people, standing stiffly. Most were children, boys, wearing identical uniforms that the photograph rendered a dark gray. I could see the nubby texture of the cloth—the poor things looked uncomfortable. The boys wore caps, pulled down so far all their faces looked alike, mere paleness peeping from the gray.
On one end of the posed boys stood a man in a suit a little darker than the boys’ uniforms. On the right end was a lady in a prim dress with a white collar, a pillbox hat on her head. The picture had been taken outdoors, in a courtyard of some kind, with trees in the background. Not the Foundling Hospital, as far as I could tell, but perhaps in the square beside it. Obviously, this was an outing for the boys, or perhaps a special walk to have their photograph taken.
“This is Nurse Betts,” Daniel said, tapping the lady. “The lads are here.” He touched a boy nearer the man and one in the exact middle of the row. The photograph had been taken from a little bit above the group, perhaps from steps, and the boys were looking up at the camera.
I could barely discern the two from the rest of them. One looked as though he had blond hair, but I couldn’t be certain.
“Not a very helpful means of identifying them,” I said. “Which is which?”
“Sam Howes.” Daniel pointed to the blond lad. “Joshua Tarr.” The other boy.
“No photograph of the little girl?”
“Not that Errol had. I imagine there might be one hanging in the Foundling Hospital.” He pushed the photograph gently at me. “You keep that.”
His hands were warm against mine, but again, I could not let him distract me.
“I will see what I can do. And do not tell me it is good of me.”
The half smile returned. “I would not dream of it.” As I slid the photograph into my apron pocket, Daniel sobered again. “I wish you could understand how unhappy it makes me to anger you.”
He did look unhappy, deep in his eyes.
“You have no need to please me,” I said crisply. “I will tell you what I discover.”
“I could meet you—”
“No.” I imagined myself sitting in a public house with him, or a tea shop, our heads together, shoulders touching, while we compared notes. “I will send word. Through James.”
Daniel quietly held my gaze. “If that is what you wish.”
“If I am meant to trust you”—I sounded a bit tart, even to myself—“you must trust me.”
“I do.” Daniel tried to bring forth his winsome smile and put his hand on his heart. “I do, indeed, Mrs. H.”
“Not with everything.” I took up the plate, which now held only crumbs, and strode past him and out.
* * *
* * *
The next morning, I finished the breakfast for the upstairs and the hash of leftover potatoes, sausage, eggs, and cheese for the downstairs, changed into my second-best frock, and went out.
Miss Townsend arrived to sketch as I departed. I gave her what I hoped was a cordial “good morning” as she came into the kitchen, and I left via the other door.
An evening of contemplation and a restless night had made me feel no better. Daniel was an enigma—he always had been.
What he got up to out of my sight was no business of mine, I reminded myself. I knew he helped others and the police, because I’d witnessed him do so. He’d helped me. He was not a ne’er-do-well with a lady tucked into every port. At least, I did not think so.
As I found an omnibus and climbed aboard, keeping my skirts well away from my fellow passengers, I knew in my heart I was merely jealous, envious of Miss Townsend because she’d been involved in his police work far from my sight. I wanted to trust Daniel and let him do whatever it was he did, for whomever he did it. But I was at the end of my tether wondering who he truly worked for and why, and why he took on different personas without turning a hair.
Learning he had a brother, even a foster brother, had jolted me from any complacency. I could understand Daniel not telling me what he did for the police, if it was a deep, dark secret he needed to keep so others wouldn’t be hurt. But a brother was not part of the secret, was he?
Daniel knew all about me and my past, about my daughter—had known before I’d told him. And yet, I