The Wrong Girl(74)

"Then you must have felt the same connection to Tate."

Jack said nothing. Langley, Sylvia and I turned to him. Even Bollard's gaze slid to Jack's.

"No," Jack finally said. "I felt nothing around Tate. Only you, Hannah."

A little jolt shot through me and my face heated. Only you. I smiled at him, and his lips quirked up at the edges. Then he frowned and looked down at his hands.

"Those children have to be gone by tomorrow," Langley said.

"What children?" Sylvia asked. "Oh, yes, Patrick's friends. Your friends," she said to Jack.

We'd told him about the children coming to us, and how they had no adult to care for them. He'd expressed his concern that they might wind up thieving to survive. We'd come to the conclusion on the journey home that something needed to be done, but we'd not decided what.

"Can't they stay here?" I asked.

"Not all of them!" Sylvia said. "There's far too many, especially with half the house in ruins."

"They're noisy and disruptive," Langley said. "I can't work with the two of them running about, let alone dozens."

"We'll need to find somewhere for them in London," Jack said.

"We ain't going to the workhouse!" The boy, Sniffles, stood in the doorway. He wiped the back of his hand across his nose. He looked neater than the first day he'd arrived. His hair had been combed flat and he wore clean clothes that were too large but looked warm.

"I won't let you end up at the workhouse, Davey," Jack said, going to him. "There must be a charity school you can attend."

Davey pulled a face. "I hate school."

Jack made as if to clip him over the ear, but nudged him affectionately instead. "Go on. Go find Tommy and annoy him. Let us sort out where you'll go."

"You sort it out, Jack," the boy said. He wrinkled his nose at Langley and Bollard. "Not them." He darted off.

Frowning, Jack watched him go.

"How many more of them are there?" I asked.

"Dozens. I'd been sending Patrick money, and he was supposed to be taking care of them." He came back inside and shut the door. "There's no room for all of them here, even if they weren't disruptive, but there's no one to look after them in London. They'll have to be separated and families found for each of them."

"Is it necessary to separate them?" I knew what it was like to be wrenched from the only family I knew, and I was eighteen. It would be horrible to do that to little children.

"Is that even possible?" Sylvia asked.

"It is with the right amount of money," Jack said. "No one will take in extra children without an incentive."

"I'm not sure you'd encourage people with good hearts that way," I said. "The greedy ones, on the other hand, would be falling over themselves."

Langley grunted. "I'll provide whatever is needed."

Bollard said something to Langley with his hands. The rapid movements were smooth and elegant, his fingers dexterous in their twisting and pointing. I'd never seen him communicate with Langley, it had always been the other way around. It made the servant more human, but only just.

When Bollard finished, Langley closed his eyes. He didn't open them or speak for some time, and I grew anxious that he would dismiss us all and make the boys leave Frakingham. What Jack would do in that situation was anyone's guess.

"There's a charity school in London," Langley finally said, opening his eyes. "Its patroness is a lady named Emily Beaufort, the wife of Jacob Beaufort. She's a most interesting woman, quite the sensation about eight years or so ago."

"Why?"

"She was a girl of dubious parentage who married the son of a prominent viscount."

"Is that all?" Sylvia scoffed. "It may be unusual, perhaps a curiosity even, but to describe it as a sensation...hardly."

"She can also communicate with ghosts."

Sylvia snorted through her nose. "Are you serious?"

"Have you ever known me to joke?"

She paled. "No. But are you certain she's not a charlatan? I've read of many accounts in the papers where spirit mediums have turned out to be false."

"You mean like the one you visited last year?" Jack asked.

Sylvia gave him a withering glare. "I would have thought a viscount's daughter-in-law would conduct herself in a manner befitting her station."

"So would I," Langley said.

"What has her ability to see ghosts got to do with the charity school?" I asked.

"Nothing," Langley said. "The two facts aren't connected. Why don't you write to her, Sylvia, and request she look into the situation with the children?"

She brightened, and I suspected she was glad to be given something to do. She bustled out, and I followed. Jack remained behind.