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“Then I am most fortunate that you are here to assist me,” Alexander said.

His words had the desired effect. Mr. Morris tugged on his jacket and stood a little taller. “I shall endeavor to be of service, my lord.”

Alexander wasted no more time on niceties. “I assume the hospital maintains files on the wet nurses it employs, just as it does on the children it places,” he said.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good.” He fixed the man with a firm look. “I wish to see Mrs. Stanley’s file.”

“Uh.”

Mr. Morris’s self-assurance deflated like a sinking hot-air balloon, and Alexander was almost positive that had the man not already been holding a small ledger, he would have been wringing his hands instead.

“I do not believe that my request should cause undue concern. You are simply sparing me a ride to High Brodmore, Mr. Morris. Whatever information there is within Mrs. Stanley’s file would be easily obtained from the lady herself, or through her friends and neighbors. She has not hidden her service to the Foundling Hospital children from others.”

Mr. Morris’s eyes darted to the door leading to the room where Alexander knew the files to be kept. “Well, I suppose . . . considered under that light . . .” His indecision was almost tangible. Alexander held his ground, watching the man expectantly. “Very well.” Mr. Morris drew his shoulders back. “If you would give me a moment, I shall see what I can find.”

Alexander waited until the assistant director had disappeared into the room behind the desk before releasing a slow breath. The first—and most difficult—step was complete. Now to discover all he could about the home into which Asher Barton had been delivered.

When Mr. Morris reappeared holding another brown file, Alexander was surprised to see that it was considerably fatter than Asher’s had been.

“Mrs. Stanley has been serving the children here for some time,” Mr. Morris said in response to Alexander’s unasked question. He set the file on the desk and opened it. “Her most recent placement was six months ago.” He handed Alexander the first piece of paper. Alexander glanced at the name on the top: Adam.

“As you know, three years ago, she took in Asher,” Mr. Morris continued, removing the second piece of paper and shifting through the ones beneath. “She took in a child in 1783, 1781, 1778, and 1776. All boys.”

Six boys beyond her own son. Having been a child who successfully manufactured scrapes aplenty without the assistance of siblings, Alexander could scarcely imagine repeatedly opening his home to such mischief.

“She is compensated for this service, I assume.”

“Yes, my lord. Our wet nurses are well-paid.”

Alexander reached for the forms and set them next to each other on the desk. Adam and Asher, then came Elijah, David, Benjamin, and Daniel. “They all bear Biblical names,” he said.

Mr. Morris shrugged. “It is what our priest prefers.”

Alexander nodded, his eyes drawn to another similarity on three of the forms. “What does this red X mean on Elijah’s, David’s, and Daniel’s documents?”

“It means they are deceased.”

Alexander’s head jerked up. Miss Hadford had told him that she believed the child Mrs. Stanley had lost recently had been a Foundling Hospital ward, but to have three of the six boys in her care die was no small thing. “Deceased? How did they die and when?”

Mr. Morris leaned forward, straining to read the paperwork upside down. “Elijah died at the beginning of the month of the influenza,” he said. “David died in 1785 of dysentery, and Daniel died in 1780, also of the influenza.”

It took Alexander a few moments to make the calculations, but when he was finished, the unease he’d experienced after reading Miss Hadford’s letter had grown into something impossible to ignore. “So each of these boys became ill at the age of four, soon before they were to return to London.”

Something in his voice must have communicated his disquiet, for Mr. Morris assumed a conciliatory tone. “An unfortunate coincidence, to be sure. But as you are aware, these diseases are all too common—particularly amongst the working class. I confess, we have even had occasional outbreaks here at the hospital in the past.”

“Outbreaks that affect several students at a time, I daresay. Perhaps some of the adults as well.” Alexander fixed him with a penetrating look. “But tell me this, Mr. Morris, have you ever had an instance when one child has been ill to the point of losing his life whilst all his associates remained healthy?”

“Well, now.” Mr. Morris pushed his spectacles up his nose once more. “I would have to check our records to determine—”

“Does anyone verify these reports?” Alexander said impatiently.

“We have inspectors assigned to every wet nurse. They are charged with monitoring the child’s situation. I have no doubt the inspector over the High Brodmore area would have been aware of the boys’ passing.”

“Who is the inspector assigned to Mrs. Stanley?”

Mr. Morris turned over one of the papers. “A Mr. Fossum,” he said. “He is listed as a clergyman.”