Mary nodded. “Not so much of a tale as it sounds. But I’ll let them tell it.” She looked to Barnaby and Penelope; the Wills boys followed her lead.
Penelope leapt in. “I’m from the Foundling House in Bloomsbury. Mrs. Bushel here—Mary—has asked us to take Horry in when she passes on.”
With the occasional interjection from Mary, Penelope told their tale to the point where they’d learned that Mrs. Carter had been murdered and Jemmie spirited away.
Both Wills boys shifted, and exchanged a dark look.
Barnaby picked up the tale. “As I explained to Mary, despite the usual way of things, in this case the police have a real interest in capturing these villains.” Once again he cast the official interest in terms of protecting the “nobs”—it was what the Wills boys would expect; the comprehension in their eyes and the way they nodded as they followed his tale suggested he’d judged their prejudices correctly.
He went on to explain why the police needed to put a close watch on Mary and Horry, “indeed, on Black Lion Yard, so that they can catch these villains when they come for Horry.”
Joe Wills’s eyes were hard. “You’re saying these blackguards might come here and hold a pillow over Mary’s face until she’s dead, then scarper with Horry?”
Barnaby hesitated, then nodded. “That’s precisely what we believe they’ll do.”
Penelope sat forward. “They think that because with Mary gone Horry will be an orphan, there’ll be no one who cares—no one who’ll raise a fuss that he’s gone. They’re assuming—and counting on—Mary and Horry having no friends, at least not nearby. No one who’ll pay any attention.” She spread her hands. “Well, you can see it, can’t you? An old woman in the East End dies and an orphan disappears—who’s going to raise a dust?”
Barnaby hid an approving smile. Penelope had judged that well; the Wills boys were all but bristling.
“We will,” Joe growled. “Least we would if it were Mary up and dying before her time, and Horry here going missing.”
“Yes,” Barnaby said, “but the villains don’t know that. So far they’ve snatched five East End boys, and murdered at least one woman, and other than Miss Ashford here and the Foundling House, no one has raised any alarm.”
Joe grimaced. “Aye, well—not all places are as tight as we are here.” He nodded at Mary. “Like a mum to us, she is. We wouldn’t let any blackguard harm her.” He glanced at his brother, who nodded, then turned to Barnaby. “No need for the police—we’ll keep watch. Day and night. Least we can do.”
Barnaby nodded. “Thank you. That will be a big help. But the police will want to watch, too.” He glanced at Mary. “As Mary said, there’s no harm in them watching as well, but if you and your brothers will stay close, then the police can watch from outside, and concentrate on being able to close in when the villains make their move.”
“D’you think they’ll do that soon?” Ned asked. “Make their move?”
Barnaby thought of how much longer it would be before the last of the ton quit the capital, balancing that against how long it might take to train a burglar’s boy. “They seem in a hurry to get more boys. They might wait a while, just to be safe—maybe a week or so.” He met Joe’s eyes. “I wouldn’t expect them to wait much longer.”
“Right then. No great difficulty for us to keep watch for a week or so. One or other of us’ll always be in here, within sight of the door.” Joe tipped his head to the right. “Walls are thin—a holler from whoever’s in here watching will bring the rest of us, and others, too.”
Barnaby nodded approvingly. “I’ll explain the situation to the officer in charge—an Inspector Stokes from Scotland Yard. He’ll come and speak with you”—he included Mary and Horry in his glance—“probably later today, if I can get hold of him.”
“An inspector from Scotland Yard?” Joe’s real question—what would such a man know of them and the East End?—was echoed in the others’ eyes.
“He’ll be in charge of the police—he has authority over the local rozzers. Don’t worry he won’t understand; when you meet him, you’ll realize he won’t be any problem—not to you or Mary or Horry, at least.” Barnaby met Joe’s eyes. “Wait until you meet him before you judge.”
Joe held his gaze, then nodded. “Fair enough.”
The odd thought of what his mother would say if she could see him and Penelope rubbing elbows with East End toughs flitted—distracting and entertaining—through Barnaby’s mind.
He glanced at Penelope and raised a brow. “I’d say that at present we can leave Mary and Horry in Joe’s and his brothers’ capable hands.”
Penelope nodded and stood. “Indeed.” She offered her hand to Joe. “Thank you.”
For a moment, Joe stared at the delicate, gloved hand. Then, blushing, he gently took it in his large paw and briefly shook it, quickly releasing it as if he feared he might damage it.
Behind him, Ned grinned.
Penelope smiled brightly at Ned, then swung to face Mary—thus failing to see the stunned look on Ned’s face.
“Take care, please.” Penelope patted Mary’s hand. “I’m quite keen to have Horry at the Foundling House”—she smiled at Horry encouragingly—“but not before the appointed time.”
Mary assured her she’d take care of herself and Horry. Barnaby got the impression the boy wouldn’t be going anywhere alone, not until Mary was convinced all threat had passed.
They left the Wills boys discussing their watch with Mary and Horry; steering Penelope out into Black Lion Yard, Barnaby breathed in—and felt truly hopeful for the first time since he’d learned of Mrs. Carter’s unnatural demise.
