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This was bad. Very bad.
“No offense, Mr. Pershing,” the young man said with another wide smile, “but I don’t intend to be bought off or threatened.” He cupped a hand to his mouth. “George! Rosie! Guess who’s found you, lovelies?”
“We do not shout in this house,” Will stated. “My office. Now, if you please.”
Footsteps pounded on the upstairs landing. As he turned to look up, George peered over the balcony railing. A moment later Rose joined him, ducking down to see through the balustrade. “It’s James,” she said after a moment. “What are you doing here, James?”
“Come down and see your brother, my darlings!” he said. “I told you I’d be back to collect you when I was old enough. You shouldn’t have let the nuns hand you off to anyone.”
“My dears, would you tell us who this is and how he relates to you?” Emmeline asked, stepping back toward the stairs.
George blew out his breath, taking Rose’s hand as they started down. “He’s our brother, James Fletcher. I thought you was in St. Giles Parish or somewhere, James.”
That was interesting. St. Giles was overflowing with thieves and pickpockets. The location didn’t make James Fletcher a lawbreaker, of course, but given the larceny being perpetrated by his siblings, it didn’t speak well for him, either.
“Nonsense,” James said, chuckling. “I’ve been on the docks, finding work, earning blunt so’s we could be a family when I was old enough. And here I am. Come down and give your brother a kiss.”
When the children reached the foyer, James Fletcher knelt and pulled them both into his arms. Will’s attention remained with the young ones—George especially. He didn’t seem frightened, but neither had he run forward or smiled. Not precisely a joyous family reunion. Then again, Will and Emmeline needed the children, so perhaps he was hoping something underhanded was in the offing.
“What is your intention then, Mr. Fletcher?” he asked. If this James did leave with the young ones, he and Emmeline would have to start from the beginning again, returning to London, finding another two children of the appropriate age, gaining their cooperation… and damn it all, he liked George and Rose. He didn’t want to have to begin again.
“You hear that, Georgie?” their brother said, standing again. “I’m a ‘Mr. Fletcher’ now.” He tugged on the lapels of his greatcoat. “Well, I did come here to bring the little ones back to London, as that’s where we’re from,” he said, rocking on his heels. “But first I’d like to know what’s afoot. The nuns said the babes were only borrowed.”
“Yes. They’re borrowing us to be their children,” Rose said. “I have pretty dresses now.” She looked down at her shift. “Except I’m supposed to take a bath, and I don’t want the ague.”
“You’re pretending to be their babies?” James lifted a straight eyebrow. “Perhaps we should have that chat after all, Mr. Pershing.”
Will put a hand on Emmeline’s shoulder. “Of course. Would you mind seeing to George and Rose, my dear?”
The look she gave him said that she would much rather have been in the office conversing with James Fletcher, but with her charming smile she nodded. “Certainly not. Let’s get you dressed, Rose. Perhaps the bath can wait until this evening.”
“I’ll get the ague worse, if I take a bath at night,” the little girl said, but took the hand offered her and headed back upstairs, George behind them but looking over his shoulder at his brother.
Once they were safely away, Will led the way to his office, halfway down the long main corridor of the house. He and Emmeline hadn’t done anything wrong; if anything, it was the nuns who should never have allowed them to borrow two children with a family member waiting to collect them. But they were here now, and they’d made a great deal of progress already, and he couldn’t think of a single positive thing about George being back in St. Giles Parish and its environs. It could be even worse for Rose.
“You’ve got a lovely home here, Mr. Pershing,” James observed, flopping into the chair facing Will’s desk. “Soon as I got to Swindon everyone knew how to find Winnover Hall just outside Birdlip.”
Wonderful. Fleetingly Will wondered if James Fletcher had also asked where to find his two orphaned siblings, who were residing with the Pershings at Winnover Hall. Damnation. “Thank you,” he said aloud. “I would first like to say that my wife and I had no idea that George and Rose had any living family to speak of. They did not mention you.”
James shrugged. “George likes to pretend they’re alone. Gets him more sympathy, I think. But the fact is, they ain’t alone, and they do have family. Me.” He sat forward, crossing his ankles. “But I have to say, this business of borrowing them don’t sit right. And dressing them up fancy? You do mean to give them back, don’t you?”
No, because they’d specifically asked to go somewhere that wasn’t an orphanage—and somewhere that wasn’t in London. Hmm. “It’s somewhat complicated,” Will ventured, “but Emmeline’s grandfather dotes on children. His mind, though, is… dimming. He continues to believe we have children, which we don’t. We’re going to visit him in a few weeks, and we thought to bring George and Rose for what might be our last time with him.”
“Ahh. I see. Because he loves children so.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“Well, that’s very kind of you.” James sat back again, his thin lips pursed. Abruptly he slapped his knee with one hand. “I’ll tell you what, Mr. Pershing. What say I stay hereabouts to make sure you’re doing right by the little ones? If nothing looks… unseemly, maybe I’ll see fit to let you take them to visit old Grandpa. I’ve no wish to curdle a dying man’s last chance for a bit of sunlight.”
Unseemly. It wasn’t precisely an accusation, but the stench of it lingered. “Where, hereabouts, do you mean to stay?”
“I heard there’s an inn in Birdlip. That might do, though I spent some blunt coming out here to find the babies. Eight weeks in an inn might just clean me out, and who knows where we’d end up then.” He narrowed one eye. “Seems to me I’m doing you a favor here, Mr. Pershing. Perhaps you’d see fit to pay my stay at the Blue Rose Inn, is it? The little ones could come visit me there.”
And that would raise more questions that he and Emmeline couldn’t answer. “No, Mr. Fletcher,” Will said, digging his fist into his thigh beneath the desk, “I insist that you stay here. We could do no less.”
“With you? Good glory, Mr. Pershing, that’s very kind of you. Especially with me hurrying out here and neglecting to bring a stitch of luggage. It does make me see you and the missus even more kindly, though. Thank you.”
“Of course.” Pushing away from the desk, Will rang for Powell.