“I take it there’s no Mister Banke?” Beside them, the robber groaned. Eyes still on the woman, William kicked him in the ribs.
“How do you know?” she asked.
“A guess.” Her story was a common one. Men died, they deserted their families, they went to war and didn’t return. They beat their eldest son to death for fearing horses, causing a mother to run off with her remaining child and be declared a mad murderess. It was the dark side of life. If Mrs. Banke had a husband, she wouldn’t be so thin, or made to walk the streets at night because missing a day of work would mean no food for her daughter. His mother had lived like this for years to keep him from the marquess.
William handed her a card. It was monogramed with Lord Lefthook’s initials. “Take this to the doctor on Amber Street. He will help you. He may need to return with you to examine your daughter. It’s safe to let him.”
Her hand shook as she took the card. “I can’t pay him. He’s too fine.”
He wasn’t fine by London standards, but William knew him to be honest and good at his craft. They had an ongoing association, and a shared desire to alleviate the suffering in their city. “He’ll accept that card in payment. He’ll also have some coin for you, so you are to go during the day. He won’t be open at night,” he added, in case she thought to risk herself again and keep the extra coin.
“Thank you, my lord,” she stammered. “I never thought to see you with my own eyes. I wasn’t sure you were real.”
“You can best thank me by not putting yourself in such danger again. I am not everywhere.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“You can see yourself home?”
“Yes, my lord. Thank you.” She bobbed an awkward curtsy and hurried back the way she’d come.
William nudged the would-be robber with his foot. The man groaned. William dropped a couple coins on his chest as his eyes opened. “You look like you could use a drink, friend,” he said, before disappearing into the darkness to make sure Mrs. Banke got home.
