Honourable Doctor, Improper Arrangement. Mary Nichols
in a plain brown frockcoat and leather breeches tucked into brown boots. His starched muslin cravat was tied in a simple knot. Not one of the haut monde, she decided, but definitely not the child’s papa. He was holding the lad firmly as if he were used to dealing with recalcitrant children, so perhaps he was a schoolmaster. He was a very handsome schoolmaster, if he was.
‘I thought he might fall in,’ she said, looking about her, as much to avoid the amused gaze of his grey eyes as to ascertain that no one was claiming the child. ‘He seems to be all alone.’
‘Do you know who he is?’
‘No, do you?’
‘No. We had better try to find out.’ He fetched the child out from under his arm and stood him on the ground and, without letting go of him, squatted down beside him, so that he was able to talk to him on his own level. ‘Now, you imp, can you tell us your name?’
The boy knuckled his eyes, depositing more dirt on an already filthy face. ‘Joe.’
‘Well, Joe, we should like to know where you live.’
Without speaking, the boy pointed in the general direction of the park gate.
‘That is not much help. Can you take me to your home?’
This was answered with a silent look of incomprehension.
‘Judging by his clothes, he must come from a very poor area,’ Kate said. ‘How did he get here?’
‘I imagine he walked.’ He looked up at Kate, standing hesitantly beside him. The expression of concern on her lovely face did her credit, he decided; not many young ladies would bother about a little urchin and would certainly never think of touching one. ‘Do not look so worried, miss, I will take charge of him, if you have other things to do.’
Kate hesitated. How did she know this man was trustworthy? And supposing he could not find the child’s parents, what would he do? London was a huge place and the boy’s little legs must have carried him quite a long way if he lived in the rookeries of the city, which his ragged clothes indicated he almost certainly did. ‘What are you going to do with him?’
‘Try to find his parents.’
‘How?’
‘That is a good question,’ he said, noting her wariness. ‘I shall take him to the areas where I think he may be known and ask if anyone recognises him.’
‘It will be like looking for a needle in a haystack.’
‘Probably. Have you a better idea?’
‘No. But will you be safe?’
‘Oh, I think so,’ he said. ‘I am a doctor, you see, and sometimes I have to venture into places that respectable young ladies can know nothing of.’
‘Of course I know of them,’ she said sharply. ‘I do not go about with my head in the sand.’
He looked down at the boy, now contentedly sucking his thumb, the only bit of him that was clean, and looking from one to the other, as if wondering which one to cling to. ‘You want to go home to your ma and pa, don’t you, my lad?’
Joe nodded.
‘Are you sure you wish to take responsibility for him?’ Kate asked. ‘After all, it was I who picked him up.’
The child had tugged at her heartstrings and his welfare was important to her, as was the welfare of all children, whoever they were, rich or poor. She couldn’t help it; if she saw a child needing help, she must do what she could. It had got her into trouble with her grandmother on more than one occasion. ‘Giving to the poor is one thing,’ she had said. ‘I applaud that in you, but to touch them is entirely another. You never know what you might pick up. And you will get yourself talked about.’ None of which discouraged her.
‘What would you do if I left him with you?’ he asked.
‘The same as you, I expect, try to find his parents.’
‘How?’
His question gave her a moment’s pause, but she was not going to admit she was floored. ‘Talk to the boy,’ she said. ‘Gain his trust, ask him to take me to his home, as you have done.’
‘You think you can go into the slums knocking on doors?’
‘I would if I had to.’
‘I do not doubt it, but you would soon be in trouble. No, I think you should leave it to me.’
‘Very well, but if you do not mind, I will come with you.’
‘I do not think that is a good idea, Miss…’ He paused, waiting for her to supply a name.
‘I am not a miss. I am Mrs Meredith and I am not a delicate flower, nurtured in a hot house, so you may take that condescending smile from your face.’
‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. Doctor Simon Redfern, at your service.’ He doffed his hat and swept her an exaggerated bow, which made her laugh. It was a pleasant sound and, in spite of himself, had him smiling in response.
‘So, Dr Redfern, let us see where this young man leads us, shall we?’
‘I think you will regret it.’
‘I will regret it if I leave him.’
‘Why? Do I look like an abuser of infants?’
She looked up into his face and felt herself colouring to think that he had so quickly taken her up on what she said. She hadn’t meant that, had she? On the other hand, just because a man dressed like a gentleman and had a smile that would melt ice, did not mean he was not capable of wickedness. But she did not want to believe that of him. ‘I am sorry,’ she said. ‘It is only that I feel responsible and I cannot rest until I know he is safely back home.’ She looked down at Joe, who was looking bemused rather than afraid. He was thinner than he ought to be, but he was not cowed. Life had already taught him some harsh lessons. Taking his hand, she asked gently, ‘Will you show us where you live?’
Simon gave a grunt of a laugh. ‘On your head be it.’ He could no more abandon her than she could the child.
He fell into step beside her. She was talking cheerfully to the boy, though she received no reply except a pointed finger, which might or might not have been meant to indicate a direction. When she asked him if they were going the right way, he nodded.
‘I do not think he knows where he is,’ Simon said, as the boy led them from the park and down to the river where the mudlarks paddled, picking up flotsam and jetsam to sell. He called out to the scavengers, asking them if they recognised the child, but they shook their heads. ‘It is a long shot, but we could try Covent Garden,’ he said. ‘Unless you would rather I took him on alone?’
‘No. I have come this far, I am not leaving now. His mama must be frantic with worry.’
‘If she has even missed him.’
‘How cynical you are!’
‘With good cause. You cannot know the half of it.’
She wondered what he meant, but decided not to comment. By this time the child’s little legs were too tired to carry on, so Simon hoisted him on to his shoulders, apparently unconcerned about the dirt being transferred to his good clothes. Kate walked purposefully beside him, determined to stay with him.
‘Supposing we cannot find his parents, what shall we do?’ she asked.
‘I shall have to take him to a home which looks after destitute children.’
‘Do you mean the Foundling Hospital?’
‘No, that only takes the children of unmarried mothers and only then if the mother can be enabled to find work and redeem herself. I am thinking of the Hartingdon Home.’
‘Hartingdon?’ she queried in surprise.
‘Yes.