peerage invited people to dine not simply for the pleasure of it, but to court influence and raise funds for projects.
Mr. Fielding barely waited until the footman said his polite, “I will inquire, sir,” before pushing his way into the house.
Daniel took Mr. Fielding by the arm and shoved him into a drawing room. I followed, after advising the alarmed footman, in tone that required obedience, that he ought to fetch his master at once.
The drawing room was small but pleasant, with plush armchairs and tables covered with objets d’art. Nothing overdone or ostentatious, only photographs in silver frames, pretty boxes, and a small collection of glass paperweights.
I worried Mr. Fielding might pick up the paperweights from their arrangement and smash them to the floor, but he only paced restlessly.
When the door opened to admit two men, one small limbed with a trim brown beard, one rather gangly with gray hair and pince-nez, Mr. Fielding swung on them.
“We found them, damn and blast you,” he said, not bothering to keep his voice down. “What the magistrates do won’t be bad enough for the likes of you.” He addressed the small man, calling him names so foul I’d never repeat them.
Daniel stepped between him and the gentlemen. “Enough.” His voice held command.
Mr. Fielding closed his mouth, but he remained tense, as though ready to spring on the director at any moment. Though Mr. Fielding wore his collar today, he was a less clerical-looking gentleman I’d never seen.
“We might have found them,” I corrected Mr. Fielding. “Or found where they might be. I do believe you had better come clean, your lordship.” I addressed the small, bearded man, assuming him to be Lord Russell. “Is the Foundling Hospital sending children to bawdy houses?”
“What?” Lord Russell’s jaw dropped, and he turned a gaze on me that must have made the serfs of the Russells of old fall to their knees. “What are you talking about, young woman? A bawdy house?” He spat the words with all the disgust of a man having to lift a dead rat.
The other man looked as aghast. “Who the devil are you? And you?” He pinned Daniel with a horrified gaze.
“I am Mrs. Holloway,” I answered, keeping my voice steady. “Mr. McAdam is Mr. Fielding’s brother. They discovered a house near Seven Dials that deals in the vile practice of providing children for the depraved. We believe one of your staff, Nurse Betts, discovered it as well, and was killed for that knowledge. She was looking for the children who have gone missing from the Foundling Hospital. Five of them now.”
“Missing?” Lord Russell spluttered. He glared at Mr. Fielding. “They are not missing. I’ve told you. They were adopted. I gave you the addresses of the people they were adopted to. They went to respectable homes, to be raised and trained to a trade. Not the trade you are speaking about now.” His lip curled.
“The addresses were false,” Mr. Fielding stated before I could speak. “We looked. They aren’t there.” He tried to get around Daniel, who again put himself in the way.
“The children aren’t there?” The gentleman with pince-nez sounded vastly confused. “Russell? What is this?”
“Yes, why don’t you explain?” Mr. Fielding snarled. “Daniel, Mrs. Holloway—this man is Bishop Exley, another of the board of governors. No doubt he would like to know exactly what you’ve done, Hirst.”
“Nothing,” Lord Russell began.
“The buildings aren’t there,” I said. “The addresses do not exist. Who were these people who adopted the children? I assume you interviewed them.”
“I didn’t.” Lord Russell stabbed at his chest with his forefinger. “The rest of the governors did. Or so I should hope. Is that not true, Exley?”
The bishop peered nearsightedly through his pince-nez at me. “This is the first I am hearing of this. Are you certain, young woman?”
“I was given the information and put it into the ledger,” Lord Russell spluttered. “As I do all transactions involving the Hospital. I record it, as does the treasurer.”
Mr. Fielding growled. “I am a governor, and I heard nothing about it.”
“Then there must be some hideous mistake.” Lord Russell’s rather ruddy face lost color. He looked about for a place to sit down, but saw me standing, and clutched the back of a chair. A gentleman did not sit in the presence of a lady.
I pushed past both Daniel and Mr. Fielding and took his arm. “Rest yourself, your lordship. Shall I ring for some tea? Or a brandy?”
“No, thank you.” Lord Russell squared his shoulders,