Monk was quiet and sunk in his own thoughts over their late supper. He mentioned only that he was still trying to examine the trade on the boat and see if there were any other witnesses who would be useful. Under Orme’s supervision, the Foundling Hospital matron had spoken to the boys from the boat, but they were too frightened and bewildered to say anything of use, and she had very quickly drawn the interviews to a close. The matron understood what was in the balance, but her first care was to the children she had there, not future victims. White-faced and holding a child in her arms, she had told Orme to leave.

He had understood and had gone out silently, sick with grief.

Now Hester cleared away the dishes and said nothing. Scuff looked from one to the other of them, troubled, but he asked no questions. He went upstairs to bed early.

MONK HAD ALREADY GONE the next morning by the time Hester served breakfast for Scuff and herself. She had made porridge because she knew he liked it, and it kept him from being hungry, well up to midday.

“Did ’e do it, then?” he asked when his bowl was empty and he was ready for the toast, jam, and tea. His face was earnest. His eyes searched hers, trying to understand, looking for something to stop the fear growing inside him.

She hung up the striped dish towel she had been drying the dishes with and came back to the table. She sat down and poured herself a cup of tea.

“You know, I’m still not sure,” she said honestly. “It’s very difficult to be certain that you know all the things you need to in order to be right.”

Scuff nodded slowly, as if he understood, but she could see from the trouble in his eyes that he didn’t.

“Wot’s Mr. Monk doin’? Why’s ’e all angry?” His voice dropped. “Did I do summink?”

“No,” Hester said, keeping her voice level with difficulty, trying to swallow back the emotion. “We’re all upset because we like Rupert, and we don’t want him to have done it, but we can’t help thinking that he did.”

“Oh!” His face cleared only slightly. “Would yer still like ’im, even if it turns out ye’re right, an’ ’e did?”

“Yes, of course we would. You don’t stop caring about people because they make mistakes. But that wouldn’t save him from the law.”

“They’ll ’ang ’im?”

“Probably.” The idea was so horrible, she found her throat tight and the tears stinging hard behind her eyes. She tried to force the picture out of her head, and failed.

Scuff took a deep breath. “Then we’d better do summink, eh?” he said, his eyes steady on her face.

“Yes. I’d intended to start this morning.”