If these children were not taken in by a workhouse—a fate I’d wish on no one—then they would be on the streets again, prey to those who hunted them. There had to be something we could do, and I was already beginning to have ideas on that score.

But the question remained: If these children hadn’t come from the Foundling Hospital—where were the foundlings?

Nurse Betts had been looking for them. I had as well, and had run into the bullies at the building site.

“Do any of you know a fellow called Luke Mahoney?” I asked.

All of them stiffened. The middle lad spoke up again. “Aye, we know ’im. In thick with the missus, ain’t he? He fetches and carries for her, beats down those who won’t pay, and stays on the lookout for the coppers.”

That explained why he’d blocked my way to the bawdy house. He’d worried that I, a respectable-looking lady who might have been a missionary or a member of the Salvation Army, or some such, would discover the nasty secret he was shielding.

Daniel came out of his silence to ask the next question. “Do you know where Luke lives?”

“Oh aye,” the oldest boy said. “But you don’t want to go after him, guv. He’ll kill you as easy as look at you. Don’t matter you have a woman with ya. He’ll do her too.”

Mr. Fielding’s face went blank. I knew he was convinced Luke’s hand had struck down Nurse Betts, never mind she was found far from here. He would not be sparing with the man, and I, having had the pleasure of meeting Luke, wouldn’t dissuade him.

“Tell us anyway,” Daniel said.

“A lane off Great White Lion Street,” the lad said with a shrug. “Just ask. Everyone knows ’im.”

I remembered the barmaid at the tavern I’d stepped into, who’d readily recognized the description. Luke must be dangerous indeed to cow the inhabitants of Seven Dials.

I turned to the constables, who had remained unobtrusively in the back of the room, making more tea and letting us speak.

“May they stay here?” I asked. “For a time?”

The constable who answered was a good-natured lad. “Not up to me, ma’am. But for as long as the vicar of this church will let them sit, they’re welcome.”

“He’ll send us to the workhouse,” the voluble boy said. “Vicars always do. It’s their duty, innit?”

“Not all vicars, lad.” Mr. Fielding rose. “They can be transported to my church, Constable—All Saints in Shadwell. Tell your sergeant. They’ll find a billet there. I can’t say my housekeeper is a soft woman, but she’s got a good heart. See that they arrive,” he told the constable sternly. “All of them.”