise, her accent posher but betraying a hint of panic. "Are you hurt at all?"

She winced. That hadn't gone as planned, as she had thought out. But she was also not one to give up over one little tantrum. So she gave the children a shrug as if unaffected and bored. "I suppose I could eat the candy for myself." She then smiled toward their mother, standing back up.

The woman smiled. She hadn't run away in horror. That was one thing. "Stop crying, will you?" she told the children, who lowered their voices but still sniffed and sobbed.

"Please, leave them be and sit down. They... they were in the care of a rather careless nanny," she made up as she went. "and developed some bad habits along the way." It wasn't a complete lie. The children had been in the care of their 'nan' and they'd have been cared for better if they'd been raised by a pack of wild wolves. "Which is why I am taking such care now. I want them to get a good upbringing." Women were harder to control than men. The whole letting one's legs spread was generally less efficient. But women responded well to flattery.