I did not like to dwell on what would become of Grace when she grew older. She was clever and sweet, but she’d have to grub for her living as I did, or be married, and marriage was no guarantee she’d be taken care of. Those were perilous waters. I wished Cynthia’s aunt would understand that.

Bobby set out the tea tray her landlady had brought. Cynthia wordlessly produced her flask from her coat, which Bobby took with thanks. I declined any spirits in my tea, but the young ladies imbibed happily.

Bobby wore a suit of fine tweed, which draped well on her rectangular body. The suit was tailor-made, as Cynthia’s clothes were. Bobby cropped her hair close, and with her lack of feminine curves—or at least they were well hidden—she easily passed as a gentleman. Cynthia preferred to keep her hair long, and with her flowerlike face, it was more difficult for her to be mistaken for a man. She was less obviously female when she bundled up, as today, but now that she’d unmuffled, she was very evidently a young lady.

Cynthia related our current problem to Bobby as we drank, and Bobby’s amusement died in shock and anger.

“Someone’s making off with the little tykes? That’s monstrous.”

“We don’t know whether they’re making off with them or not,” I said. “But something has happened. I assure you, I will do my utmost to make certain the children are well and unharmed.”

“Damn and blast. I sit here in this padded flat drinking whisky when little ones might be in trouble,” Bobby growled. “Hungry and cold. I hate to think of it.”

“It’s why we do charity work,” Cynthia told her. “Auntie does it so people will think well of her, but at least the time she gives does some good. She won’t part with a shilling, but she’ll help sell bunting and other junk at a jumble sale to raise money.”

“That can’t do much,” Bobby said skeptically. “How does one get on the board of the Foundling Hospital? Sounds more robust.”

“I have no idea,” I said as Cynthia shrugged. “Mr. Fielding was elected to it, but he is a vicar.”

“I imagine you have to contribute a great lot of money, or be in the House of Lords, or some such,” Cynthia said.

“Ridiculous.” Bobby removed a silver case from her pocket and extracted a cigar. “Do you mind, Mrs. H.?”

“Not at all,” I said politely.

“My brother gets them straight from Havana. Soothes my nerves.” Bobby handed a cheroot to Cynthia, and soon both ladies were puffing in a practiced way. The room filled with a sweet, pungent, and heavy scent.

A gentle cough interrupted. I had dozed off, as I had done before in Bobby’s flat—her chairs were quite comfortable.