Matilda paced back and forth along the low, wide gate, ignoring the rubbish piles on either side, though the smell was appalling. Washing was stretched between two posts.
“Clouts,” she muttered. “Not there before, but this is the first house I’ve seen with that overhang, and everything feels right.”
Without asking, Alexander opened the gate and they stepped in tentatively.
“Are you sure this is wise?” Ewan asked, attempting to keep Matilda behind him.
“I’m armed,” the private inquiry agent said in a low voice.
When they reached the back of the house, Ewan could hear crying. Matilda pressed up against his back, then relaxed.
“It’s a baby, not Jacob.”
“What do you think? Is this it?”
Ignoring the question, Matilda walked to the back door and rapped smartly before Ewan could protest. Alexander lifted his eyebrows and tucked a hand into his coat, probably ready to draw his weapon if necessary.
Ewan went to stand next to Matilda at the door, with an idea of pushing her out of the way of danger if it presented itself. But no one answered.
She sighed. “Let us go around the front. I wish we could find a window.”
“They probably chose this place because it has so few,” Alexander said. “None at the back at all, except on the upper level.”
They left through the gate and went to the front of the row houses. The refuse piles were absent on the street, but Ewan guessed, from the smell, that there were problems with the sewers.
Bristol was holding true to form with another weather change. It had been cloudy and windy before, but now the sun poked through the clouds. On the upstairs level, he could see someone—a young girl perhaps—pushing curtains open.
“She’s holding a baby,” Matilda said.
“Two babies. One on each hip.”
Curtains covered windows on the main level, but they were able to hear an infant’s cry again.
“It’s not coming from those two infants upstairs,” Alexander said, shielding his eyes with his hand.
“I know what this is,” Matilda exclaimed. “A baby mill.”
“It makes sense that Jacob would be held in such a place.”
“But they often have such dangerous practices, dosing the babies with laudanum to keep them quiet. They die sometimes,” Matilda said.
“You didn’t think Jacob had been harmed.”
“Not drugged, but he was thinner,” she said.
No fence blocked the front of the house. Matilda marched to the front door and knocked on it. To Ewan’s surprise, a slatternly woman with a stained apron, smelling of sour milk, opened the door.
“What?” she asked. “We ain’t takin’ any more.”
Matilda squared her shoulders. “I am here to retrieve my son. He’s two and a half, with thick brown hair.”
“We ain’t got any chillens that old. We have wet nurses here.” The woman slammed the door shut.
Repeated knocking did not bring her back to the door.
Matilda swore. Alexander didn’t react, but Ewan felt his eyebrows rise.
“I know this is where I was,” she said.
“Ye are absolutely convinced?”
She nodded grimly, giving Ewan a rare chance to see her resemblance to Gawain. “Oh, yes. I cannot say if he is here now, but over all that infant wailing, who would worry about hearing a slightly older child? We’ve got to get inside.”
“We can have the police raid the place,” Alexander said.
“I have a better idea,” Matilda said. “Please, Mr. Alexander, would you keep an eye on the front? Ewan, go and watch the back? I’m going home.”
“What do you have in mind?” Alexander asked.
“We need a fresh face,” Matilda said. “Someone who will fit in, a servant.”
“Who?”
“You’ll see.” She winked at Ewan and set off down the street.
Ewan and Alexander shared a glance. “Best do as the lady orders,” Alexander said.
Ewan nodded. “She’s got the right idea. If that woman recognized her, they could try to move Jacob if he’s still inside.”
Two hours later, Ewan was watching the back of the house, pacing the mews like a bobby on patrol, and seeing no movement among its inhabitants, when Dougal Alexander appeared at the street crossing and gestured to him.
“What’s going on?” Ewan asked.
“The brilliant Miss Redcake brought her housemaid Daisy in and sent her tae the house with a pillow under her dress, saying she was an expectant mother who needed tae get back to her millwork as soon as the baby came. The slattern at the front door let her in.”
“And?”
Alexander smiled. “She asked for a proper tour and they gave it to her. She saw Jacob.”
Ewan felt his jaw drop. “I saw no sign of any activity from back here.”
“She must have done an excellent job of acting because she came out again, calm as could be. Didn’t even tell us until we were down the street.”
He wanted to clap and caper about in a mad dance. “So he’s still there. Where are Matilda and Daisy now?”
“In the carriage. They are going to fetch us some fish and chips so we can keep an eye on the house. Soon as it’s dark, we’ll be getting the lad out of there.”
Finally, good news. Jacob would be saved and they could start their life together as a family. He’d have his Matilda forever. “Is she going to tell the police?”
Alexander shook his head. “Not until the lad is safely out.”
He couldn’t wait for that moment. “What is the plan?”
“Men will arrive as soon as we reach twilight. We’ll block the street and the mews with carriages.” He shrugged. “Then we go in.”
He wondered at the man’s casual attitude. “Have you done this before?”
“Yes, and it’s best to go just as it falls dark. The longer we wait the more likely men will be in the house.”
Thankfully, he seemed to know what he was talking about. “Bigger chance of a fight.”
“Exactly. Stay out of sight as best you can, but keep an eye on both ends of the mews, just in case. I’ll spell you with one of the factory men as soon as they get here.”
Ewan nodded, then smiled with total satisfaction. “Best news I’ve heard in days. Jacob is alive, Alexander.”
The man nodded. “A great relief to his mother.”
“And me. Now we can use that special license I have.”
Alexander smiled. “Congratulations. We’ll be in touch.”
The sun was low in the sky when Barker, one of the men Ewan recognized from his day at the flour warehouse, appeared.
“Any changes in the front?”
“Haven’t heard a thing, guv. Quiet day?”
“Very much so. Certainly no coaches coming through.”
“They sure little Jacob is inside?”
Ewan nodded. “According to Daisy.”
Barker grinned, exposing a cacophony of twisted teeth. “A looker, that. She have a lot of followers?”
“Not that I’ve heard,” Ewan said. “Tell you what, we get the boy out safely and I’ll stand you both a nice dinner.”
Barker’s grin widened alarmingly. “I won’t so much as blink until the boy is safe in his mother’s arms.”
Ewan nodded. “Where am I to go?”
“You’re staying here. Supposed to stand just in front of the back door, in case anyone comes out. I’m to stay in the mews.”
Ewan heard carriage wheels on the cobbles.
“Probably the Redcakes, coming to block us in,” Barker said.
Ewan nodded. “Very well. I’ll go into the garden now.” He vaulted the gate, not wanting to alert anyone by opening it, and walked cautiously toward the rear of the house. On the left side, he could smell sausages being cooked over a fire in the garden. On the other, voices rumbled in an argument. Above, a baby or three cried in hungry protest. Typical signs of habitation.
They were lucky today was a Wednesday. The house might have had company from Wyld and his friends if it had been his day away from the Murchie household. Once they had the child, they had to figure out who the lead kidnapper had been.
About ten minutes later, after hearing more carriage wheels on the other end of the mews, he felt the house shake as someone knocked determinedly on the front door.
He recognized Gawain’s rasp and the slattern’s rude tone. The argument continued for a couple of minutes before Alexander’s Scottish burr joined the argument. Ewan pressed up against the back door, trying to hear better. Without thinking much about it, he tried the doorknob. It turned easily in his hand.
He pushed gently at the door. It moved inward. He crept in, careful to keep out of the thin trail of light from a lantern glowing on a table. Visibility was just good enough for him to see the room was indeed stone floored, as Matilda had said.
He leaned his ear against the only door. It must lead to the parlor. He could hear nothing. Had all the adults in the house moved to the front door?
As he stealthily turned the knob and pressed the door open, inch by inch, he heard more raised voices, including a male one joining the argument. But him? He was in. The parlor was empty, though a glass oil lamp glowed above the dark fireplace. Now what should he do? From the babies’ cries, he assumed all the children were upstairs. The only staircase he knew about was in the front of the house, where all the commotion was.
The house was not that small, though. Could there be servants’ stairs in the kitchen? He slid along the wall, searching for a door that didn’t lead into the front hall. There.
He opened that door and found it led to a corridor. The front of it blazed with light, and he could see people, the open door. Directly ahead of him was another door. He needed to make his way across the three feet of empty space without any of them seeing him. Thankfully, Sir Gawain was arguing passionately, keeping everyone’s attention.
Ewan all but jumped the hall and turned the knob. Locked! He flattened himself against the wall and moved toward the back of the house, searching for another door. His questing hands found a knob. This one turned. Saints be praised. He found himself on a back staircase. It smelled strongly of onions.
Creeping up the stairs as swiftly as he could manage without making noise, he made and discarded plans. Could he get Barker’s support? What would happen if a man approached one of the Redcakes’ carriages in the dark? Would they hurt Jacob before he was able to identify himself? But he was getting ahead of the game.
He reached the top of the staircase. The door was already open. If the layout matched below, there must be space for four rooms on this level. Jacob was unlikely to be in the top left room, where the woman had been with the babies. He’d be too visible.
He went left and opened the door of the rear left bedroom. Pitch black; he could see nothing. His ears strained for sounds of breathing. Leaving the door open, he crossed the hall to the room behind the staircase. Also pitch black, but when he stopped breathing in order to hear better, he did hear quick, childlike breaths.
Wishing he had a match, wishing for windows, he crept through the room, toward the source of the breathing. His legs met a wooden structure, a bed. He fumbled around until he felt a small warm body that felt too large to be an infant’s. He tucked the sleeping child against himself and went into the hall. There; he had just enough light to see a thick dark thatch of hair, a hint of Matilda’s stubborn chin. Surely this was Jacob. He’d only seen a portrait, but chances were excellent that this was him.
He went down the steps, hesitating on the bottom stair. The voices of arguing people seemed closer to him than before. Had Sir Gawain and Dougal Alexander entered the house? He had to pray no one was paying attention behind themselves. Quickly, his heart racing at double-speed, he crossed the hall and went through the parlor into the stone-floored room without stopping or glancing behind. He sped up in the garden.
“Open the gate!” he cried in a hoarse whisper.
A moment later, he heard the slats creaking as Barker opened it. He went through with the child as soon as there were a few inches.
“Close it again!” he ordered. “Give us time to get away.”
“That him?”
“I hope so. I did the best I could. Which carriage?”
Barker held up a lit cigarette and peered down at the child, then shrugged. “The one to the left has Sir Bartley in it. Not sure about the other.”
Ewan went left, followed by Barker. The door of the carriage opened. Sir Bartley held up a lantern. His mouth dropped open when he saw who Ewan held.
“How?” Sir Bartley asked.
“Sheer dumb luck, sir,” Ewan said.
“You have my eternal gratitude, son,” said his onetime employer, feathering his hand over the boy’s hair as if not quite believing he was here. “Come in.”
He slapped the outside of the carriage as soon as Ewan was inside and it started to move. Thanks to the lanterns, Ewan could see the boy more closely. His tension was relieved considerably when he saw the lad was undeniably brown-haired, with the ruddy complexion of his grandfather. He’d rescued Jacob; he was finally certain.
“My grandson,” Lady Redcake said, wiping tears away. “How can we ever thank you?”
Ewan realized he was panting from the shock of the past few minutes. Holding the sleeping child as tenderly as he would hold the boy’s mother, he was silent at first, but when they went in a direction he didn’t expect, he finally spoke.
“Aren’t we returning to Matilda’s home?”
“No, we have a plan. Carriage to Swindon, then the train. We’re taking Jacob straight to Redcake Manor in Sussex. Can’t stay in London with Wyld on the loose. We’ll leave you there, though, so you can get on with your business.” Sir Bartley stared at the boy.
“I don’t understand. What about Matilda?” He’d wanted to place Jacob in her arms.
“Securing Jacob is the first thing,” Sir Bartley said. “We all agreed. Everyone will figure it out soon enough. But in London, please ring Bristol and let Mrs. Miller know for sure at the house. She can get word to everyone at the baby mill.”
“It’s two hours to Swindon,” he protested.
“We have a hamper,” Lady Redcake said. “Is Jacob drugged, do you think? Should we try to wake him?”
“It’s a bit early for him to be asleep,” Ewan agreed. “But he’s breathing well enough.” He didn’t want the boy to wake until he was far away.
“May I hold him?” Lady Redcake asked.
Ewan’s first instinct was to refuse, but he stood, crouching, and passed the heavy, limp boy over. “I wish I’d chosen the carriage with Matilda, to be honest.”
“I understand,” Sir Bartley said. “But she’s in one of the carriages blocking the street. It never occurred to us to have you plot a rearguard action.”
“Purely an accident,” Ewan said. “I never thought the door would be unlocked. In the end, rescuing Jacob was almost easy.” If you discounted what the past two weeks had been like for all of them. And until the boy was reunited with his mother, it didn’t feel like their nightmare would be over.
Chapter Nineteen
Shadrach Norwich shook his head almost sadly on Friday morning. “My dear Mr. Hales, you knew this would find its way into the newspapers.”
“Not so quickly.” Ewan’s mouth twisted as he reviewed the tabloid article about the kidnapping of the “Redcake heir.” “Besides, Mr. Norwich, surely you can see that I have no regrets.”
“Yet you attempted to go to the Douglas Industries office yesterday morning, as if Lord Fitzwalter was still willing to employ you.”
“At the time, I assumed he was. I did not entirely shirk my duties to the business.”
“No, you fired a respected manager and accused an entire warehouse of kidnapping a child.” Norwich raised his bushy eyebrows.
“Albert Pigge is a fool, and I’m not wrong in saying there was a connect
ion between the child and the warehouse in Bristol. We found the child in a house two blocks away. The tenant of the house is the estranged wife of one of the warehouse foremen.”
“Mr. Hales, I really don’t care. And certainly the earl does not.”
Ewan’s hands tightened on the wooden armrests of his chair. He’d received a note at his office that morning, requiring his hasty attendance on the solicitor. Anger had been simmering through him ever since Jacob had left his arms, gone into his grandmother’s safekeeping. He’d watched the sleeping boy all through the long carriage ride, then on the train to London. There, he’d been left behind. It seemed Sir Bartley had no further use for him. So he’d gone to St. James’s Square to request that Pounds, the family butler, telephone the Bristol house, then returned to his solitary room in London. Empty arms, angry heart. He’d had no word from Matilda. She’d likely been in transit from Bristol to Polegate in Sussex much of yesterday. Once she had Jacob in sight, would he even matter to her? Would she reject his love once and for all?
The door of Norwich’s chamber opened with violence, the handle bouncing off the dented plaster wall behind it. The earl strode in, followed by a bearded man in a funeral suit and perfectly shined shoes.
Fitzwalter’s color appeared off, his skin sagging on his jawline. Exhaustion? Fear?
Ewan soon realized it was outrage.
“You, sir, are a liar.” The earl pointed a shaking finger at Ewan. “I will not have this. No, sir. You will be struck from the family.”
“You cannot do that,” Ewan said, reaching for calm. “I am your heir.”
“That’s what you think,” the earl spat. “Not much evidence to show your legitimacy. I can tie this up in court for years and the title can go elsewhere.”
“You wouldn’t dare. The situation is too well-known.”
“It is not. We have been in contact for less than a month. You can go back into the obscurity in which I found you and continue to play your little games with the Redcakes.”
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