Ice Angel (10 page)

H
AL
negotiated his carriage back to Berkeley Square and considered grimly the task before him. If Dominic had indeed been taken to a flash-house, it did not augur well for finding him. The notorious rookeries of crime where the
flash-houses
could be found were in cramped passageways and alleys and almost impenetrable except to the thieves, prostitutes and destitute souls who lived there. They were rarely inspected by any officers of the law, and those who did visit were bribed by the landlords not to report them to magistrates.

Hal had some knowledge of flash-houses and the exploitation of children in the criminal underworld because, unknown to anyone but his close family and friends, he funded three
philanthropic
institutions in London. He was not a man to advertise his role as a benefactor, or claim to have an answer to the exigencies suffered by so many children, but he had wanted to put some of his wealth to good use and to play a small part in reform. So he had chosen to fund three charitable refuges instead of wringing his hands over the iniquity of youth or, worse still, ignoring what was happening scarcely a mile from his door, but which was never discussed by the majority of the
ton
.

The refuges usually helped children whose sentences for stealing had been commuted from transportation to
imprisonment
and, rather than be sent to the infamous Newgate prison to mix with hardened criminals, the refuges offered to
rehabilitate
them from their life of crime. Hal was not involved in their day-to-day running, but he had visited often and seen and heard enough to know about the nurseries of crime and the terrible poverty and suffering of even very young children living in the London underworld.

He had not dared tell Isabella the extent of his concerns, but he was afraid for Dominic’s safety and for what he might have been exposed to. He pushed aside these fears, forcing himself to approach the search methodically and mentally listing the flash-houses he had heard of and their location.

His mind was still engaged in this when, as he walked into the hallway and gave his hat and gloves to Jennings, his brother appeared.

‘Hal! Good to see you,’ said Theo, ‘I decided to visit London, so I’m afraid you will have to endure my presence for a while. I was wondering where you had got to—’ He stopped suddenly, looking at his brother’s expression. ‘What the deuce is wrong?’ he asked, frowning. ‘I’ve never seen you look so queer in the attic. Are you foxed?’

Despite his mood, Hal answered with the ghost of a smile. ‘At four o’clock in the afternoon? Certainly not, Theo. Something very unfortunate has occurred and I am in great need of your help. Go and change – put on some dark, unobtrusive clothing, nothing that looks too expensive – and bring a loaded pistol. You may need it because we are going to search some of London’s most unsavoury areas tonight.’

Theo looked at his brother in astonishment. ‘The devil we are! What are we looking for?’

‘A small boy who is in danger, but I’ll explain everything when we are on our way.’

Theo nodded. His brother’s anxiety was evident and that was enough – Hal never indulged in hyperbole. Theo hurried away upstairs, calling out over his shoulder, ‘I’ll be ready to leave in five minutes.’

The cold water she splashed on her face revived Isabella for a moment. Her hands shook as she dabbed away the moisture and looked at her reddened eyes in the mirror. Fear had made her physically sick; never, even in the darkest days of her marriage, had she felt as afraid as she did now because this time her fears were for her son and not for herself. Her head ached terribly, but she was determined to stay awake. She had at last persuaded a distraught and exhausted Harriet to rest for a while, with a promise to waken her if there were any news.

The mood of the whole household was sombre. The servants, in particular Mary who was still blaming herself, were
mechanically
going about their duties but their anxiety was palpable. Even Dominic’s pets seemed subdued and listless in his absence and for Isabella, the hope that he was simply lost and looking for a kindly soul to return him home was diminishing by the hour.

To try and take her mind off the horror and frustration of receiving no news of Dominic, she allowed her thoughts to turn briefly to Hal.

She had thought about what she had seen at the theatre a great deal until receiving this afternoon’s terrible news. Isabella was relieved when Sir Seymour and Harriet had agreed to return home; after what she had witnessed, she had no
inclination
to enjoy the comedy that was to follow. She did not see Hal or Julia again before they left and she had lain awake that night, reasoning that it was foolish to draw conclusions, but also acknowledging that a seed of doubt had been planted in her mind.

Isabella was torn – her heart wanted to trust Lord Bramwell, but her head screamed to take care. Her self-confidence had been damaged by her poor judgement in the past and then trampled under the oppression of her marriage; consequently, she had little faith in her ability to read Hal’s character.

But his tenderness and concern this afternoon were now branded on her memory – she could not forget the touch of his lips, his embrace, nor the way his presence and calm manner had offered her some comfort. Hours later, her hands still felt sensitized where he had kissed them and she could never confuse this visceral passion with her tepid fondness for Edward. Indeed, she felt half-ashamed of the dreams she had indulged in about Hal last night and blushed to recall them.

Perhaps what she had seen at the theatre had a reasonable explanation, but now answers to her questions would have to wait. Whatever happened in the future, Isabella would always be indebted to him for trying to rescue her son.

She jumped when there was a knock at the door and Silwood announced Lady Bramwell.

‘Ask her to come in.’ Hope flared in Isabella; there might be word from Hal.

Marguerite entered moments later and, with hand outstretched, said, ‘My dear, what a dreadful thing to happen! How wretched you must feel.’

As Isabella took the proffered hand, she struggled to contain fresh tears. ‘I am wretched – you, as a mother, will understand my feelings – but tell me, is there any news?’

Marguerite shook her head. ‘None yet, I’m afraid, but you must trust Hal to do his best for Dominic. He has more
knowledge
of the poorer areas of London than you might think. He dispatched several notes before leaving the house, and has also sent servants to make enquiries. My younger son Theodore, who arrived in Town today, has accompanied Hal and Julia sends her love – she would have come here too, but I asked her to stay at home in case Hal and Theo returned.’

‘I cannot thank you and your family enough, Lady Bramwell. If I had no one in London to turn to at this awful time then I don’t know what I would have done. Even Sir Seymour has written to his friend, Henry Grey Bennet, as he believes he could help. But,’ concluded Isabella sadly, ‘all I want is news that Dominic is safe.’

‘That news will come, Isabella,’ said Lady Bramwell, squeezing Isabella’s hand reassuringly. ‘Dominic is a bright little boy who will stand out among the poor, ragged children who roam London. Hal has posted a reward for his safe return and there are many who will want to claim it. Now, have you eaten since this morning?’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘I quite understand – Julia and I ate little food this evening either – but you must have something to keep your strength up. Let me at least ring for some tea, and I will keep you company as long as you wish.’

It was three o’clock in the morning and Lord Bramwell and his brother were sitting in the corner of a tavern, the three footmen and two burly jarveys, who accompanied them, nearby. Neither Hal nor Theo attracted much attention from the other customers; their hats were pulled forward to shade their features and they were dressed not in their normal coats of blue superfine, but in unremarkable drab overcoats.

They had spent hours searching unsuccessfully for Dominic in some of the most vice-ridden areas of the city. The labyrinthine rookeries were wretched, squalid places: slum dwellings towered over alleys full of filth and putrid air; men, women and children of all ages and description lived in cramped conditions and this, coupled with the easy availability of gin and corrupt and inadequate policing, all led to children being exploited for crime. Barefoot and ragged, with matted,
lice-ridden
hair, they wandered the rookeries, fighting, thieving and begging for their very existence and it was a salutary experience for Hal and Theo, who were not easily shocked, to see the London underworld at such close quarters.

Theo, when told of the circumstances surrounding Dominic’s disappearance, was inclined initially to be hopeful: the boy was most likely lost or, if he had indeed been taken, he would soon be found and they would be back in Berkeley Square by ten o’clock enjoying a fine dinner. But within an hour of their search beginning, his hopes had been dashed. Their task was an unenviable one; there were more than 200 flash-houses in London and looking for one six-year-old boy in this morass of profligacy was like searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack. It was dangerous, too – the rookeries were ruled by thieves, beggars, prostitutes and outlaws and Hal was well aware of the risks they were taking in penetrating these slums.

At one flash-house, Hal had been making enquiries when the landlord suddenly became hostile. In St Giles’s Greek cant, he said they were queer culls and demanded to know if they were the law. A crowd had gathered and only when Hal, Theo and their henchman had produced their pistols were they able to escape the drunken, fractious mob.

Now, after no success in finding Dominic or receiving word of his whereabouts, neither Hal nor Theo was in an optimistic mood.

‘This is a rum business indeed,’ said Theo gloomily. ‘There’s no sign of the little fellow so far, in spite of blunt you’ve handed over for information. Do you think he was singled out and
deliberately
abducted?’

‘No, I believe it was pure chance that Dominic was taken,’ said Hal. ‘Remember that the children who are forced to steal for these flash-houses are very young, not much older than Dominic, and the boy who took him probably thought he would be rewarded for acquiring a new recruit. He may even have just wanted his clothes – they alone would be worth more money than these children see in a year.’

‘I’ve heard of them before, of course, but to see the rookeries and flash-houses at close quarters is shocking. They are a damned disgrace and to think most of the law turns a blind eye to their existence.’ Theo shook his head. ‘The landlords who exploit these children deserve hanging.’

Hal agreed, adding, ‘Let’s hope our visit to Bow Street pays dividends soon. Word that there is a sizeable reward should spread rapidly and we must hope someone will be tempted by the sum on offer.’

‘There must be hundreds of these places. Where do we try next?’ asked his brother.

‘Most are in the St Giles area. We’ll continue there before moving on to the Black Horse in Tottenham Court Road, then eastwards. We must hope the reward will tempt whoever is holding Dominic because it would take us months to visit all of them in London. He is a well-cared-for child who will stand out against the malnourished wretches and that too will act in our favour. I just pray that he has not been harmed.’ Hal rose to his feet, ready to resume the search and determined to find Dominic.

Dawn was breaking in Curzon Street, but neither Isabella nor Harriet noticed the first rays of daylight or the birds singing.

‘You should rest, Isabella,’ said Harriet, looking at her niece in concern.

Isabella closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. ‘Only when I know Dominic is safe,’ she murmured. ‘What time is it?’

‘Almost five o’clock.’ Harriet groaned and added, ‘Time is passing so slowly! I wish we could do more, but thank God for Lord Bramwell’s help, and Sir Seymour’s. How considerate of him to write to Grey Bennet and to stay with us for two hours last night.’

‘It was a kind gesture,’ said her niece. In truth, although Isabella was very grateful for Sir Seymour’s help, she had found his chatter annoying. He meant well and had no doubt had talked of inconsequential matters to ease the tension, but although Harriet seemed to have taken comfort from this, Isabella had wanted to scream: she had no wish to discuss trivia when Dominic was missing.

Isabella lifted her gaze once more to the clock. Dear Lord, every minute seemed like an hour, every hour an eternity. How much longer before there was any news?

At the same time in Berkeley Square, Hal was stripping off his shirt. He and Theo had returned briefly to wash and for a change of clothes. Hal felt physically and metaphorically dirty after searching the rookeries, but he had no time to contemplate the moral corruption and poverty he had seen – they needed to leave for Bow Street as soon as possible.

There was a tap at the door and Whittam, Hal’s valet, entered. ‘My lord, there is a person downstairs who wishes to see you. She says she will speak with no one else.’

‘She?’ queried Hal in surprise. ‘Is it Lady Vane, or Mrs Forster?’

‘No, my lord. I have never seen this person before. Mr Jennings was undecided whether to admit her at first, so dirty and thin as she is – he thought she might steal something – but when she said she had news of Lady Vane’s son, we thought—’

‘Why did you not say so at once, Whittam?’ cried Hal, grabbing a clean shirt. ‘Send word that she is not to leave – I will be down directly. Where is she?’

‘Mr Jennings asked her to wait in the library,’ replied Whittam.

‘Very well. Ask my brother to join us as soon as he is able.’

The valet left to do as he was bid and Hal wiped the remains of the soap from his face, desperately hoping that whoever was waiting to speak to him downstairs had information about Dominic’s whereabouts.