"...'is name is DeLacy. Abrehan DeLacy."

The name meant absolutely nothing to Amy. But, glancing at Patrick, she realized that it meant something to him all right, which scared her. People like Lord Patrick Day would not know people who held little power. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"Patrick?" she asked, keeping her voice calm and controlled. Or at least trying to.

"'e lives down in Somerset. Very old nobility. Gives large amounts to charity." He swallowed. "Very respectable."

"I'm gonna go out on a limb 'ere," Amy stated, "and say dat respect ain't entirely deserved."

She glanced down at Whitlock, raising an eyebrow.

His face twitched. "Oh, 'e's respectable all right—above ground. Below...not so much. 'e...'e's one of da worse ones."

"Ye 'ave da gall," she hissed, "ta call somebody worse? 'ow can someone be worse dan what goes on 'ere?"

He looked at her, his face expressionless. "Most of da clients come 'ere ta get a girl every two, maybe three years. DeLacy sends 'is men ta get fresh merchandise every two months. More often if 'e's feeling...excited."

Amy felt like vomiting. Preferably in the face of the asshole they were talking about.

"What do you mean?" she squeezed out between her teeth. Although she already knew. Oh, how well she knew.

"I went over dere once, on a 'delivery'. Everythin' for elite clients, right?" A corner of his mouth twitched without the least bit of humour. "I...'eard stuff. Screams. Cracks."

Patrick leaned forward, his eyes burning. "Ye went down ta 'is dungeons?"

"Dungeons?" He gave a dry chuckle. "'e don't need no dungeons!"

"But..."

Amy had a lot of things in her life. But the look Whitlock gave the three of them then and there made even her want to crawl out of her skin.

"Who do ye think I'm talkin' about? Some two bit gang leader from devil's acre? Dat's Abrehan DeLacy! DeLacy! 'e don't need ta lock nobody up. 'e can just 'employ maids' and 'aid unfortunate orphans', and 'e's got more supply of girls dan 'e could ever wish. And if any of dem ever wanna get away...well, da local magistrate is an old friend of da family's. 'e surely wouldn't mind signing a few papers givin' da lord guardianship over some 'poor, mentally disturbed children'."

"Bhenchode!" Karim growled what was either a curse or, in this case, a quite likely conjecture.

"What's gonna 'appen ta Leona?"

The voice that came from behind them made Amy's head jerk around. "Flo! Ye shouldn't be 'ere! Ye shouldn't—"

"—'ave 'eard dat?" she finished her sentence. Then, without a blink, she turned her searing gaze back on Whitlock. "What. 'appened. Ta. 'er."

And he told her.

It made Amy want to stuff the little girl's ears. To hell with that, it made her want to stuff her own ears, ears that had heard things that would shock devils and make demons faint. When he was finally done, silence hung over the room—until it was broken by a metallic click.

Glancing up, Amy caught sight of Patrick cocking his pistol. His eyes were unfocused, as if not looking at anything in particular, but Amy knew better. He was seeing Abrehan DeLacy.

"Well," he said, his eyes blazing coldly. "Now we know what to do."

Right then and there, she loved him.

Wait—just what he did! Loved what he did! Not him! Definitely not!

"I could not agree more," Karim growled, hand clutching his sabre. His eyes were focused on Whitlock in a way that made the man cringe on the floor.

Amy's eyes flicked from Flo to Karim to Patrick, and if they lingered for a little bit longer on the last one, that was pure coincidence.

He was right. They were all right.

They now knew who their target was. All that was left now was one thing—attack!

"Da lazy, eh?" Amy cracked her knuckles. "Well, I sure 'ope 'e ain't too lazy about security. Otherwise, 'is 'ead is gonna end up on a platter very soon." She cast a glance around once more. "Got all ye need?"

Patrick nodded. "Lord Abrehan? Aye, I can find 'im!"

She grinned. Again, not a bad accent. Not bad at all.

"Spiffin'! Dan let's skedaddle!"

She turned away—then froze, and turned back to look down at Whitlock one last time. "Before I forget...dose people be'ind you..."

"I don't know who dey are! I swear!"

"Oh, I know. Nobody in deir right mind would trust a rat like ye. I ain't gonna try and squeeze out of ye what ye ain't got. I just want ye ta give dem a message from me. Can ye do dat?"

"Of course! I promise! I swear!"

"Excellent! Den..." Amy smiled, and—suddenly, her foot lashed out, smashing into Whitlock's balls. Rather energetically, in fact. The man was thrown back against the wall and, a moment later, he hit the floor, unconscious. "Be sure ta deliver da message just like I gave it ta ye, won't ye?"

For some mysterious reason, there was no answer.

"Let's go." Stepping out of the interrogation room, Amy gestured for the children to follow her. They all did, even the big, stubborn one with the turban and the sabre. "Dere's nothin' more for us 'ere."

They left the house through a back entrance, slipping into the shadows, although she was quite sure there were no observers around. Any that had been, had long since fled from the racket of the night raid. In the East End, curiosity killed the cat, stabbed its owner and squeezed protection money from his family. People knew to mind their own business.

Still...better not stay 'ere too long, Amy, or someone might show up who actually considers dis deir business. And meetin' dose kind of people probably ain't gonna be a nice experience.

"Dis way!" Grabbing Aggy, Flo and another girl by the hands, Amy dragged them down a dark alley. With the two men bringing up the rear guard, they dashed into the darkness.

After a while...

"Why..." Karim gasped, huffing and puffing like a steam engine, "did we...have to...park the coach...so far away?"

"If we...had parked it...in this neighbourhood...do you think it would still...have been present upon...our return?" Patrick panted.

Amy couldn't help throwing him a grin. "Smart man!"

Maybe 'is brain is bigger dan a pea after all. Ye never know.

"There it is!" Rounding a corner, finally, the coach appeared in front of them. Rushing forward, Patrick tore open a door. "Get inside, all of you!"

"W-what...us too?" The children stared up at him—then at the fancy coach, as if they had never seen such a magnificent vehicle before in their lives. And, considering the quarter they lived in, they probably hadn't.

"Of course! Do you think I would make you walk? What kind of gentleman would I be if I just left you children out here to fend for yourselves?"

The brats exchanged a look. Then they glanced at Amy. Finally, a small squirt at the back raised his hand. "Err...a normal one?"

Amy decided they had wasted enough time for one night.

"Get in, ye bloody brats!" Grabbing the first available kid around the midriff, Amy flung her into the coach. "Never look a gift 'orse in da mouth! Especially if it's shittin' golden turds! Now move!"

"Aye!"

The rest of the children scrambled into the coach in a rush. Karim climbed on the box, Amy jumped inside, and Patrick followed behind her.

"For your information," he informed her coolly, "my bodily excretions do not contain more than the average amount of precious metals."

She sent him a beaming smile. "What a pity for London's 'ard-working night soil men."

"You..." Amy felt his eyes bore into her, intense, pissed off, and...and then he started grinning. Overjoyed. Triumphant.

He's grinnin'! What da 'ell is 'e grinning about? Are my pissing-off skills out of order?

"You and I! We did it!" Suddenly, his hand was clutching hers, and his gaze was sweeping across the children in a way Amy had seldom seen people looking at children. Not as if they were in the way, or things to be exploited, but...but almost as if they were...precious?

And then his eyes returned to her, and the look didn't change.

"We really did it!" he whispered.

Her heart made a leap. Damn it! What's wrong with dis man? I just insulted him! And I did a good job, too!

"Yes." The word escaped her throat before she knew why or how. Somehow, she was unable to look away from his azure eyes. Just like those of a knight in shining armor. "Yes, we really did. We saved them."

"Don't everyone thank me at once," came a gruff voice from out on the box. They ignored it. Grumbling, Karim thumped his whip onto the roof. "Hey! Where to?"

"110 Kensington Road!" Patrick called out.

Amy's eyebrows shot up. "Are ye sure about dat?" She had visited that address before—only not at this hour of the night. She doubted very much Patrick had dared to do so, either.

"Ehem. Definitely."

"All right. If you insist..."

Outside, the whip cracked, and slowly the coach began to roll down the dark street. Patrick cleared his throat.

"Um, yes, I'm absolutely sure it'll be all right. Completely. I mean...it's for a good cause. She'll be delighted to welcome us, you'll see."

Some time later, in a very different part of town, in front of a certain pretty, white house...

Ding-dong! Ding-dong!

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Ding-dong!

Still nothing.

"What now?" Amy demanded.

"Just wait! I know that she'll—ah! There, do you hear? I knew she wouldn't disappoint!"

Footsteps came down the corridor, rapid as machine gun fire. Not that Amy had ever heard machine gun fire before, but she figured it couldn't really sound any more threatening than this. A moment later, the door flew open.

"Logger-headed bunch of buffoons! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, ringing strangers' doorbells at this hour of the—huh?"

Angeline's mouth dropped open. Her eyes fell on Patrick. Then Karim. Then Amy.

Amy grinned and waved.

"'ello dere. I see ye're puttin' da words I taught ye to good use."

"Amy! What are you doing here at this hour of the night? What could possibly—"

Then her eyes lowered, and landed on the dozen or so children.

For a moment, she froze—then, slowly, her gaze rose again, until, with the weight of a thousand battle axes, it landed on her brother. "No. Oh no."

"Um...hello, dear sister mine. Wonderful evening, isn't it?"

***

As the lights of the streetlamps of the nocturnal city flashed by the coach, Amy met Patrick's eyes.

"We faced some terrible truths last night, didn't we?"

He nodded solemnly, the look of a tortured older brother flashing across his face. "We did indeed."

All right. Maybe they weren't talking about quite the same thing.

"DeLacy?" she reminded. "Da fellow who kidnapped da girl? 'is 'ideout in da country?"

"Ah." He nodded hurriedly, pulling himself from his traumatic memories. "That, too."

Their eyes met, and Amy was unable to keep the pain and rage out of her eyes. "We'll find 'er?" Amy cursed herself. It had ended up sounding more like a plea than a statement.

He took her hand and squeezed it, sending a rush of heat up her arm. "We'll find her!" His azure eyes glittered in the shadows. "And then I shall go find Lord DeLacy and teach him the meaning of the word 'gentleman'."