Wariness entered each child’s expression, excepting Anne, who popped her thumb out of her mouth; peered up at Lydia with round, brown eyes; and cocked her head down the road. “We lives jus’ dow’ there. Two streets o’er, ’bove the pawnbroker’s.”
There. That was all she’d wanted—why did Jones have to create such a fuss? “Thank you, Anne. I shall see you soon, I hope.”
But the children were no longer watching her. Their eyes were fixed on something behind Lydia. She turned but could not immediately decipher who or what they were watching, the street was so full of people.
“Is something the matter?” she asked.
“Pick tha’ up, Georgie,” Fanny muttered, pointing at the hat on the ground.
George swiped it up but grumbled, “Is George.”
Jones was upon them then, breathing a little heavily from the exertion. “Come along, Miss Faraday. We best be going.”
“But is something wrong?” she asked the children again.
“No’ at all—”
“Fanny’s worried the Runner’ll see us. They don’ like our folk.” Anne had once again popped her thumb out of her mouth to fill in the gaps.
Lydia glanced over her shoulder again, this time noting a man in a dark coat buttoned to his neck and a tall black hat. A Bow Street Runner. His eyes were on the children, and he was headed their direction. Just then, someone intercepted him, someone tall and near her in age. Someone familiar.
Lord Berkeley glanced over at their little group, acknowledging Lydia with a nod. She began to lift her hand in return, but he was already talking with the man. He pointed down a street in the opposite direction, and the man, with a quick look at the children, went the other way.
An audible sigh escaped George.
Lydia frowned. “It is not as if you are doing anything wrong.” Was begging illegal in London? She did not actually know.
Fanny shrugged. She was still trying to gather up her siblings. “Come on now. Mama’ll be lookin’ for us.”
An increasingly familiar voice sounded at Lydia’s elbow. “Good day, Fanny, George, Anne... and Miss Faraday, of course.”
Gooseflesh erupted down her arm, and Lydia looked up at Lord Berkeley. His expression was as stoic as ever, but hers was quite the opposite. He knew these children? By name?
The children’s faces lit up.
George stood up a little straighter and bowed. It was far less crooked than the one he’d given her. “Thanks for turnin’ the Runner away.”
“Yes, sir, we thanks you kindly,” Fanny said, looking up at Lord Berkeley in near reverence.
Lord Berkeley cut his eyes to Lydia but then dropped down in front of the children. “Now, it just so happened that there was some trouble a couple streets over, but”—he looked at each child in turn—“I do not think your mother would approve of you being here.”
Lydia watched the exchange with surprise. This was a side of Lord Berkeley—of any lord—she never could have imagined seeing. And it was immensely endearing.
“Can you promise that you will follow your mother’s counsel from now on?” Lord Berkeley asked the children. Lydia was beginning to feel that she was intruding on a personal conversation between old friends. Disproportionately sized friends.
Each of the children nodded eagerly.
Lord Berkeley pressed a coin into Fanny’s hand. “Good. Now, I think you all deserve a little candy. Take some home to your mother.” When she hesitated to close her hand around the coin, he offered that crisp nod again. His expression was most severe, despite the kindness he was bestowing. “Go on.”
A smile spread across Fanny’s face as smoothly as hot butter on bread, and she grabbed little Anne’s hand, tugging her back down the walk without a glance for the adults watching them go.
“That was far too much money for a bit of candy,” Jones chose that moment to remark. Lydia shot her a look. Certainly the woman did not act like a maid around Lydia, but where was her decorum around Lord Berkeley?
“Indeed,” Lord Berkeley responded without ire. Without any emotion, really. “And far less than what would truly be helpful to their family, unfortunately.”
“Do you know them well?” Lydia asked, watching as the trio entered the shop. Hopefully the storekeeper would be kind.
“I know their parents.” He offered no more than that.
