In the end, I was grateful to the gray brick building and its frowning windows, and the equally gray children I’d seen in the courtyard, dressed all alike, marching along under the guide of a matron or rector. It made me decide to work my fingers to the bone to raise my daughter myself, to never give her up, to hold her in my arms and keep her safe.

No easy task, but I did not regret my choice. Grace, now age eleven, lived with my friends, kind people who forgave me my foolishness and looked after Grace with the wages I sent them.

I did not trust myself to answer Mr. Fielding, so I nodded.

“I was elected to the board a year ago, and it has been uneventful thus far,” Mr. Fielding said. “I don’t see the children much, but vote on budgets, look over accounts, advise on matters of spiritual education, that sort of thing.”

He paused as though waiting for my acknowledgment, and I nodded again. I noticed that he, as had Cynthia’s friend earlier this evening, talked to me, not at me or around me. I also noticed Daniel’s cynical expression, as though he did not believe Mr. Fielding had any business advising on spiritual education.

“Please continue,” I prompted when Mr. Fielding’s pause extended. “You said your year was uneventful. Has that changed?”

“It has.” Mr. Fielding heaved a sigh. “As you might gather, Mrs. Holloway, when I was younger, I was a reprobate, and in many ways still am.” His blue eyes took on the twinkle I’d seen when he’d spoken of his past, but the twinkle swiftly died. “But this has distressed me.”

“Tell her,” Daniel said, his voice hard. “No one is blaming you.”

“That is true. There is nothing to blame me for.” Mr. Fielding gave me a troubled look. “A few children have gone missing from the Foundling Hospital.”

My eyes widened in alarm. “Good heavens. Have you informed the police?”

“Not exactly.” Mr. Fielding glanced about the small room, as though worried he’d be overheard. “When one of the nurses, a young woman called Nurse Betts, noticed them absent, she reported this to me, as a member of the board, and wanted to go to the police. But it would have to be done discreetly, I knew. The Hospital does not want to be known as a place that loses children. Funding would diminish, certainly. The Hospital was formed by a royal charter, and no one wants to risk that. I convinced Nurse Betts to leave the matter in my hands. I consulted with the director of the Hospital—Lord Russell Hirst—who is in charge of the day-to-day running of it, and another governor, an unctuous bishop called Exley. They forestalled me by telling me the children had been fostered, quietly, though no one has seen them since.”