Chapter One
August 26 th , 1818
The cellar-room Molly had been confined to with seven other children was cramped and cold. The space was devoid of furniture, with only the packed dirt floor on which to sit. Back pressed against the uneven stone wall, she tried to be brave and to push back the tears that threatened.
If only she hadn’t believed the man who’d promised to show her a puppy and give her some sweetmeat. If only she hadn’t gone with him, she’d be at home with Mama and Papa. Safe and warm. Protected.
Her vision blurred despite her best efforts and her lower lip started to quiver. Seeking comfort in knowing she wasn’t alone, she looked at the other children. All were scruffier than she, their vacant expressions offering no assurance.
Instead, they seemed to warn her of what lay ahead.
Her heart beat faster, tripping over as it tried to keep up with each panicked breath. A hand caught hers, fingers curling in a firm hold that pulled her back to stability.
“Easy does it,” a low voice murmured.
She turned her head and stared into the brown eyes of the boy who sat at her side. Charlie was his name. Taller than the rest of the children, she reckoned he had to be ten years old at the very least. Besides this, the first thing she’d noticed about him had been his hair. It was so mangy he reminded her of one of the street dogs that often came begging for scraps at Papa’s butcher shop.
“What do those awful men want with us?” she asked, her voice a thin breath of air.
“I’ve no idea,” he whispered back. Something in his tone told her that wasn’t completely true, that he sensed what lay ahead and that it would not be pleasant. But then he added, “Wha’ever it is, I promise to do wha’ I can to protect you.”
Molly’s eyes stung with the fresh onslaught of tears. “I just want to go home.”
“You’re lucky you have a home,” Charlie said as he drew her against his side. “That means you’ve go’ a mama and papa who’ll be worried for you. Who’ll be searchin’ for you.”
She nodded against his chest, her tears spilling onto his grey jacket and dampening the fabric. He’d told her that he and the rest of the children were either orphans or runaways who lived in the slums. They’d worked for a man who’d given them shelter and food in exchange for the stolen goods they brought him. A man who’d provided protection until he’d been killed, making them easy game.
Unlike her, no one would know they’d been taken. In that regard, she was fortunate.
“All is not lost then,” Charlie murmured, the warmth from his body soothing the damp chill gripping her spine. “There’s hope of you being found, Molly.”
He squeezed her hand and added nothing further, but she took comfort in his words even as her gaze sweep the room. The rest of the captives remained quiet, their eyes blank, as though they’d sought internal refuge. Not one of them met her gaze or gave any hint they remained focused on their surroundings. Until a sound broke the silence – the squeaking of hinges followed by footsteps – the sound of someone descending the stairs.
Apprehension swept the room. All eyes shifted toward the locked door, the jangle of keys standing out sharply as everyone sucked in a breath. Charlie’s fingers tightened around Molly’s hand.
A key was shoved into the lock, metal grating as it was forced open. One of the men who’d initially brought Molly down here appeared. Tall, broad-shouldered, and beefy, he looked like he could snap a child’s arm as though it were no more than a twig. His features were harsh, dominated by mean eyes set beneath flat brows, a crooked nose, and an ever-present sneer.
He was accompanied by a thinner man. The kind who would likely slit a man’s throat while laughing. He strode forward and dropped to a crouch directly in front of Molly. A slow smile curled his lips but there was nothing kind or pleasant to be found there.
Unsettled by it, she pressed herself closer to Charlie’s side. The man chuckled, low and with disturbing promise of what was to come, before sliding his knuckles along the edge of her jaw. A damp chill slithered over her skin, and she felt Charlie stiffen as if he too could feel the man’s unpleasant touch.
“Do ye know what ye are?” asked the man as he leaned in closer. Molly shook her head, her golden curls brushing her cheeks. “Ye, my dearest, are our most prized possession. The money ye alone is goin’ to fetch will keep us in business fer years to come. Which is why I give ye my word, ye’ll not be harmed.” His gaze flickered toward Molly’s hand, still clutched in Charlie’s. “But I make no promises for yer friend. If ye misbehave in any way, he will receive the punishment ye deserve twice over. Understood?”
Molly swallowed and gave a quick nod. The man pursed his lips, then snatched up a loose curl between his fingers, proceeded to study it for a moment. A flash of silver made her aware of the knife he’d unsheathed, the movement that followed so swift she barely registered what had occurred until it was done.
“Oi,” the larger man chided. “Ye’re not to damage the goods.”
Crouched, with his back toward his comrade, the slimmer man sheathed his blade. A blonde strand of tightly curled hair dangled between his fingers. “No one will notice,” he said as he straightened, uncurling himself to his full height. “And ye know how I like my mementos.”
A shudder rolled through Molly in a sickening wave that pushed her heart into her throat.
The other man snorted but said nothing more. Instead, he produced a pistol, and ordered the children to stand. “Remember, ye can be replaced, so I’ll take no issue with shootin’ ye dead if ye give us trouble. Or leavin’ ye here to starve in yer own piss. So go on. Get movin’.”
No one dared put up a fight or question where they were going. These men weren’t working alone. Even if they escaped them, two others would be waiting at the top of the stairs. With no weapons at their disposal and their inferior size, there was no chance of winning against them.
Frightened of learning what would come next, Molly waited to see what Charlie would do. Without hesitation he pushed himself to his feet and helped her rise, then released her hand and presented his wrists to one of the men so they could be tied.
A nod encouraged Molly to do the same, the courage she found in Charlie’s eyes helping her swallow the whimper that threatened when the rough twine chafed her skin. And then she was following him, up the stairs and into the hallway above. The house they were in was sparsely furnished and poorly kept with cracked plaster walls and peeling paint.
They passed a room on their way to the front of the house, the door standing slightly ajar allowing her to glimpse two chairs and part of a table. There was also a blackened fireplace and a window that looked to be stained by soot. The light that was fighting its way through the glass informed her it was daytime, though she had no sense of the hour until she stepped through the front door and squinted toward the sun. It’s brightness instinctively told her it must be late afternoon.
Charlie had stopped his progress, his gaze sweeping across their surroundings as though he were searching for clues that might help him work out their location. Molly saw nothing distinctive besides the hills that hampered her view.
“That’s enough gawkin’.” A palm connected with Charlie’s temple, the impact twisting his head to the left. It was followed by a hard shove that sent him stumbling toward the first of two awaiting carriages. “Get in.”
Anger pulsed through Molly in hot feverish waves. She wanted to kick the horrid man who’d hurt her friend, but a stern backward glance from Charlie stayed her. Don’t , he seemed to say. You’ll just make it worse.
So she watched in silence as he set his foot on the carriage step and climbed in. Pretended not to care when she was led toward the other carriage. Separated from him, she sought solace in what he’d said about her parents, in the hope he’d provided.
Even as she worried they wouldn’t know where to start looking for her. Which meant help wasn’t coming any time soon. If at all.
Chief Constable Peter Kendrick was in the process of leaving his office at Bow Street when Billings, one of the few Runners on duty this early, stopped him on the way out. “Sir, there’s a man who says his six-year-old daughter’s gone missing. I was hoping you might be able to spare a moment and speak with him.”
Glancing past Billings, Peter spied a large man who sat, hunched over in a chair, distorting the hat he gripped between his hands. Deep grooves puckered his brow. His mouth was a stiff line that matched the concern in his eyes.
Peter sighed. He’d been awake for almost thirty hours by now, having spent the entire night interviewing Croft and writing his report. Going home to squeeze in a couple of hours of sleep had made no sense. Instead, he’d waited for an appropriate hour to arrive so he could head over to Orendel House and provide the earl with new details pertaining to his daughter’s murder.
That would have to wait another five minutes. Until he’d made sure the distraught father who’d come here seeking help was being assisted. That the proper procedure would be applied and his daughter located.
“Come with me,” Peter told Billings and crossed to where the man sat. He paused before him, waited while he slowly straightened and finally raised his chin to meet Peter’s gaze. The agony there was overwhelming. “Good morning, Mr…? ”
“Atkins,” the man rasped. He pushed himself upward as though with great effort.
“I’m Chief Constable Kendrick.” Peter gestured to the Runner who stood by his side. “Billings here tells me your daughter is missing.”
Mr. Atkins nodded. “She was playing in front of my butcher shop yesterday afternoon. When my wife went to tell her to get herself ready for supper, she’d disappeared. Vanished into thin air. I… I searched the nearby streets and asked everyone I happened upon if they’d seen her. Nothing. Didn’t know what else to do besides come here.”
“You made the right decision,” Peter told him, even as dread for the girl poured through him. At only six years old, she’d be in danger of any number of things. Even if she’d only wandered off on her own. “Billings will take your statement. We’ll proceed from there.”
“Can’t you do it?” Mr. Atkins’s voice cracked.
“I’m afraid I have a few pressing matters to see to first. But don’t worry. Billings is more than capable of completing this task.” Peter turned to the Runner. “Get as many details as possible, then run the case by Sir Nigel.”