Page 79 of The Gentlewoman Companion

“That man is The Warden,” Samuel whispered.

“What does that mean?” James asked.

“I don’t rightly know, but I know lots of boys who have nightmares about him.”

They followed the man across the street and down a narrow alley. James covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief and skirted around a box of refuse. They approached a splintered wood door at the end of the passage.

The Warden opened his palm to James. “Pay first.”

James suspected a trick but dropped the coins into the beefy hand.

Through a crack in the door, the man shouted, “Tom, come ’ere quicker’n eatin’ pudding.”

Voices and shuffling sounded from inside the abandoned warehouse. Tom stepped out, grey light revealing a black eye and split lip, his eyes wary before The Warden. He glanced at James and lurched into a run. The Warden snatched the back of his shirt. A sharp hush of tearing cloth cut through the air. Tom ran down the street and ducked into another alley.

Divided between an impulse to chase after the boy and a desire to serve “The Warden” a lip and eye to match little Tom’s, James hesitated a moment before picking Sam up and running down the street after Tom.

The alley was empty. They shouted but received no reply.

“Let’s return and have a word with this Warden,” James said, putting Samuel back on his feet.

“He’ll take your money, sir, but won’t be of any help.”

“No need to call me ‘sir.’ I’m your brother. If the Warden isn’t reliable enough for our purposes, what should we do? We can’t very well wait by that hole in the wall for Tom to return.”

Samuel shrugged. “I heard the runners came after the Warden once. I don’t know that they got what they wanted, but I know he set up in a different place after.”

The Bow Street Runners. That was an idea.

James began walking in the direction of his carriage. A tiny warm hand slipped into his. James tensed, a sudden flux of energy quickening his step. He looked down at Samuel, who kicked a pebbled with studied nonchalance.

“I like your house,” the boy said. “I like that Meg is not so tired.”

A constricted throat prevented any reply beyond a nod.

Each person they passed reminded James of the woman who’d sold him violets. He thought of her and those like her. He had seen her as a creature unknown and inexplicable, almost a different race. With Samuel’s sweating palm in his, each breathing, striving individual who crossed his path became as warm and full of life and desires as the little boy next to him.

After taking a tired Samuel back to Grosvenor Square, James went directly to 4 Bow Street, where a disgruntled conglomeration of Londoners waited in the offices of the Bow Street Runners, established only five or six years prior. James stood behind an irritated man and woman.

“It’s like we’re waiting to see the king!” the woman said, her wilted hat bobbing emphatically.

“It’ll be sure to cost us a king’s ransom to get them to help us.”

“Not when the story’s told. It’s enough to boil the blood of anyone.”

James gathered from their continued bickering that, in the days after the couple’s cow had disappeared, their neighbor had begun peddling beef. A line of similar figures waited in various states of impatience to mount a few stairs to the platform where it appeared three gentlemen were listening to cases, accepting or rejecting pleas for their detective and policing services. Parliament allotted the runners a weak stipend, so they were dependent upon fees for solving cases.

A gentleman approached James. “You needn’t wait, my lord. Please, come with me.”

James did not know how he had identified as a member of the peerage but followed the man into an adjoining room, not unaware of what his privilege bought him.

“I am Mr. Fielding. Please, have a seat and tell me what I can do for you.”

Situated in an uncomfortable chair, in an uninviting room with high windows that shed dim light over Mr. Fielding’s shrewd face, James introduced himself and explained, “I am looking for a little boy named Tom.” He described the child and gave an account of what had happened with The Warden.

“What has the boy stolen from you?” Mr. Fielding asked.

“Nothing at all. I wish to reunite him with his younger sister.”