Page 21 of Benefactor to the Baroness (The Seductive Sleuths #3)
R osemary walked down an alley between two houses, carrying a gently steaming basket that contained dinner for three children and two adults. The fragrant smell of onions and garlic made her mouth water, but she didn’t dare open the basket before she reached her destination. Sampling the meat-filled pastries inside would leave her distracted. Vulnerable. Open to theft, if not any of the many things Fontaine had warned her about before she had left the attic. As the dowager baroness had spent a significant part of her life living on the street, Rosemary would not dismiss her warnings. She kept her senses attuned to the world around her, taking in the shush of leaves scattered by the wind and the rhythmic thump of her thin-soled shoes hitting the packed earth.
When she returned to the attic, she would have a serious conversation with Fontaine about the children. Finding a place for Xavier had been a stroke of good luck, but they could not afford the time or the cost in lodgings and food to continue to look after the others. As close as they had grown during the journey, they were only two women who had other tasks to accomplish. Despite that, Fontaine seemed intent on investigating the fire and figuring out what had happened to the children her foundation had shipped, all while keeping the orphans with them.
It wasn’t that Rosemary didn’t understand and even respect Fontaine’s determination. The dowager baroness had suffered under the care of orphanages. But it would be much more efficient to leave the children in more capable hands. Rosemary had confirmed with several shopkeepers that Halifax was home to several organizations that specialized in caring for children. They couldn’t all be bad.
She had to make Fontaine see sense because no matter what else happened in the coming days, they would be on the ship when it departed. Rosemary would see to that.
She turned a corner and a beam of sunlight peeked around the corner of a house, blinding her. She threw her hand in front of her face, then hurried forward until she was shielded by a derelict brick building.
The sound of leaves crunching beneath feet and whispered voices reached her.
She tightened her hold on the basket and increased her stride, even as her thighs burned in protest.
More whispering. A scattering of stones. A distant giggle.
Someone was following her.
Don’t run , she thought. Run and they’ll know you as a victim.
Fontaine had taught her that much. It was better to stand and face one’s pursuers rather than flee. Confidence was often enough to chase away potential thieves.
She stopped, clutched her basket to her chest, and said in her most authoritative voice, “Reveal yourselves or cease following me. I am in no mood for games.”
There was another shush of leaves flying around her heels. Then a group of three street urchins stepped out of the shadows and glared at her, a move more amusing than intimidating, as the children’s heads only came up to her waist. It was hard to estimate their ages in the shadows, but she guessed they were between eight and ten.
One of the group, a skinny, black-haired waif garbed in a tattered, brown cloak, stepped forward and thrust her hand forward, palm up. “Hand o’er the basket.”
There were three logical paths forward. One, she surrendered her baked goods to the obviously starving children and returned to the bakery for more. Two, she refused and hoped none of the children possessed a weapon. Three, she offered the food in exchange for something she wanted.
“This basket?” Rosemary asked. She lifted the cloth from the top, revealing a bounty of bread and pastries. She chose a chocolate éclair and bit into it, holding it carefully to avoid smearing chocolate over her gloves.
The children glanced at each other, hunger clear in the sharp lines of their cheekbones and the way they rocked from side to side, as if stopping themselves from launching at her. The leader gulped, then removed a stubby, wood-handled knife from inside her cloak and brandished it. “Hand it o’er!”
Rosemary finished the éclair and placed the basket on the ground. “I have a better idea. I would be willing to part with this basket for information. What’s your name?”
The girl with the knife narrowed her eyes. “Jane. What kind of information? We ain’t no snitches.”
Rosemary pushed the basket forward slightly with her foot. “The Halifax Home for Destitute Children.”
“Burn’t,” Jane said, her gaze on the basket. Her arm holding the knife trembled, as if she were unsure if she should continue to threaten or make a lunge for the prize.
“I know that.” Rosemary said. “The newspapers said the only bodies recovered were adults. Did any of the children staying there survive? Where did they go? What about the owner, Mr. Sellinger?” With every question, she pushed the basket closer to the urchins. “Take this as an offering of good faith. You can find me at Mrs. Wexford’s boarding house. When you bring me answers, I’ll pay.”
The sound of creaky wheels approaching caused two of the children to vanish.
“Deal,” Jane said. She grabbed the basket and disappeared, just as a black cab rolled down the street at a slow pace, as if searching for a fare, although the residents of this neighborhood were not wealthy enough to do anything but walk to their destinations.
Before she could get a look at the driver, the man flicked his reins. The sleek, black horses before him leaped into a canter, and she had to stumble back to avoid the plume of dust that rose as the cab thundered past her. When she could see again without wincing, the vehicle was a black dot in the distance.
*
It took Rosemary another half hour to return to the bakery and purchase more food. By the time she made it back to the attic, her shins burned and her back twinged.
“Is this everything?” Fontaine asked as she accepted the basket.
“I encountered some difficulty on my way back,” Rosemary said.
Fontaine handed off the basket to Annie to distribute to the others, then drew Rosemary outside and closed the door. “Tell me.”
Rosemary described the group of children she had encountered, and the deal she had made with them. As she spoke, Fontaine’s expression grew grimmer, and by the time Rosemary had finished, Fontaine was frowning and crossing her arms.
“What is it?” Rosemary asked. “Should I not have asked them to gather information for us?”
Fontaine sighed. “I don’t know. Something doesn’t seem right. Everyone we’ve spoken to seems to know children are being taken, but no one cares enough to do anything about it. They all know about the fire, but not how it started or why there were no children’s bodies found in the wreckage of the Halifax Home. I don’t understand what’s happening.” She rubbed her temples with her fingers. “We never should have come here. I should have listened to you.”
Seeing Fontaine so miserable made Rosemary’s heart ache. She put her hands on Fontaine’s upper arms. “There is nothing we can do now but move forward.” She started to pull the other woman into her arms when the sound of feet running upstairs made her step back and peer over the edge. A small figure was hurrying toward them. It was difficult to make out who it was, or if it was a boy or a girl, until the child rounded the last turn and stood on the steps, staring at them. It was the girl she’d spoken to in the alley, the leader of the small group. Jane.
“Got your in-fer-mation,” the girl said, although she did not approach further.
“Is this…?” Fontaine whispered.
“Yes.” Rosemary slid her hand into her pocket and removed a small coin purse. She offered it to the girl, who narrowed her eyes before darting forward and taking her payment. “Wait,” she said, before Jane could run. “The information.”
The girl looked over the edge of the stairs, as if judging how quickly she could descend. To Rosemary’s relief, she seemed to decide facing the two adults was the better choice and made the purse vanish somewhere in her jacket before facing them with her hands in her pockets.
“Rumors say the fire was set,” the girl said. “No accident. On account ’uv there’s been lots ’uv coppers skulking about the place.” She shoved her hands in her pockets. “Lots ’uv places have burnt.”
“An arsonist,” Rosemary whispered. “What kind of monster would try to murder a house full of orphans?”
“What about the children? Mr. Sellinger? His staff?” Fontaine asked. “Did any of them survive the fire? Where were they taken?”
Jane shuffled back a step. “Dunno about Mr. S and the rest, but none ’uv the young ’uns died. Those were shipped off to St. Mary’s poorhouse.” She glanced over her shoulder again.
“Can you take us there?” Fontaine asked.
Jane’s eyes widened. “Take you lot? To St. Mary’s?” She snorted. “Mr. P won’t never let proper folk like you inside.”
The girl was, unfortunately, correct. Their apparel already did not match the neighborhood they were in. Rosemary had chosen her most drab outfit but had still noticed a fair number of people staring at her from the windows of the houses she’d passed on her trip to the bakery.
“What if I do it?” Annie asked.
Rosemary turned to find the girl closing the door to the attic. There were crumbs on her cheek. She scrubbed away with her sleeve.
“Absolutely not,” Fontaine said. “It’s too dangerous.”
“What other choice do we have?” Rosemary asked. As much as she didn’t want to put any of the children in danger, Fontaine’s protectiveness was growing unreasonable. “We cannot lock the children in this room night and day.”
Annie faced Fontaine with her back straight. “I’m brave and clever, just like you. Let me help.”
Fontaine hiccupped on a sob, then closed her eyes and nodded.