All the participants were curious as to who Gemma was. Again and again, Barnabus gave the same answers to the same questions. She was his wife. No, she hadn’t been around the place. Her long absence came about because she enjoyed moving around and didn’t stay in one place for long. It must’ve been acceptable; Gemma never offered more details or corrected the ones he offered.

She dove eagerly into the day’s efforts, making friends easily and conversing comfortably with newly met people. It was, no doubt, a skill that had served her well during her frequent wanderings. Barnabus hadn’t the same knack for it. His early years had been spent in almost complete solitude.

His mother had been snatched by a pair of macks upon arriving in London when she was a young woman. With no one to save her and no means of escape, she’d lived her life tied to a brothel, held prisoner by a ruthless madam.

Barnabus had been born there and grown up there, seeing and hiding from things no child should ever encounter. His only escape had been wandering the streets for hours on end, sometimes digging bottles out of the mud of the Thames to sell for ha’pennies. But a child alone on the streets was hardly safe. By the age of five, he’d witnessed his first murder. By eight, he’d stopped being surprised by any of it. By twelve, he’d decided he meant to do something to change it all.

The CALL had borrowed carts to use for the day’s efforts. The items they’d brought to offer the locals were set out. They had bread and produce. Someone had obtained secondhand stockings and gloves in decent shape. Barnabus knew a few other charitable-minded doctors who shared his desire to help the less fortunate, though perhaps without his zeal for it. They had contributed some medicine and supplies.

Barnabus’s eyes briefly met Stone’s and Fletcher’s. They meant to do a little snooping about while the charitable distribution provided them with cover. Barnabus didn’t mind being left out of the search. He liked solving mysteries, and he liked helping people. But he got far more satisfaction out of doing things that addressed those problems rather than rooting out all of the reasons for them.

Fitzgerald Parkington, a member of the Metropolitan Police and an invaluable source of information for the DPS, stepped up beside Barnabus.

The man was hard as steel and good as gold, a rare combination. And, though he hadn’t been told the entirety of the DPS’s activities or identities, he knew more than nearly anyone else outside the organization.