“If you will wait in here”—she opened the door to a small, plainly furnished parlor—“I shall fetch her, my lord.”
A young maid brought in a meager tea tray and set it down on the only table in the room. Nate went over and poured, adding sugar and thin, bluish milk to the cups.
Odell took his cup. “If all they have is this, no wonder my girl is too thin.”
Several minutes later the door opened, and Emily Bywater entered the room. Nate had seen her once or twice before John died. London had not been kind to her. Her once-golden hair was dull and her complexion almost ashen.
“Emily.” Odell didn’t wait to be greeted before enveloping her in his arms. “We’ve been looking for you for an age. Mrs. Odell is here, or will be soon. We’re taking you back home with us where you and the babe belong.”
“I can’t. My father—”
“We won’t have anything to do with him unless you want to.” He stepped back. “John would have wanted you with us.”
Tears streamed down Emily’s face, but she nodded her head as she made an attempt to wipe her face.
Nate had stayed by the door and now slipped out, leaving the pair alone. Unsurprisingly, Mrs. Rankin was still in the hall. “Please have the child brought down. My footman will collect Miss Bywater’s belongings.”
Once his footman and the servant had gone, Nate stepped out into the growing gloom as a black town coach passed. As he glanced back at the door to the building two feelings competed within him. A sense of satisfaction that he’d been able to help the Odells and frustration that he could not help more people. Yet, perhaps he could do more. There must be many charities that would accept his assistance.
CHAPTER TWO
Merton House, Grosvenor Square, Mayfair, London
“Miss, what should we do?” the messenger, a young boy named Toby they had hired for messages and odd jobs, asked Miss Henrietta Stern.
“Where is Mrs. Perriman?” She and her sister, Dotty, Marchioness of Merton, had assisted in the rescue of many children and infants during the time Henrietta had been in Town for her first Season. However, due to her sister’s pregnancy, they had asked Mrs. Perriman, the widow and daughter of army officers, who ran their charity, the Phoenix House, to perform the rescues. Normally Henrietta would not have hesitated, but she had never gone alone before.
“She’s out on another call, and I don’t know when she’ll be back.” The lad bounced from one foot to the other, clearly distraught. “The boy who brought the message said the baby’s mam died and the babe was poorly.”
There was only one thing to do. “I shall go.” Henrietta had read the short, barely literate note stating the sender had a baby they were willing to sell. “We’ll need to have a wet nurse brought here.”
“Miss Henrietta.” Parkin, her brother-in-law’s butler’s eyes rounded. “Neither her ladyship nor his lordship would approve.”
“It’s not as if I am going to St Giles or worse. It is still light and will be for the next hour. If we do not rescue this child now, it may die.” The butler’s stern countenance did not change. “I’ll take Cullen with me.” He was the largest of all Merton’s tall footmen. Henrietta suspected the man had been a soldier at one time, as many of the footmen were. “I shall be perfectly safe.” She would also take the Manton pistol that had been made for her.
“You will need a groom as well,” the butler said.
Henrietta stifled a sigh of relief. Parkin was not happy about this, but he would not stop her. “Yes, of course. Thank you.”
By the time she had changed into a sturdy, dark-blue wool serge gown she’d had made by the modiste at home, donned a plain bonnet, tucked her pistol in the pocket she’d had sewn into her mantle, and taken the coins needed from the strongbox kept for the purpose, the unmarked town coach was waiting in the street. “The address is just down from the Whitechapel workhouse. We must hurry. I do wish to be there and gone before it is dark.”
“Yes, miss.” The footman, now dressed in regular clothing, closed the coach door behind her, and the coach dipped as he climbed on the back.
The journey would take about a half hour, and the sun was already lower in the sky than she would have liked. Still, the chance to save another child was worth the risk, and she had three servants with her. Granted, two would remain with the coach. Still, Cullen would be enough to keep her safe.
A large traveling coach almost blocked the street, but they slid past the vehicle and pulled up on the other side of the road. It was still light enough, but the sun was sinking by the minute. The narrow street and tall buildings did not help.
The coachman opened the hatch in the roof. “The street we want is just ahead on the left.”
The footman opened the door and helped her out. “I’ll stay a bit behind you just in case they’re up to no good.”
“Thank you.” That was always a risk. It did not happen often, and never in Whitechapel. But once in a while, the person purporting to have a child to sell decided he would be better served by having a lady to ransom. That was when she and her sister began carrying pistols every time they went on a rescue. The footman would remain just far enough back that no one would be able to attack her from behind.
Although it wasn’t always or even mostly men selling the children. Many times women, unable or unwilling to care for a baby, gave them up, but never without payment. The worst cases were when Henrietta could smell the gin on the poor babe’s breath. There was always a fight to get the child healthy again.
She touched the outside of the pocket, feeling the pistol, and carried the reticule with the coins in her other hand. Normally, she was excited to be picking up a child, but today the back of her neck prickled and made her more alert. Why were these exchanges always in narrow streets or alleys? “I’m ready.”
Henrietta started off down the street, not striding quickly, but walking cautiously, taking care to be aware of her surroundings. The daily queue going into the workhouse had dwindled, and the rest of the street was almost empty of people. For a second she almost turned back, but a child was at risk, and she had to help it. Still, she refused to shake off her sense of foreboding. The worst thing she could do was ignore any feelings of danger.
She turned the corner into a street so narrow the houses on each side almost met in the middle. Two men were a few doors down, standing on the pavement. Dressed in worn jackets and breeches, neither man was above-average height, and both of them had dark-blond hair. They looked to be in their thirties, but could have been younger. One of them held a bundle in the shape of a swaddled babe.
Not glancing back, Henrietta continued forward until she was about six feet from them, just out of arm’s reach. She made sure to use the type of accent from where she lived in the country. “I’ve come from the charity house to collect the baby.”
“Let’s see the bit,” the man holding the baby said. The bundle in his arm didn’t move at all.
“It’s in here.” She lifted the sack for them to see it. “Let me see the child and you shall have it.”
“I think we might just take you instead of the money.” The other man leered at her.