Mr. Fielding dragged himself from the chair and made a shallow bow to Miss Townsend. “Pleased to meet you.” His voice bordered on the ironic. “Now that we are all here, may we have our useless confab? Then I will go hunt a whoreson and gut him.”

Miss Townsend did not even blink. “Of course, good sir. I do not blame you your rage. Cynthia and Mr. Thanos will tell us everything they discovered, and then I will help you find your whoreson if you like.”

12

Mr. Thanos looked taken aback by Mr. Fielding’s statements and Miss Townsend’s acceptance of them, but Cynthia and Daniel remained unsurprised. Mr. Fielding flicked his eyebrows up, assessing Miss Townsend with new interest.

“Who the devil are you?” he asked.

Cynthia answered for him. “A talented artist with amazing discretion.”

“I lived for years among artists in Paris, gentlemen and ladies alike,” Miss Townsend said, gesturing for us to resume our seats. “Little shocks me.”

Mr. Fielding only looked her up and down again before he sank back to his chair.

I wondered at Miss Townsend’s interest in the problem—was it simple human compassion for those mistreated and threatened, or something more?

Cynthia accepted a mug of coffee Mr. Thanos handed her. There was tea for me, which I waved him from and poured myself.

“I could not speak of this yesterday,” Cynthia said. “My apologies, Mrs. Holloway, but it was too much on my mind. I couldn’t close my eyes but see the poor souls shoved into the same clothes, made to sit in silence. Not natural.”

“Yes, it was quite moving.” Mr. Thanos seated himself in front of a desk covered with papers. He slid his spectacles from his pocket and looped them on before he sorted through sheets of foolscap. “I tried to write notes, but I made little progress.”

“Begin with names,” Daniel suggested. “Who showed the most interest in the children?”

Mr. Thanos skimmed his pages as though he’d find the answer there. Cynthia sank back in her chair and took a long sip of coffee.

“It is not that simple,” she said. “Thanos and I joined a long queue of those winding through the Foundling Hospital. A chatty bunch, we found them. Many had come simply to see the place to which they’d donated money—to assure themselves the children were well-fed and cared for, and that it wasn’t a doss-house. Others were curious—ladies and gents wondering what it was like to be poor. Others . . .” She faltered.

“Go on,” Daniel said. He alone did not sit but stood by a window, looking out. I noted he kept himself to one side of the window, so those below would not see him. “No need to tell us all if it upsets you, Lady Cynthia. Did you discover anything significant?”