“I brought her along for a reason,” Daniel answered dryly. “She can keep a cool head, even in dire situations.”

I had no idea why he had that notion. I thought myself a most volatile person when upset. When I’d feared Daniel had been blown up on the river in Cornwall, I’d screamed and run straight at the water, a futile thing to do. Another time when I’d thought him deceased, I’d not been able to think, barely to see, until I discovered whether he was well. I knew that if anything happened to Grace, I’d be too hysterical to ever be calm again.

Daniel gave me a look of quiet assurance, believing in me. I hoped I would not disappoint him.

The current director, Lord Russell Hirst, did not live at the Foundling Hospital itself, but in a small house around the corner on Brunswick Square. He was not on the board of governors himself, as I understood, but did what the governors, when they met, suggested.

The footman’s cool look told us Lord Russell would not be happy to be roused from his dinner. From the sounds coming from the dining room, Lord Russell was entertaining. I heard female laughter, and also male, but nothing that suggested anything untoward. The peerage invited people to dine not simply for the pleasure of it, but to court influence and raise funds for projects.

Mr. Fielding barely waited until the footman said his polite, “I will inquire, sir,” before pushing his way into the house.

Daniel took Mr. Fielding by the arm and shoved him into a drawing room. I followed, after advising the alarmed footman, in tone that required obedience, that he ought to fetch his master at once.

The drawing room was small but pleasant, with plush armchairs and tables covered with objets d’art. Nothing overdone or ostentatious, only photographs in silver frames, pretty boxes, and a small collection of glass paperweights.

I worried Mr. Fielding might pick up the paperweights from their arrangement and smash them to the floor, but he only paced restlessly.

When the door opened to admit two men, one small limbed with a trim brown beard, one rather gangly with gray hair and pince-nez, Mr. Fielding swung on them.

“We found them, damn and blast you,” he said, not bothering to keep his voice down. “What the magistrates do won’t be bad enough for the likes of you.” He addressed the small man, calling him names so foul I’d never repeat them.

Daniel stepped between him and the gentlemen. “Enough.” His voice held command.

Mr. Fielding closed his mouth, but he remained tense, as though ready to spring on the director at any moment. Though Mr. Fielding wore his collar today, he was a less clerical-looking gentleman I’d never seen.