“’Tis a good question, but I do not know the answer. We can attempt to count them,” he teased, enjoying the scent of her hair.”
Mary seemed to relax as their conversation progressed. “Do they permit swimming in the Serpentine, Your Grace?” she asked.
“I believe there are areas for boating, but not swimming—at least not on purpose, although there have been many unfortunate drownings.” He glanced out the window. “We are almost in Berkeley Square,” he murmured.”
“I believe I am ready for the ice, Your Grace,” Bella said, looking at him meaningfully. “The warming brick kept me toasty in here,” she added. He noticed a slight quiver to her chin.
The carriage stopped in front of the tea shop. “Let us see what Gunter’s has for their latest flavored ices,” Slade suggested, opening the door, and helping the women from the carriage.
“Mmm. It smells delightful in here,” commented Bella as they entered the shop. “I would like the cinnamon flavor and Mary asked for her favorite, jasmine rose.”
Slade brought the ices to the table. “I have never been in Gunter’s this close to Christmas,” he observed, sitting down and enjoying a taste of his clove-flavored ice. “This place is usually much busier,” he said with a laugh.
“It is nice to find a seat, Your Grace,” Mary remarked in between spoonfuls of her lavender-colored ice.
The small party finished their ices and walked around to the surrounding shops, enjoying some decorations out for the Christmastide holidays, eventually making their way back to the carriage for the ride back.
As they rode through the park, Slade noticed Mary staring out the window. He followed her gaze and saw a small boy struggling with a dark-headed man in a ragged coat and briefly wondered if it was the boy’s father. “He glanced at Bella, who had turned her attention to the window.”
“Mary, what is wrong? Do you see something?” Bella asked gently.
“I am not sure, milady,” Mary said, shakily.
Slade looked from Bella to Mary. “What do I not know? There is something . . .”
Bella cleared her throat. “When Mary was young, she was struggling against a man in the park. My governess at the time put me in the carriage, and with the footman, rescued her. The man chased the carriage and finally stopped. I remember watching him from the back window of the carriage. He raised his fist and said words, but we could not hear. There were lots of people around, but Mrs. Shires was the only one that helped Mary.”
“I see.” He was uncertain he did. But what he saw was a child being badly abused by a man ten times his size. Slade glanced out the window again. The man cuffed the boy, and the boy kicked the man’s shin. The boy looked to be about four years old. Noticeably, while dirty, this child’s clothing was a higher quality than the man’s.
When the child tried to run, the man jerked him back by his hair and punched the boy in shoulder, eliciting a large cry of pain. Slade took his cane and rapped on the ceiling of the coach, stopping it. “Stay here, ladies,” he said, gripping the doorknob.
“Wait,” cried Mary, shaking. “Your Grace, he looks like the man from my nightmares, just older. Be careful, Your Grace.”
“It may or may not be the same man, but pummeling a child is wrong,” Slade said, quickly exiting the carriage.
Slade approached the young man and child, noticing that everyone who had been near the area had left. The child’s face was bloodied, and his shoulder looked bruised.
“I want my mommy,” the child wailed.
“Your mommy does not want you. I’m all you got,” the man sneered. “Do what I say next time, and you won’t be beaten.”
“See here,” Slade said, walking up and interrupting the man. The man tried to push the child behind him, but the young boy kept pulling away.
“Mind yer business, guvnor, or you’ll be sorry!” the man yelled, yanking the child’s arm.
“I have just made it my business,” Slade replied. “What is your son’s name?” Slade looked from the man to the boy.
“Ain’t none of your business what ’is name is. I am teaching my son a lesson, right lad?” the man said, glaring at the boy.
The boy shook his head, tears flowing from his small face. “N . . . n . . . no. I want Mommy,” he cried.
Another man put down a newspaper he had been holding up and walked from where he had been sitting across the road. Slade recognized him as one of the two runners he had hired the day before. He gave a quick nod acknowledging him and walked up next to Slade and stood, arms crossed. “I don’t like children being hurt either, your lordship.”
“This here’s none of your business. This is my boy, and I don’t need help to discipline him,” the man spat.
“The look on the child’s face says otherwise. Suppose we go to the nearest magistrate’s office and sort this out. You should easily be able to prove your claim to the child.” Slade suggested, noting fear and anger in the man’s eyes.
Before they said another word, the man shoved the child at him and ran in the other direction, leaping over shrubs and disappearing down an embankment. Slade wanted to go after him but had the women to think about. The child stood there, crying. Slade squatted down on his haunches and looked into the child’s face. There was no longer any doubt this child did not belong to the man. “Can you tell us your name?”
