Kendrick’s brows drew down over his eyes. “It’s coming from your friend’s house.”
Genevieve seized hold of her skirts and hurried as fast as was humanly possible.
On the main stair of the house, she found Sally and several other lodgers lobbing complaints and insults at a florid-faced man in an overly flashy waistcoat and jacket. “They haven’t paid the rent, so they’ll be out on the morrow!” he bellowed back at the crowd.
“Shame on you!” a woman called.
“If they can’t pay, they must be out!” he demanded.
Sally glared at him, her large arms crossed over her chest, then caught sight of Genevieve and Kendrick. “Glory be, Miss Dryden,” she burst out.
Genevieve could not place the reason for such an exclamation. “Sally? Whatever is the matter?”
“He thinks he’s gonna turf out the Hartshornes in the morn,” Sally said, her eyes still wide.
“What? You, sir—explain yourself!” Genevieve demanded, advancing on the man. “What is the meaning of this? To put a family out on the street because they are in arrears—how badly?”
The florid-faced man cast a dismissive glance at her—and then recoiled, his gaze lifting as Kendrick’s solid presence made itself known at her back.
Oh, Genevieve thought.That’s what had Sally so discombobulated.
“Two days late on the rent,” the man said. “Won’t open the door. Tried my key, but they’ve got something in front of the door. In the morning, I’ll come back with a locksmith and take the door off its hinges if we have to.”
Through the name-calling and muttering of the people on the landings spectating at the confrontation, Genevieve heard crying. “Then take yourself away, sir, and stop disturbing these good people’s evenings. I am sure you have many other tasks that demand your attention. Like kicking puppies.”
“As my wife said,” Kendrick rumbled in a voice that silenced the jeers and made the man pale. “Get you gone.”
“Coo,” one woman muttered. “Ain’t that voice blooming marvelous?”
The man attempted to tug at his waistcoat and cuffs, but Kendrick’s gaze on him made sweat bead at his hairline. “Tomorrow morning. Eight sharp!” he repeated in a voice no doubt intended to be firm, but it came out querulous. Then he quit the premises with haste.
“When did you get a leg shackle, Miss Dryden?” Sally asked in the wake of the man’s departure. “Or have you always had him?”
“No, it’s a fairly recent acquirement, Sally,” Genevieve said, distracted. “What on earth did he mean? Has Mrs. Hartshorne barricaded her family in their rooms?”
Sally looked grave. “She ain’t there, missus.”
Genevieve gasped. “What?”
“If we told old Morehouse, he’d pack them both off to the poor house or an orphan asylum. We kept hoping she’d come home, but no one knows what’s happened to her.”
Her words struck Genevieve to the heart. “You mean August and June are in there alone?”
Sally nodded. “And when Morehouse started making a fuss about the rent, I think the boy blocked the door.”
Genevieve looked up at Kendrick, biting her lip.
He met her gaze steadily. “Which door is theirs?”
Genevieve led the way to the second floor. She could hear them better now. The baby was crying, and though he made little sound, she thought she could hear the boy sniffle.
“August?” she said, pressing her forehead to the door. “Sweetheart, it’s Miss Dryden. We’ve sent the bad man away. Please don’t be afraid. We’re here to help. Can you open the door?”
A long silence, before a voice thick with tears said, “The chair’s stuck.”
Kendrick set his hand on the door and gave her a nod.
Genevieve called, “That’s all right. We’re going to open the door. Make sure you and June are standing far back.”
