“It’s nice here,” Bessie told her defiantly. “Warm. Cozy even.”

I gave Bessie a grateful nod. “Thank you both for coming. I do have a nice meal ready for us.”

I’d made extra plates of the scones and sandwiches, tarts and petits fours. While I’d sent the whole cake upstairs to sit on the sideboard, I’d used part of the cake batter and buttercream to make miniature versions, each with a slice of glazed fruit on top.

I carried the tray into the servants’ hall, and Tess, told beforehand what I was about, agreed to serve us. She dived too much into the role, however, asking in what she thought was a posh voice, if I, “moodam,” wanted more sugar in my tea.

Once Mrs. Shaw, softened by the beautiful treats before her, began to tuck in, Tess went quiet. She would not leave the room, too interested in the problem at hand, but she did close the door, shutting us in, as I’d instructed.

“Now then, Bessie,” I said. “Can you tell me what has been worrying you?”

Bessie cast an uncertain glance at Mrs. Shaw, then shrugged. “Don’t matter if I get the sack. I’m right sick of a place that loses children. What’s worrying me is her.”

She pointed a finger, dusted with icing sugar, at Mrs. Shaw.

Mrs. Shaw coughed. She gulped down the large bite of tart and quickly wiped jam from her mouth.

“What do you mean, girl?” Mrs. Shaw demanded. “I came with you today to keep an eye on you. With your young man banged up, you’re not to be trusted.”

I raised my hands to restore peace. “Please. Let us discuss things calmly. Bessie, what do you mean? No, Mrs. Shaw—let her speak.”

Mrs. Shaw went quite red but subsided at my stern look.

Bessie scowled. “She knows where those kids have gone, I’m sure. I heard her a-whispering with another maid, and I think she said she’d nab some more.”

“I did no such thing!” Mrs. Shaw gaped in shock. “You are a wicked, wicked young woman.”

She raised her hand as though to deliver Bessie a blow, and I caught it. Tess darted forward and rescued the three-tiered serving tray before it was knocked to the floor.

“Mrs. Shaw.” I cut through her rage. “I think you had better tell me. All of it. You know the governor who is doing this, don’t you? And you know exactly where he is taking the children.”

24

In fact, I knew no such thing. I was guessing.

Mrs. Compton had told me that Mrs. Shaw was “sweet” on one of the governors, who would be far above her in station. Not that misalliances did not happen, but I doubted a governor of the Foundling Hospital, who would be a rather lofty gentleman, would risk a dalliance with a housekeeper.