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This was a good thing, Will reminded himself. This was the way it had to be, and he’d found good, kind people for the Fletcher children. But these good people needed to know the rest, especially with the favor he meant to ask of Michael. “There is one other reason we can’t keep them, however.”
“Would this be your second reason for calling?”
“Yes. Before I tell you, though, I feel as if I should give you more than a shilling. It’s… a bit mad.”
“Well, now you must tell me.”
“As I said, George and Rose are orphans. They do, however, have an older brother. He appeared at Winnover shortly after we brought them home, saying he was of age now and wanted to claim them. Out of the goodness of his heart he would allow our little ruse to continue, though, for what I assumed would be a monetary compensation later. However, he’s been stealing from us, directing the children to steal valuables from us, and he’s been selling the items in Birdlip and the surrounding area.”
Michael made a sound in his chest. “Ah,” he said aloud. “I’m afraid I can’t take them in, then. Not with Patrick in the house. It’s a bit reckless, don’t you think?”
“No, no, no. You misunderstand. We mean to be rid of James Fletcher, and the children intend to help us.”
Standing so quickly his chair went over backward, Michael scrambled away. “I cannot hear this! For God’s sake, Will, you’re talking about murder!”
“What? No, I’m not. Sit down, Michael, and listen. Closely. Then tell me your opinion.”
Half an hour later he had something of an agreement and a renewed measure of hope—not just for the children, but for him and Emmeline. Of course it could all just as easily end in disaster, but he’d paid his shilling and tomorrow the newest play would begin.
Returning to Topper, Will headed back toward Winnover Hall. He’d conducted another successful negotiation, or at least the bones of one. This negotiation, though, was personal, and whichever way it went he could still find ruination.
Even if they succeeded tomorrow, they had eighteen days until the duke’s party began, and perhaps five after that to return to Winnover, get the children packed, and take them to their new home. He meant to make the most of those days. Once he figured out a way to tell Emmeline that he’d done what she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do, that was.
Even in a month of daily surprises, this morning had a good chance of winning the trophy. Emmie looked about the private room at the Blue Rose Inn. Winnover staff, select friends, one stranger, and all of them together the last hope of wrenching George, Rose, and Winnover Hall out of James Fletcher’s greedy, dangerous fingers.
“Mr. Pershing, are you certain this is absolutely necessary? Mrs. Pershing?” Farmer Harry Dawkins tugged at the crimson waistcoat hugging his frame. The fit wasn’t horrible, but with the way he kept pulling at the clothes he might well rip them off before they could be of any use.
Emmie smiled at him. “I’m afraid it is necessary, Mr. Dawkins. And Will and I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to help us. We could not do this without you.”
“You’ve servants aplenty at Winnover. Couldn’t one of them do this? I mean, it’s red.”
“It is, indeed,” she agreed, handing him another item borrowed from Will’s wardrobe, this one a dark blue greatcoat. “Red and blue, the colors of the Bow Street Horse Patrol. It’s the closest we could come to an official uniform. And James Fletcher is acquainted with every member of our staff. It’s why we’re here at the inn to begin with.”
“I understand that. It’s just… I’m not much for pantomimes and such. I don’t want to ruin it for you.”
Will walked up and clapped him on the shoulder. “We wouldn’t have asked if we didn’t think you could help. Mr. Allen there will take the lead. All you need to do is support him, just as if you were truly law officers.”
Emmie followed the farmer’s glance over to Mr. Francis Allen, solicitor, seated at the long inn table with his law partner, Michael Fenmore. “Both Mr. Allen and his partner are legal scholars, Mr. Dawkins,” she decided. “You’re doing nothing wrong, and you are helping free two innocent children from the clutches of a thief and lawbreaker.”
The farmer straightened. “I’ll do everything I can. It’s easy to imagine my little ones being caught up in something before Jenny and I could stop them.”
Hannah jumped up from her seat in the corner, another red waistcoat over her arm. “All finished. I hope it will suffice; I haven’t much experience with gentlemen’s garments.”
Mr. Allen took it from her, the solicitor nodding his thanks as he pulled it over his plain white shirt. “It fits well, Miss Hannah,” he said. “My thanks.” He sent a glance at his partner. “If someone yesterday had told me I’d be playing a Bow Street Runner today, I’d have laughed at them.”
Hopefully Allen wasn’t having second thoughts, too. If they lost both officers, they would have to ask the innkeeper, and Arnold Highwater would not fit in either waistcoat. “We are extremely grateful, Mr. Allen,” she said aloud.
“Don’t you worry, Mrs. Pershing,” the stout solicitor said with a brief smile. “I excel at pantomime and charades. And I’m always ready to champion a good cause.”
“Now, Harry,” Mr. Pershing said, handing the farmer the pair of irons they’d borrowed from the local constable—a favor that had cost them one of Mrs. Brubbins’s pies—and giving the key to Mr. Allen, “are you certain you haven’t seen James Fletcher about the village, or wandering through your fields?”
“I’m certain of it, Mr. Pershing. You described him, and I’ve never seen anyone like that. I’d know if there was a stranger roaming my wheat. We’ve more than enough pairs of eyes for that.”
Will smiled. “Then we’ve gone over your roles; Harry, you are Mr. Dawkins, and Mr. Allen is… Mr. Allen. Bow Street Horse Patrol.”
“Does it matter that we’ve no horses?” Mr. Dawkins asked, fitting a black beaver hat on his head. The top hat was too fine for a Bow Street officer, but the only wardrobe they’d had to borrow from for the farmer had been Will’s.
“Fletcher will assume you’ve left them out of sight somewhere. Just be confident and stern, and do as we rehearsed.”