Page 62 of Where the Heart Leads
The boy hadn’t been quite that bad, but he’d been waited on hand and foot all his life by his doting aunt, and no longer believed it was necessary to think for himself.
Barnaby looked out of the window as they made the turn into Leman Street. “That leaves only one more to check.”
“Indeed.” After a moment, Penelope echoed his thoughts. “I don’t know whether to hope this last boy is a likely candidate—which would put him at risk, but also give us a chance to set a trap to catch these villains—or whether I’d rather he was…too fat, too slow, too sluggish to interest them, and therefore he and his”—she consulted the file on her lap—“grandmother will not be under any threat at all.”
The light glinted off her spectacles as she turned her head and looked at him.
He was tempted to reach for her hand and squeeze it reassuringly—either that or pluck her spectacles from her nose and kiss her senseless, effectively distracting her from such troubling thoughts. Instead, he said, “All we can do is let fate roll her dice, and then deal with whatever turns up.”
Black Lion Yard was a small cramped space ringed by a collection of old tenements. The yard, such as it was, was cobbled like a street, but there was no thoroughfare; boxes and crates were haphazardly piled both in the corners and elsewhere across the yard, so anyone entering had to tack and weave to reach their destination.
Their destination was the ground-floor rooms in the building at the center of one side of the yard. Mary Bushel and her grandson Horace—known as Horry—lived there.
Within two minutes of making Horry’s acquaintance, both of them knew which way fate’s dice had fallen. Horry—small and slight, quick and bright—was unquestionably an outstanding candidate for a burglary school.
When Penelope glanced his way, Barnaby didn’t need any words to know what she was thinking. What question she was wordlessly asking. But with Jemmie’s disappearance and his mother’s too-early death weighing on them both, and on the investigation in general, there was no question over what they should do.
He nodded, a slight but definite movement.
As she had in the previous two instances, she’d excused their visit on the grounds of the Foundling House needing more details for its files. Now she turned back to Horry’s grandmother—who, every bit as quick as her grandson, had seen the look he and Penelope had shared. Sudden worry infused Mary’s features.
Seeing it, Penelope reached out and placed her hand over Mary’s. “There’s something we must tell you—but first let me assure you that we will definitely be waiting to take Horry into our care when the time comes.”
A large part of Mary’s anxiety subsided. “He’s a good lad—quick and useful. He’s got a good nature—you’ll never have any trouble with him.”
“I’m sure we won’t.” Penelope spared a smile for Horry, who, sensing the change in atmosphere, had sidled closer to his grandmother, until he was leaning against her arm where she sat in her chair, his thin hand gripping her bony shoulder. Mary reached up and patted his hand.
Once again meeting Mary’s eyes, Penelope said, “Horry is exactly the sort of candidate we at the Foundling House look for. Unfortunately, there are some other men about who also want boys like him—boys who are small, slight, and quick-witted. Good boys who’ll do what they’re told.”
Dawning comprehension narrowed Mary’s eyes. After a moment, she said, “I’ve lived in the East End all me life. I know all the larks—and unless I miss me guess, you’re talking of a burglary school.”
Penelope nodded. “Yes, that’s right.” She went on to explain about the four boys who’d gone missing, and then about Jemmie and his mother. Her anger resonated in her voice, something Mary Bushel, sharp as two pins, didn’t fail to notice.
But when Penelope mentioned the police, and the notion of having them protect Mary and Horry, Mary’s comprehension failed. Astonished, she stared at Penelope, then glanced at Barnaby. “’Garn—you don’t mean that. The perlice worrying about folks like us?”
Barnaby met her washed-out blue eyes. “I know it’s not what you’re used to around here, but…” He paused, realizing that he needed to couch the truth in a way she, and anyone else she asked for advice, would accept. “Think of it this way—this burglary school is training boys, quite a few of them, to burgle…which houses?”
Mary blinked. “If they’re training boys up, it’s usually the houses of the nobs they’ve got in their sights.”
“Precisely. So while Miss Ashford and I might be more concerned over rescuing the missing boys, and making sure no other boys are dragooned into a life of crime, the police are keen to find the villains and shut down the school, so there won’t be a string of burglaries in Mayfair to upset the commissioners.”
Mary slowly nodded. “Aye—that makes sense.”
“And that’s why the police will set a watch on this house—both to protect you and Horry, because they don’t want more boys going into this school, and also to keep watch for and catch these villains when they come for Horry, as it seems likely they will.” Barnaby paused. “It’s unusual, I know, but in this case the police’s interests and yours are the same. We all want the same things—you and Horry safe, and the villains caught.”
Mary nodded again, but then her gaze grew distant. She rocked slightly, then refocused on Barnaby’s face. “I don’t know about the perlice—I don’t know as I’d trust ’em with me and Horry’s lives.” She held up a hand, halting any comment Barnaby might have thought to make. “However, they can come and keep watch if they please. But fer me peace of mind, I want people I trust about me.”
Lifting Horry’s hand from her shoulder, she squeezed, then released it. “Get you round next door, Horry, and see if any of the Wills boys are in. Tell ’em I’d like a word.”
Horry nodded, cast a glance at Barnaby and Penelope, then quickly went out of the door.
Mary looked at Barnaby and Penelope. “The Wills boys may be rough and ready, but they’re honest lads.”
Horry returned in less than a minute, two brawny, dark-featured men in tow. Horry went to stand by Mary’s shoulder as she nodded in greeting to the newcomers. “Joe, Ned.” To Penelope and Barnaby, she said, “These are two of the Wills boys—they’re me neighbors. Joe here is the oldest—there’s four of ’em, all told.”
Joe Wills, taking in Barnaby and Penelope, clearly didn’t know what to think. “Horry spun us a bit of a tale, Mary, something about the perlice wanting to come and stop some beggars killing you and snatching him away to do burglaries?”
Clearly Horry had understood the gist of things well enough.
