maidservant at the home, raised her voice above the cacophony. “Please bid Mr. Makepeace good day.”
“Good morning, Mr. Makepeace!” a ragged chorus immediately responded.
“Good morning, children,” Winter said as he sat on a bench.
Nell hurried over with a bowl of porridge and a teapot.
“Thank you,” Winter murmured as he sipped the scalding tea. He glanced across the table to a small dark-haired boy sleepily picking his nose. “Did you sleep well, Henry Putman?”
All the boys at the Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children were christened Joseph and all the girls Mary—except for Henry Putman. When Henry had come to the home—at the advanced age of four—he had urgently argued to keep his own name. And since unlike most of the orphans he’d been old enough to speak, his wish had been granted.
At Winter’s greeting, Henry hastily dropped his hand. “Yes.”
The older boy sitting next to Henry elbowed him.
Henry glanced at the older boy in outrage.
“Sir!” hissed the older boy.
“Oh!” Henry exclaimed. “Yes,
sir
. I slept good. ’Cept for a dream.”
Winter, well aware that the subject of children’s dreamscould take up most of breakfast, only murmured an, “Indeed?”
But Henry had found his voice. “ ’Bout frogs, it was. Big frogs. Big as
cows
.”
Henry spread wide his arms to demonstrate the size of the mythical frogs, nearly upsetting his neighbor’s bowl of porridge.
Winter caught the bowl with the ease of long practice.
The older boy had other concerns. “Frogs can’t grow that big. Everyone knows that!”
Winter addressed the elder boy mildly. “Joseph Smith, perhaps you can inform Henry of your thoughts regarding the relative size of dream frogs in a more polite manner.”
For a moment both boys were silent as they worked through his statement and Winter was able to take a bite of his porridge in near peace.
Then Joseph Smith said, “I don’t believe frogs grow as big as cows.”
To which Henry Putman replied, “They do in my dreams.”
Which seemed to settle the matter.
A sudden squeal made Winter glance at the girls’ table and he noticed that Silence still hadn’t come down for breakfast. He caught Nell Jones’s eye and motioned her over.
“I believe it may be time to wake my sister.”
Nell’s blue eyes shifted down and away and Winter felt a vague sense of unease. “Um, well, as to that sir…”
“Yes?” he prompted when the maidservant seemed to have trouble finding her words.
Nell screwed tight her eyes. “She’s not here.”
Winter blinked. “What?”
“Mrs. Hollingbrook left the home the day beforeyesterday,” Nell said rapidly as if to get a nasty task over as quickly as possible. “And Mary Darling is with her.”
The children had begun to quiet, sensing with the animal instinct of the young when danger or excitement was around.
“Where,” Winter asked very softly, “is my sister?”
Nell gulped. “She’s gone to live at Charming Mickey O’Connor’s palace.”
S ILENCE HAD JUST finished feeding Mary Darling a small bowl of porridge that morning when she heard the faint sounds of male shouting. Fionnula glanced up. Silence paused, a spoonful of the last scrapings from the bowl still held outstretched toward Mary. The toddler had lost interest in her breakfast and was busy fingering the sticky bowl, studiously ignoring the spoon.
Silence tapped her on the shoulder. “Mary, finish your porridge.”
The shouts rose again, one of them sounding familiar.
A chill went through Silence. She dropped the spoon and ran to the door.
“Ma’am, ye can’t—” Fionnula called behind her as Silence yanked open the door.
The scowling face of Bert met her gaze.
“Who is below?” she demanded.
He opened his mouth, but she was already shoving past him.
“Oi!” Bert yelled in indignation.
Silence ran down the stairs, fearful of the quiet below. What had they done with
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