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“I see.” He was uncertain he did. But what he saw was a child being badly abused by a man ten times his size. Slade glanced out the window again. The man cuffed the boy, and the boy kicked the man’s shin. The boy looked to be about four years old. Noticeably, while dirty, this child’s clothing was a higher quality than the man’s.
When the child tried to run, the man jerked him back by his hair and punched the boy in shoulder, eliciting a large cry of pain. Slade took his cane and rapped on the ceiling of the coach, stopping it. “Stay here, ladies,” he said, gripping the doorknob.
“Wait,” cried Mary, shaking. “Your Grace, he looks like the man from my nightmares, just older. Be careful, Your Grace.”
“It may or may not be the same man, but pummeling a child is wrong,” Slade said, quickly exiting the carriage.
Slade approached the young man and child, noticing that everyone who had been near the area had left. The child’s face was bloodied, and his shoulder looked bruised.
“I want my mommy,” the child wailed.
“Your mommy does not want you. I’m all you got,” the man sneered. “Do what I say next time, and you won’t be beaten.”
“See here,” Slade said, walking up and interrupting the man. The man tried to push the child behind him, but the young boy kept pulling away.
“Mind yer business, guvnor, or you’ll be sorry!” the man yelled, yanking the child’s arm.
“I have just made it my business,” Slade replied. “What is your son’s name?” Slade looked from the man to the boy.
“Ain’t none of your business what ’is name is. I am teaching my son a lesson, right lad?” the man said, glaring at the boy.
The boy shook his head, tears flowing from his small face. “N . . . n . . . no. I want Mommy,” he cried.
Another man put down a newspaper he had been holding up and walked from where he had been sitting across the road. Slade recognized him as one of the two runners he had hired the day before. He gave a quick nod acknowledging him and walked up next to Slade and stood, arms crossed. “I don’t like children being hurt either, your lordship.”
“This here’s none of your business. This is my boy, and I don’t need help to discipline him,” the man spat.
“The look on the child’s face says otherwise. Suppose we go to the nearest magistrate’s office and sort this out. You should easily be able to prove your claim to the child.” Slade suggested, noting fear and anger in the man’s eyes.
Before they said another word, the man shoved the child at him and ran in the other direction, leaping over shrubs and disappearing down an embankment. Slade wanted to go after him but had the women to think about. The child stood there, crying. Slade squatted down on his haunches and looked into the child’s face. There was no longer any doubt this child did not belong to the man. “Can you tell us your name?”
The boy stared at him for a long minute. “Paul,” he finally said. “Mommy calls me Paul.”
Why did the name sound familiar? “How old are you?”
The little boy looked down at his fingers. Taking one hand, he covered his thumb and held up four fingers.
“Your Grace. I apologize for addressing you incorrectly earlier, but I thought it best to not address you asYour Grace,” the runner began.
“I understand and I was not insulted. You are Mr. Blume, correct?” Slade asked.
The man beamed, obviously pleased Slade remembered. “I am, Your Grace.” He cleared his throat. “I tied my horse up just beyond the stand of trees,” he said, pointing toward an area further up the road. “If you would like, I can take Paul to the parish constable and explain what happened,” he offered.
“The boy is four. Have an investigator meet me at my home. I would like to take the boy home and clean him up, give him some food, and quiet him down. We have a nursery, and I can employ a temporary nanny until we can determine his true situation.”
“Paul, you do not mind coming home with me until we can find out more about you, do you?” Slade asked. The little boy looked very unsettled.
Bella stepped from the carriage and walked over to him. “Who do we have here?” she asked, stooping to see the little boy on his level.
“P . . . P . . . Paul,” the child stammered.
“Paul, I saw what happened. Did you know that man?” she asked.
“No. He mean to Paul,” the small boy returned.
“Do you have a family?” she asked, squeezing the small boy’s hand.
He nodded. “Miss Mommy,” he added.
“Paul, I am going to take you home with me and we will find your mommy,” Slade said. “Are you all right with that?”
“It will be fun,” Bella said, still holding the lad’s hand. “What do you say?”
The child gave a nod. Slade took the little boy’s other hand, and the three walked to the carriage.
No one saw the dark-headed man wearing the ragged coat, standing behind a tree in the distance, watching.
