Page 56 of Where the Heart Leads
“There isn’t anything more we can do here. We’ve spoken with everyone. We’ve learned what there is to learn. That’s all there is. We have to go on—move on to the next chance.”
She glanced around, her gaze coming to rest once more on the door behind which Jemmie should have been. “I just feel…like I’ve failed him. And even more her. I told him I’d see him safe—and I promised her I would.” Looking up, meeting Barnaby’s eyes, she read in them complete understanding. “A promise to a dying mother regarding her son’s safety. What value can one put on that? I can’t—justcan’t—rest with that on my conscience. There has to be more I can do.”
His lips twisted, but he neither smiled nor laughed. Taking her arm, he turned her along the alley. “It’s not just you involved. I made a promise, too, to Jemmie himself. And yes, I understand, and yes, we have to get him back and put him in the Foundling House where he belongs.”
She found herself moving away from the door as he gently propelled her along.
He met her eyes as she glanced up, held her gaze as he said, “I made another promise if you recall—to you—that we will get Jemmie back. That’s a promise I intend to keep, just as we’ll both keep the promises we made to Jemmie and his mother. But we won’t be able to keep any of those promises if we allow ourselves to become distracted through acting simply for the sake of it—to salve our consciences. We need to act, but sensibly, rationally, logically. That’s the only way to defeat the blackguards and rescue the innocent.”
She studied his eyes, then looked ahead as they emerged into murky daylight and the bustle of Arnold Circus. “You make it sound so straightforward.”
He steered her to where their hackney waited. “It is straightforward. What it isn’t is easy. It is, however, what we need to do. We have to set aside all emotion and focus on our goal.”
Penelope blew out a breath; she would have loved to argue, simply because of the tortured way she felt, but…he was right. He swung open the hackney’s door and handed her up; settling on the seat, she waited until he sat beside her and the carriage started rolling before saying, “All right. I won’t indulge my conscience, at least not by acting impulsively. So what is our next sensible, logical, and rational step?”
Her tone was snippish, but Barnaby was content; while she was sniping at him, she wasn’t letting the situation overwhelm her. The lost look in her eyes as she’d stared at the Carters’ door had made him feel violent, even more so because he understood how she felt. But he’d been through such times with other investigations; he knew the way forward. “We need to tell Stokes what we’ve learned. It might not be much, but he’ll know how to make the most of it. Jenks’s description was meager, but it might make a connection in some sergeant’s brain.”
It was nearly noon. He’d given the jarvey orders to drive back to Mayfair. They’d called in at the Foundling House earlier, and didn’t need to return. “We’ll get something to eat, then we can go on to Scotland Yard.”
Beside him, Penelope nodded. “And after we’ve seen Stokes, we really should tell Griselda the news.”
Stokes had been visited by exactly the same thought. He arrived at the shop in St. John’s Wood High Street just after two o’clock.
This time the girls smiled at him. One immediately bustled back to inform Miss Martin of his presence.
Griselda came to the curtain, a smile on her lips.
He returned the smile, he thought well enough, but she seemed to read his underlying tension. Her expression grew serious; she tilted her head, inviting him with her eyes. “Please—come through.”
Passing the girls, he followed her into the kitchen, letting the curtain fall closed behind him. As before, the table was covered with feathers and ribbons; a fashionable bonnet, its decoration half-finished, sat in the center of the space. “I’ve interrupted you,” he said.
She frowned at him. “What’s wrong?”
He met her eyes, then glanced back at the curtain. “If you would feel comfortable permitting it, I’d prefer to speak upstairs.”
“Of course.” She moved around the table to the stairs. “Let’s go up.”
He followed her up the narrow flight, trying not to focus on her swaying hips, and failing. She led the way into the parlor; going to the armchair that was clearly her favorite, she waved him to its mate.
Dropping into it, he sighed; when he was there, with her, he literally felt as if some amorphous weight lifted from his shoulders. In reply to her raised brows, he said, “I can’t remember if Adair and Miss Ashford mentioned they’d found a boy similar to those who’d gone missing, in similar circumstances, but as his mother was by all accounts some way from death’s door there seemed little benefit in placing a constant watch on the house.”
She shook her head. “What happened?”
Letting his head fall back, he closed his eyes. “Last night we heard the boy’s mother had been found dead—murdered—and the boy’s disappeared.”
She said something beneath her breath he felt sure he wasn’t supposed to hear. “In the East End?”
Opening his eyes, he nodded. “Near Arnold Circus.” He watched her frown deepen. “Why?”
She glanced at him, then her lips firmed. After a moment, she said, “The East End is in many ways lawless, but they do take care of their own. There are certain boundaries no one crosses, and killing a mother to steal her son—that’s one of them. No one’s going to be happy with this—if there’s any information to be had, it’ll be readily given.”
“So if we ask, we’ll be told?”
She smiled cynically. “The rozzers will get whatever help can be given.”
He studied her face. “You don’t sound confident that help will be enough.”
“Because I’m not. There might be enough information to suggest who took the boy, but finding the villain and getting the boy back will be another matter entirely.” After a moment, she said, “There’s still five names on your list. It’s possible one of those five is the schoolmaster who’s snatching the boys. The fastest way I can help you and the others to rescue them is by finding out about those five men.”
