“We need to find him,” David replied.
“Yes, sir! I can spread the word, give you some ideas of where to look, report it to the office in Wapping, but you should hire yourself a Bow Street Runner, especially as he’s related to the Earl.”
He came from behind the counter. “Most likely he were taken for his clothes and be left somewhere naked, or if the woman has a spit o’decency, in rags.”
“For his clothes?” David asked.
“Yes, sir. Those the most desperate steals the child fer their clothes, strips them, then sells the togs fer pennies to the pawnbrokers. Leaves the hapless tots where they stripp’d ‘em, sometimes close to a pawnbroker.”
Rani’s brow furrowed as she tried to closely follow what the man said. She understood English better than she spoke it—especially when she was stressed—but sometimes they used words she did not know. What was this pawnbroker? She looked up at Mr. Thornbridge.
“Thank you. That’s most helpful,” David said. He reached into his pocket. “Here’s a few of my cards, if you would be so good as to pass the word on to your associates.”
“Certainly sir, and good luck to you.”
David led Rani away from the makeshift office.
“What is this pawnbroker?” she asked softly.
“A shop for lending money for goods. If the goods are not retrieved in a certain amount of time, the pawnbroker sells them.”
“Like a bank?” she asked.
David laughed. “Yes, a bit like a bank, I suppose, that lends money based on assets, but on a much different scale, and they are not in the best parts of the city.”
“What do we do now?” she asked.
“We contact Bow Street and get the runners involved. They will be better equipped than we are to find the boy. Come.”
He grimly led her away from the wharf. He was glad that she did not question where they went or what they would do next. He wasn’t sure himself what was the best course of action. He had come to hate the wharves, and only agreed to continue to work for Waddley Spice and Tea until Lady Branstoke sold it. There was greed and poverty and cruelty in and around the business of shipping. It revolted him. Sometimes he had nightmares of the attack he’d suffered on the wharves, paid for by supposed gentlemen of thetonafter he had discovered their vile business of selling and shipping young women overseas for sex. But he’d promised Lady Branstoke he would stay with the company, and he would, until she could complete the sale, so they could both be free of it. But what he would do afterward, he did not know.
He would like to leave the city and perhaps be an estate steward or a peer’s secretary. When he was younger, and home from school, he used to follow the nearby Larchside estate steward around and pepper him with questions about the estate, which at the time had been in decline. But life after school took him elsewhere. Now, however, he attended every lecture he could on the latest theories on growing crops and livestock husbandry, to educate himself about his new goal.
Life certainly had twists and turns. He remembered how proud he’d been to secure a position with Waddley Spice and Tea. Now he grew restless for his next position.
He hurried Miss Rangaswamy, as best he might, to the street. A couple of blocks away from the wharf, they secured a hackney and were on their way to Bow Street.
2
The carriage halted with a jangle of reins and a small jolt, shaking Rani from her thoughts. She looked out the carriage window. They were on a street bounded on either side by brick and stone-block buildings. The street was full of carriages, people walking purposefully, and merchants calling out their wares and services. It differed from the dock sounds—louder. Some would call it noisy. Rani felt comforted by it, especially after the monotonous sounds of the sea voyage. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed the sounds of the city’s comings and goings.
David climbed out of the carriage first and then extended her a firm gloved hand. Catching her balance on the cobbles—after six months aboard a ship, it would take her a while to lose her sea legs—Rani looked wide-eyed and anxiously about at the people, horses, and coaches crowding the street.
She swiftly readjusted the pallu—the loose, embroidered end of her green saree—over her head and hurried after Mr. Thornbridge, afraid she would lose sight of him as she had Krishan. This London place was cold and gloomy in fall—a world the color of ash. The heavy stone weight she’d felt on the dock yet sat in her chest, threatening to steal her breath away. Her head ached from her tears, her cheeks papery dry. She hadn’t eaten at all that day, too excited to break her fast that morning as the ship sailed up the river to port. Then there had been a bit of sun breaking through the clouds, glittering on the water swells as, on the early morning high tide, the ship navigated the Thames River passage to the dock. But the sun hid as the sailors scurried to secure the ship to the wharf. The pleasant breeze that had ruffled her saree as she stood on deck, lifting her face to the sun, had become an unpleasant, chilly wind. She pulled the layers of the light saree fabric tighter about her body.
At least she’d ensured Krishan had food that morning.
Sahib had not adequately prepared her for the voyage or their arrival in England. He had been so insistent they leave India as soon as possible so his son would not see him die. She felt ignorant, like the verist peasant. Her confidence in herself, and the confidence Mr. Sedgewick had in her, had been real six months ago when Krishan and she had left India. How naïve she had been. And still was!
The sea journey had not agreed with either of them. They both lost weight. And though she tried to ensure they walked the deck every day for exercise, many times the weather did not favor their walks. Krishan slept fitfully, countless times crying himself to sleep while clutching his mother’s singing bird music box that no longer worked. He never had a good sleep, and therefore she did not as well. He didn’t understand why they had left his father and his home, didn’t understand why they were on the ship day after day. He had always been a sunny child, but the changes had eroded his sunny nature and made him fearful. She well understood the change; still, she hoped to one day see him happy again.
The other passengers on the ship had kept to themselves, some looking at them with raised eyebrows but not a word said to them. There were no other Indian passengers, only the lascars hired as sailors, and they were too busy to speak. Rani found herself depressed with fears and uncertainties—her old demons—returning. Why did they have to leave India? That is what she now wondered. But Sahib had been so insistent there was no time to think, just to do. She chided herself, for her fears were her weakness, yet she couldn’t shake them off.
During the long sea voyage, she’d thought often about Sahib’s illness. It was not like anything she had seen or heard of before. He just became sicker and sicker. By the time they left, his hair was falling out and he could scarcely rise from his bed.
She wanted to search for Krishan herself; however, she knew she would be of no help for him and would be as lost as he in this strange, new place. She would have to trust this stranger. He’d been the only one to show her kindness. The knowledge somersaulted her stomach. She would do what she must each day, and each moment at a time she would weigh her options for the best for Krishan. At least this stranger, this Mr. Thornbridge, seemed to know of the Sedgewick family and that they had some importance in this country.
David stopped and turned toward her. When she came to his side, he took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm, all without saying a word. She looked up at him, hoping he could see the gratitude in her expression. He nodded and led her to a large, gray, stone-block building that dominated the street. He led her up its shallow steps to heavy, dark wood double doors. This must be the Bow Street office he had spoken of earlier.
