“Who is gone?”
“Royce.” Emily was already running down the stairs to fetch her cloak. “I went to bid him goodnight, and his bed hasn’t been slept in. I think he’s run away.”
“Why would you say that?”
“The other day he told me he wanted to look for his father.”
“He’ll be looking for a long time, then,” Stephen remarked, but Emily did not react to his dry comment.
He prayed that the boy was only hiding, for a small child would not make it far in the London streets without facing danger. He was careful to keep his tone relaxed. “How long has he been missing, do you think?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps hours. His coat and cap are gone.”
Her fear bordered on hysteria, but he needed to calm her. They would not find the boy without a clear, logical plan. Emily had nearly reached the door when Stephen stopped her. “Have you searched the house?”
Emily nodded. “I can’t find him anywhere.” Tears spilled over her cheeks, and she wrung her hands. “What if we don’t find him?”
“We will. But I want to search here first.” Although the boy had an adventurous side, he still didn't entirely believe that Royce would leave the house.
“He’s not in any of the rooms,” she insisted.
“There are many places for a young boy to hide, Emily.” Stephen led her up the stairs again, even as her attention remained upon the front door. “What were his favorite belongings?”
He wanted her to focus on answering questions rather than panicking. Calm and steady, he took her hand. Though he did not believe his enemies would go after a small boy, he could not know for certain.
“He loves his tin soldiers. But it doesn’t matter. They’re only toys.”
“Not to him, they aren’t. To him, they are his most prized possessions. He wouldn’t leave them behind if he ran away.”
When Stephen threw open the door to Royce’s room, neat rows of tin soldiers stood in line. He took her hand, trying to reassure her. “No boy would leave on a search for his father unless he brought his toys with him.”
“What if someone took him? The man who attacked me in the garden might have…” Her voice trailed away.
She had echoed his own fears, but he wouldn’t acknowledge them. Not yet. Stephen studied the room, checking beneath the bed and behind the curtains. When his search came up fruitless, he tried to allay her fears with a lie. “I doubt if anyone would kidnap him.”
“How can you be sure?”
His lips lifted in a slight smile. “I cannot. But I ran away a few times myself, as a lad.”
Emily did not appear consoled. “If anything has happened to him, I won’t forgive myself.”
The curtains billowed slightly, and Stephen stepped forward, planning to close the window.
He looked for Royce again, this time outside. A tall oak tree grew not far from the house, a long branch stretching out beside the boy’s window. Stephen peered out into the darkness.
“Bring me the lamp.” When Emily did, he opened the window wider and held the lamp into the darkness. There, curled against two crossed branches, Royce slept. A pair of linen drawers were tied around his head, pirate-style. He wore his black coat, and under that, his nightshirt bared his legs to the cool air. His cap rested on a smaller branch nearby.
Emily gasped at the sight of him. “Get him back inside before he falls to his death!”
Stephen handed her the lamp, and she held the curtains back as he prepared to climb on to the branch. It was a precarious balance, but he managed to edge himself onto the thick limb, holding the windowsill for balance.
“Royce,” he said gently, not wanting to startle the boy. “It’s time to come inside.”
The boy yawned and blinked sleepily. “I want to sleep outside.”
“You’ve worried your aunt.”
“Royce, please come in,” Emily begged. Fear hovered in her eyes. Without waiting for the boy to argue further, Stephen lifted him into his arms and slid across the branch to hand him over to Emily.
