Mr. Fielding heaved himself from the chair. “I am going with you. The children will trust a clergyman.” He gave Daniel an encompassing glance. “You look like something that crawled from the dustbin.”

I thought Daniel rather handsome in his work clothes with his hair awry, but I understood. A collar indicated a level of morality—not always an accurate gauge, of course, but it was human nature to believe so. A reason, I thought, Mr. Fielding had bothered to become a cleric in the first place.

*   *   *

Daniel took us not to Dudley Street where I’d encountered the builders, but to the church of St. Giles-in-the-Fields. The children found in the bawdy house had been taken there, he said, and now were under the watchful eye of the vicar and a few constables.

Six children sat on benches in the vestry house next to the church, warming their feet and drinking tea.

I expected to find dejected, forlorn, and wasted beings, but instead I saw six very different young people. The youngest, who could not have been more than eight or so, drank her tea with determination, as though expecting it to be taken from her at any moment.

Two older girls in their teens who looked much alike huddled together. The three boys ranged from a lad of ten, the youngest, to fifteen, the oldest, who was tall and wore a haughty sneer. The youngest boy sat cross-legged on the bench, peering at us with interest, while the middle boy drank his tea with supreme indifference.

The similarity they shared was their shell, either of defiance or blankness, behind which each had withdrawn. The world had betrayed these children. Instead of letting them enjoy innocence, it had immersed them in vileness, used by people who, in a fair world, should have protected them.

I could not stop the tears that stung my eyes. Daniel took my hand, his grip strong, he no less moved.

When Mr. Fielding walked into the room, he changed. His hard and angry expression dissolved, and he took on a look of kindness I’d never seen in him before.

I knew that part of his transformation was to become a man who would reassure the children. I also knew he possessed true compassion for them. He’d been these lads, and he understood.

Mr. Fielding scraped a chair from the wall and sat down but did not try to go near the children, nor did he take on a look of condescension. He simply observed them with his no-nonsense gaze.

“Which of you are from the Foundling Hospital?” he asked once he had their attention. “And you can tell me plainly if you like—do you want to go back there?”

The children stared at him. The smallest girl, after darting him a glance, went back to her tea—I would do everything in my power to make certain she never had to worry about anything again.