Page 63 of Immortal Rose

Behind him, the jarvey muffled his laugh with a cough. I took another look at him then. He was small in stature and, save for a bushy beard, utterly unremarkable—the sort of man your eyes would pass right over and who’d slip from your mind with your next thought.

“I’ll be off then,” the jarvey said. “Until later, Fox.”

“Just a moment,” Foxcourt said. As he turned to discuss something with the coachman, a telltale glint entered the boy’s eyes.

I caught his wrist just as his hand subtly darted toward Foxcourt’s nearest pocket. My brows rose in warning. The boy pouted.

“Do you have a name?” I asked, releasing him.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe is an unusual name.”

He heaved out a sigh, mumbling something that sounded, horrifyingly, like Theophilus.

The boy stared at me, bracing for my reaction.

Oh, God, his name truly was Theophilus.

“Ye can call me Theo,” he offered.

“Come along then, young Theo,” Foxcourt said smoothly, waving him toward the tall gate leading into Foxcourt House’s back garden. As he scurried forward, Foxcourt touched my arm, slowing me.

“Snatcher?” he asked, his voice a hair above a whisper.

“The scourge of the Brickbats,” I said. “Men said to steal children off the street. The assumption is that they’re sold to factories or brothels, but none are ever seen again. It’s been happening for years.”

His hand fell away. I’d truly shocked him. Good. The whole of Albion needed to be.

“Why haven’t I heard of this?” he demanded, as if I could answer that question for him.

“I don’t know,” I said coldly. “Why haven’t you?”

You couldn’t uncover problems when you didn’t seek them out. As always, it had been left to the Brickbats to mete out its own justice. Anyone suspected of snatching children floated belly down in the Temese by sunrise.

Foxcourt set his jaw, watching as Theo bounded up through the sprawling flower beds. The boy gaped as though he’d never seen the likes of daffodils before. Likely, he hadn’t.

“I will take care of it,” Foxcourt said.

I shook my head. “Parliament won’t do anything. The best we can hope for now is one of the new police proving useful and stopping it.”

He looked at me then, his eyes as intent as I’d ever seen them. “I will take care of it.”

“No one man can fix the problem,” I countered.

There was that arrogance again, that haughty defiance of someone who couldn’t abide being told what he could not do. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

And God, did I want to believe him.

I knew the time had come at last to meet the elusive Mrs. Silver when the savory delight of fish, wine, and mushrooms greeted us at the door leading in from the garden.

The kitchen had come alive in our absence, thrumming with activity. The oven and stove breathed out hot gusts, carrying the promise of another delicious meal. A low murmur of laughter eased some of the worry from my shoulders as surely as if someone had come to take my coat.

Reddy stood beside the statuesque woman commanding the array of copper pots on the black stove, looking perfectly relaxed in his dishabille, wearing only his shirt and waistcoat. As the cook lifted a wooden spoon, he blew on the offering to cool it, then dutifully opened his mouth.

Curled in a basket near a door that likely led to the servants’ hall, Brigadier lifted her head in interest at the tantalizing smell. Foxcourt shut the door behind us, and at once, the spaniel leapt from her nest of blankets, her nails clicking against the tile as she bounded past Theo and me with a happy whine. She danced around Foxcourt’s feet, her tail wagging so hard she nearly toppled herself. The moment he reached down to pat her on the head, she flung herself to the ground belly up.

Theo hung back, staying a shy step behind me as the others turned to us. Reddy nearly choked on the spoon at the sight.