“Oi dunno. ’E kept ’is distance, ’e did.”
“What did he look like?”
“Yellow hair.” Snake screwed up his face as he thought. “’Bout me size, maybe shorter.”
“Your size? You mean a child?” Kendra wasn’t sure why she was surprised. She’d been in London long enough now to realize that children like Snake swarmed the city, doing whatever they could to survive. Acting as a messenger or spy was more benign than other things they might be forced to do.
Kendra wished that she could view this child, and the thousands like him, as archaic pieces of history. But one of her first jobs at the Bureau had been tracking down Internet pedophiles. Western civilization in the twenty-first century might have laws on the books regarding a child’s welfare, but she couldn’t feel superior to her nineteenth-century counterparts. No generation, no society offered a safety zone for its most vulnerable members.
“Oi would’ve run ’im off if’n ’e gave me any trouble,” Snake was saying. “Oi saw ’im today goin’ up an’ ringing the bell. ’E ’anded the stiff-rumped fancy a note an’ ran off.”
Stiff-rumped fancy. Kendra realized he was talking about the footman.
Snake’s expression turned sly. “Next thing Oi knows, it gets peculiar-like. Ye’re comin’ out dressed like a wench. Oi would’ve followed ye, but Bear wanted me ter stay for the Lord ’ere ter get back from the parson’s place.”
“How do you know I went to church?” Alec demanded.
“Oi got bleeding peepers, don’t Oi?” Snake looked indignant. “Oi waited until ye came back, and followed ye when ye and the old gent came peelin’ out. Ye went ter the sawbones’ place. Then Oi followed ye back ’ere. That’s all Oi can tell ye.”
Kendra pressed the coin in the boy’s palm, but grabbed his wrist to prevent him from flying off with his prize. “Snake, I have a proposition for you.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Eh?”
“She’s offering you a deal,” Alec supplied.
His brow cleared. “Why din’t ye say so? W’ot deal?”
“I need to find the child who delivered the note. Do you think you can help me?”
“’W’ot for?”
“For you, it could mean several more guineas.”
Snake’s eyes brightened, but then he glared at her. “Are ye tellin’ me a bouncer?”
“No. Will you do it?”
He considered it, then nodded. “Aye.”
“It has to be the correct child,” Alec put in drily. “We’ll know if you try to substitute one of your friends.”
Snake scowled at him, but Kendra thought the addendum had been smart. She could see that was exactly what the little con artist had planned to do.
She asked, “Do we have a deal?”
“Oi can’t leave ’ere until Ned comes, or Bear’ll skin me alive.”
Kendra let his wrist go. “That’s fine. Find the child and bring him to me—or take me to him. I promise to make it worth your while. Do you understand?”
“Aye.”
Alec cupped her elbow as they hurried back to the house. They were forced to wait on the side of the road as a large carriage barreled past them, and Kendra suppressed a shiver, remembering all too well what had only just happened to Miss Cooper.
Alec gave her a sidelong glance when they finally hurried across the street. “That was a clever strategy, Miss Donovan—assuming, of course, that Snake will be able to find the right urchin in a city filled with wretched, towheaded children. And assuming that the child will be able to identify the man who gave him the note.”
“I think Snake is enterprising. And I just gave him a lot of incentive.”
“He’s not the only one with incentive,” Alec said as they jogged up the front steps. Harding was already opening the door, which nearly sailed out of his hands when a puff of wind caught it.
Kendra stopped in the middle of the foyer. The butler wrestled the door closed, but not before an icy draft swept inside, making the candle flames dance wildly and shifting the gloomy shadows.
“What do you mean?” But she thought she knew, and fear whispered down her spine.
“I mean, if a small, towheaded child was the only thing that stood between you and being exposed as a murderer . . . what would you do?”
33
What would you do?
The question kept her tossing and turning all night, until horrific visions drove her from her bed at six A.M. Jesus Christ, she didn’t think she could take another death on her conscience.
She managed to put on a loose-fitting morning dress without anyone’s help—how strange that should be an accomplishment—and made her way to the study. The servants were moving belowstairs, but the house had that hushed, early morning quality that under normal circumstances Kendra would have found relaxing.
Instead, she was disturbed, her mind on the nameless, faceless, blond-haired boy who’d delivered the note. He was out there, somewhere in London’s vast sea of tattered children who scurried about the streets, scratching out a feeble existence by begging, hawking their fruits and posies, or performing dangerous, demanding work as chimney or cross sweeps. Some resorted to criminal enterprises, like Snake.
Maybe it hadn’t occurred to the murderer that the child could identify him—yet. Kendra could only hope that Snake found the messenger before that happened. Or that they would identify the murderer first.
She used the bell-pull to alert the kitchen to send a footman to the study, and ordered a pot of coffee when he arrived. The caffeine probably wouldn’t help the headache that had begun to throb between her eyes but, that didn’t stop her from pouring a cup when the pot was delivered. Taking appreciative sips, she wandered to the window.
The promised rain had come last night, leaving the streets outside gleaming and marked with puddles, the park dripping with moisture. The night had also brought fog. In the country, Kendra had always found the mist enchanting. But here in the city, with its million-plus inhabitants, the fog was an oily gray or brown. It was now receding into slimy wisps close to the ground, writhing like serpents.
An ox-drawn wagon, its bed stacked with wooden barrels, broke through the haze, moving slowly up the street. Several young maids, bundled against the stiff breeze that was blowing in from the North Sea, were hurrying back from market, carrying baskets filled with fresh vegetables, meat, and fish, which would make their way into the day’s meals for their household. The world outside woke up long before the masters and mistresses of the household would.