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The local vicar. Alexander stifled a groan. The man was well meaning certainly, but the last time he’d spoken to him, they’d not gone beyond basic pleasantries due to the man’s loss of hearing. A conversation that included a child’s symptoms and cause of death would be far beyond his capabilities—and, therefore, surely not attempted. The vicar would likely never question the fact that even though four-year-old boys were supposedly dying from illness, infants living in the same household were untouched by the malady. Perhaps the vicar would simply see it as a heavenly blessing. It was. Of that Alexander had no doubt. But he had a sickening feeling that those same babies may be in need of further protection in the future.

He studied the documents again. Of the four oldest boys, only Benjamin had survived. He would be ten years old now—old enough to have returned to the Foundling Hospital yet too young to have been assigned to the military or household service.

“What of Benjamin?” he asked.

“He is here,” Mr. Morris said. “And doing quite well, I believe.”

“I should like to speak with him.”

Mr. Morris opened his mouth and then promptly closed it again. “Am I to assume that you wish to meet with Benjamin today?”

Alexander raised one eyebrow. “I can wait if necessary.”

Mr. Morris took a moment to consider his options and obviously came to the conclusion that withdrawing the boy from his classroom was preferable to having an earl linger beside the front desk.

“I shall see what can be done, my lord.”

“You have my thanks,” Alexander replied with a polite nod.

Mr. Morris shuffled the papers into a tidy pile and slid them back into the folder. Then, with the file beneath his arm, he disappeared through the door once more.

As it happened, Alexander did not need to wait long. Within ten minutes, Mr. Morris returned with a gangly boy in tow. The child was tall for his age, his thin arms and legs reminding Alexander of a daddy longlegs’ limbs. His cuffs sat a good three inches above his wrists, suggesting that he had grown since receiving his uniform, and he was studying Alexander with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.

“Benjamin, may I present Lord Bloxley,” Mr. Morris said with his familiar hint of pomposity. “Lord Bloxley, this is Master Benjamin Harris.”

“Pleasure to meet you, m’lord,” Benjamin mumbled with a bow, and Alexander wondered if he’d been coached on his way to the lobby.

“And I you, Benjamin,” he said.

The boy managed a nervous smile and glanced anxiously at the assistant director, who was standing at his side, arms behind his back, a watchful expression on his face. Making a snap decision, Alexander pointed to the far wall.

“Take a turn around the room with me, would you, Benjamin. Mr. Morris can stay nearby—at his desk, perhaps—and you and I can get to know each other a little less formally.”

Startled by the request, the boy shot a questioning glance at Mr. Morris. The assistant director may not have approved of the idea, but as Alexander had suggested that he and Benjamin remain in the same room as the man, he reluctantly nodded his approval.

Alexander started across the room, and at a signal from Mr. Morris, Benjamin scurried to catch up to him.

“Tell me, Benjamin, how do you like school?” Alexander asked.

“It’s all right, my lord.”

“‘All right,’ as in ‘I like it most of the time,’ or ‘all right’ as in ‘I endure it most of the time’?”

“I suppose I like it most of the time,” he said thoughtfully. “Except for history. I don’t really see why knowin’ how many wives King Henry VIII put in the Tower’s goin’ to help me much.” He paused, suddenly looking stricken. “Sorry, m’lord. He weren’t any relation of yours, was he?”

Alexander chuckled. “No relation whatsoever, I’m proud to say.”

Benjamin relaxed. “That’s good, then.”

“I did not like history much when I was in school either,” Alexander said. “It was not until I was much older that I realized that what I do now will be history to someone else one day.”

Lines appeared on Benjamin’s forehead, and Alexander gave him a moment to think that through. “I suppose you’re right, m’lord. Never thought about it that way.”

“It makes what we do with ourselves seem a bit more important, does it not?”

Benjamin nodded slowly. “Yes, m’lord.”

They had already made one circuit of the room. Mr. Morris was sitting at his desk, but his eyes were on them, not the paperwork before him.