“I know.” Mr. Fielding drank deeply of the doctored tea, going silent a time as though debating what to reveal. “The truth, dear lady, is that I did not want to tell Daniel. I was afraid he’d chuck me out and not lift a finger if he thought I asked for assistance on my own behalf. Which I did not. I am very worried about those children. And Nell. I never sought Daniel for selfish reasons, but I knew he’d believe I did. My brother has very little faith in me.”

His voice held pathos, but I was annoyed he’d concealed the truth from me as well.

“From what Mr. McAdam has told me, he has reason to not believe in you,” I said.

Mr. Fielding flushed. “In the past, of course he didn’t. I was a desperate boy trying to survive in the world. I have reformed, as you can see, but Daniel will always view me as the chap who deserted him after the man we regarded as our father was brutally murdered. Daniel believed we should have stuck together, but I lit out on my own. I regret that now, but at the time, I was mad with grief and fear and pushed Daniel away. I had phenomenal luck, I realize, to be found by a man of great kindness. The least I can do to return that kindness is take care of others.”

It was a nice speech, neatly exonerating him but acknowledging his guilt and shame, blaming the tragic circumstances he’d survived. I wondered how often he’d rehearsed it.

“You ought to have told me in any case,” I said. “As I say, I can better know where to begin looking for Nurse Betts if I have an idea where she might go. Did she come here to speak to you?”

“Yes, about three weeks ago. When she was not comfortable about the missing children, she sought me out and asked if I could do anything—go to the police, or find out where they’d gone.”

Cynthia broke in. “And you, being smitten, agreed.”

“And I was concerned about the children.” Mr. Fielding acknowledged her perception with a nod. “I looked into the matter at once, as I told you, Mrs. Holloway, visiting the Foundling Hospital the next day and speaking to the director—Lord Russell Hirst, a prominent and respectable gentleman. I was told the children in question had been placed in homes. Lord Russell showed me the record.”

His fingers tapped the table as he spoke. Not a drumming, but a faint tap, tap, tap, as though he never noticed himself doing it.

“Did Lord Russell express surprise at your question?” I asked. “Or simply show you the record?”