"Mother!"

Her Ladyship Henrietta Valentina Day, Dowager Duchess of Exeter, was just getting out of her carriage as she saw a familiar figure rushing towards her. She blinked.

"You? Didn't I just...how did you get here before me?"

"Why, I rushed here to welcome home my dear mother, of course!" Linking his arm with hers, Lord Patrick guided her down the side of the street.

"Then...why are you leading me away from my home's front door?"

"Of course because I want to treat you, my honoured mother, to a sumptuous meal! Why don't you do me the honour of accompanying me for a while? I know this amazing restaurant on the other side of town..."

The Dowager Duchess's heart warmed. He had especially come to treat her? She had a loving, filial son after all! She hesitated for a moment—then shook her head.

"My apologies, son, but I have been travelling most of the day to reach London and am a bit tired. I would prefer to freshen up first, and—"

"Oh, you can do that at the restaurant! There's a luxury hotel right next to it. My treat! And..." Pain flickered over Lord Patrick's face as he scraped together the courage to make the ultimate sacrifice. "...and I'll tell you a few things about the, ehem...lovely young lady I've been spending time with."

Lady Henrietta's head jerked around to face him. "Is that so?" A beaming smile spread over her face. Stepping closer, she tightened her grip on his arm, cutting off any possibility of escape. "Well, then, lead the way."

Meanwhile, not far away...

"This," Karim said, marching out of the back door with three giggling baggages under each arm, "was not part of our agreement."

"If you want to complain, do it after the house is bloody empty!" Angeline hissed, racing past him, carrying one excited rugrat on each shoulder. "Out of the way, out of the way!"

"Three more comin' through! Open da coach door!"

Three children sailed through the air and, with a soft thud and a delighted squeak, landed on the plush seats of the coach. Instantly, they started clambering about and around, exploring their new kingdom.

"'ow many left?"

"How the heck should I know? You drop a dozen new ones on my doorstep every other day!"

"Ye're exxageratin'." Amy sent Angeline a grin. "We don't do it more often dan every three days, at most."

"I'm going to strangle you later, do you know that?"

"Aye, I love ye, too, Angeline."

"Argh! You...just move your butt!"

And Amy did. Soon, her legs hurt, and she was huffing and puffing.

"Blimey!" she panted. "I knew why...I picked a job...dat's mainly lying on yer back all day!"

"Woman!" came a growl from the direction of her favorite walking beard. "Do not speak such words in my presence!"

"What words?" Amy enquired, batting her eyelashes in passing.

"I, um...well...the ones that..." Whirling around, Karim harrumphed. "I have work to do. I do not have time for such foolishness."

Then he rushed into the house to snatch more children.

Meanwhile, Lord Patrick Day's coachman was watching the whole scene with an interesting expression on his face. Amy watched with interest as it morphed from shock to disbelief to horror at what had been going on in the residence of his master's unmarried younger sister. By the time the thirty-third child had been carried out of the backdoor, the poor man looked about ready to faint.

"Ehem..." He cleared his throat. "Could anyone present please explain this to me?"

Everyone ignored him.

"'ow long do we 'ave?" Amy demanded, stuffing another child in through the coach's window.

"Judging by my brother's usual conversation skills?" Angeline snorted. "About ten minutes."

"We've gotta move fast." Amy snatched up another child and ran towards the carriage. "If yer mum finds out what ye, yer brother and I have been up ta at night..."

A choking noise came from the direction of the coachman.

"Yes." Angeline pulled a face. "That would be most unfortunate. If people discover..." Her voice trailed off, and she shuddered. "We must hurry. You there, up on the coach! Get down and help!"

"Lnngrgg...!"

"What are you lollygagging around for? Move!"

The coachman leapt down from the carriage and, muttering prayers for the heavens to forgive his master for his sins, rushed into the house. Amy decided that she'd have to tell the poor man the truth.

One day.

Maybe.

When seeing the expression on his face would stop being funny.

With the additional help, it didn't take too long to rush all the children out of the house and stack them up inside the coach. Cautiously, Amy peeked in through the window and saw them piled up all the way to the rooftop, giggling and climbing over each other.

Perhaps we should 'ave brought a second one. 'eck, no time for dat now!

Just then, Angeline strode out of the back door, the last child riding piggyback on her. Thrusting it into the arms of a depressed, seven-foot-tall bearded nanny, she turned back towards the butler of the house, and raised a threatening finger.

"Don't you mention anything about this to my mother, understood?"

"Ehem, well, Miss..." He cleared his throat delicately. "I'm not sure whether my conscience would allow that. The recent goings-on in this house have been rather far from the norm of acceptable social behaviour for a respectable young lady such as yourself, and as a responsible employee in your mother's service, I feel it incumbent upon myself to—"

"'ow much?" Amy cut in, stepping forward.

"Pardon?"

Without wasting another word, Amy reached into Angeline's pocket, pulled out her purse, removed a sizable heap of coins and pressed it into the butler's hand.

"On the other hand," he said smoothly, "perhaps it would be better to maintain discretion regarding this matter."

"Aye." Amy nodded. "Per'aps. And..."

The butler, who had just been about to turn away, hesitated. "Yes?"

Amy sent him a bright smile. "If ye ever accept bribes from anybody but me, I'll come back and crush yer bollocks with a mallet. Understood?"

"U-understood."

"Spiffin'!" Linking arms with Angeline, Amy lead her off towards the coach. "Let's go."

Just then, the sound of a carriage arriving came from the other side of the house, followed by a familiar elegant lady's voice: "...thank you so much, Patrick, dear. It's been such a long time since we had a good, long talk, my son. We must do this again some time. But right now I'll have to say hello to Angeline, and—"

"Correction," Amy said. "Let's not go. Let's run!"

The two of them dashed towards the coach. Karim threw open the carriage door and gestured to them. "Faster! Faster!"

"Says da fella with legs twice as long as mine!"

"Be silent and move, woman!"

Amy leapt into the coach, nearly squashing two small children.

Oh, what da 'ell! So we'll be 'aving bratpuree for breakfast tomorrow! Who cares? If we don't get out of 'ere in time, we'll all be turned into puree by Her Mothership the Dowager Duchess!

"Go, go, go!" Amy growled at the coachman, pounding the roof of the carriage. "If ye don't crack yer whip in da next five seconds, I'm gonna use mine on ye!"

"You have a whip?" Angeline stared at her, confused. "But you don't have a horse, do you? So...what for?"

"Well, ehem..." Amy cleared her throat. "It comes in 'andy, for...professional reasons."

Then she quickly busied herself with some of the children so she wouldn't have to face questions the answers to which would get her in trouble with Patrick. Luckily, right then, the coach jerked and started rolling forward, distracting everyone from that particular topic.

Taking a deep breath and sinking into the seat, Amy relaxed her aching legs and slid her arms around the little girl sitting on her lap. Glancing sideways, she sent a smile at Angeline. "Let's go meet up with yer brother, shall we?" Her smile widened. "Or rather, what's left of 'im."

Angeline's eyes twinkled. "Yes. Let's."

Above Amy's head, the whip cracked, and the coach sped up, allowing her to finally breathe easily again. It didn't take too long for the trees of Regent's Park to appear in the distance. Their meeting spot. In front of the park's entrance, Amy saw a solitary figure standing beside a familiar fancy coach. Reaching up, she pounded the ceiling of the coach again.

"Oy! Coachman, stop over dere. Next to that fancy toff!"

"Ehem...yes, Miss!"

The coach rolled over towards him, and Amy leaned out of the window, a shit-eating grin on her face.

"So...ye've managed ta escape from yer dreaded captor with all yer limbs intact?"

He gave her the supremely arrogant look of a powerful aristocrat who totally was not running from his mother right now.

"I do not know what you could possibly be referring to."

Her grin widened. "I'm sure ye don't."

"Um..." Angeline cleared her throat, shifting under the weight of the half dozen children stacked on top of her. "I don't want to seem impatient or anything, but now that we have two carriages at our disposal, would it be possible to rearrange our passengers a little?"

"Sure," Amy said, and dumped another brat onto her, blocking off her face. "Here, hold dis for me, will ye?"

"Mmmph! Gdmmm dmmph!"

Whistling, Amy stepped out of the coach and made her way towards Patrick.

"Did ye 'ave fun tellin' yer mum all about da new sweetheart ye've bin spendin' all yer time with?"

He gave her a look akin to a lion that had just been asked how it liked its new vegetarian diet.

"Enormous amounts of fun. Enormous amounts. Thank you so much for asking."

"Ye're most welcome, Yer Lordship."

"Mmmng! Nnng! Gah!" Wrestling free from under the pile of children, Angeline stuck her head out of the window. "Hey! How about some help over here?"

"'ow about we watch instead?" Amy suggested, blinking innocently. "Sounds like more fun. Plus, dere's a snack stand over dere."

Giving her a look, His Lordship strode over to his little sister and started plucking children off of her like ripe plums. As for Amy, she stayed back and watched. The sight of Karim with two children dangling under each arm and one from his beard was just too precious to interfere.

Still, it didn't take long for the children to be distributed among the two coaches. After settling down with Patrick and Angeline in one coach—conveniently leaving Karim in the other with the worst of the brats—they set off down the road, away from the park and the affluent parts of the city. Yet, only once they had put a safe distance between themselves and Angeline's house, did Amy notice that the houses they passed seemed oddly repetitive. Were they...driving in circles?

It wasn't long before Amy realized the reason.

The three of them exchanged glances, the dozen or so children around watching them with curiosity.

"So..." Angeline cleared her throat. "What are we going do now? Do any of you know someone who would let a horde of three dozen wild brats into their place?"

Amy sighed. "Don't look at me like dat. Ye know dat my place ain't even big enough to fit in ten brats, let alone three dozen!"

"But then, what are we going to do?" Angeline demanded, wringing her hands. "There is nobody else! Nobody!"

"Oh, don't say that," Amy suddenly heard a familiar voice from her left. "I think I know someone who fits the bill."

Everybody turned towards the speaker. Angeline, Jo, Flo, Aggy, and Leona's eyes bored into him. But none of them were as disbelieving as Amy, who was staring at Lord Patrick Day with utter incredulity.

"Ye," Amy asked, disbelief dropping off every word, "know someone who knows 'ow ta care for kids?"

"We must find this person and interrogate him," Angeline stated. "He's highly suspicious."

"Ye," Amy repeated, turning the words over in her mouth, still unable to make them make sense, "know someone who knows 'ow ta care for kids."

"Well...not exactly." A smile tugged at the corner of Patrick's mouth. An unusually wicked smile for a noble lord of the British Empire. "But I know someone who has been waiting for a long time to meet these particular children. Let's give him a surprise, shall we?"

***

Knock, knock...

"What are you lollygagging outside for? Get in if it's important, piss off if it isn't!"

An either somewhat suicidal or very brave office assistant opened the door and stuck his head through the crack.

"Um...Mr Hendrickson? There is some people out here, who—"

"What the hell did I tell you about not letting random idiots from the street come in and bother me with some cock-and-bull story? Throw them out on their arse!"

"Ehem, but Mr Hendrickson..."

"Good afternoon, Mr Hendrickson," a familiar smooth and adamant voice cut through the secretary's words. "What, pray, did I just hear about throwing somebody out on his...what was it again?"

Arlen Red Hendrickson's face soured. Which was saying something, considering the expression he had worn before.

"Oh. It's you."

"A pleasure to see you as well, chief editor," Lord Patrick said, striding into the office with a broad smile on his face.

The smile bounced right off the chief editor.

"What do you want, Day?"

"Well, do you remember our little conversation last time, regarding—"

"Heck! You aren't here because of that, are you?"

"As a matter of fact, I am."

"Oh, for the love of...!" The chief editor snorted, glowering at the amateur invading his office from under his bushy eyebrows. "You actually wasted time investigating that cock-and-bull story? And? Were you able to find that 'kidnapped child' that you promised me?"

You could practically hear the sarcastic air quotes around the two words. Lord Patrick remained unperturbed, however, his only reaction a slight narrowing of his eyes.

"No," he said.

"Ha! You see, I told you it was all wild rumors and imagination. Too bad. But that's what happens when people with no journalistic experience stick their noses into—"

"I found thirty-seven of them."

Arlen Red Hendrickson seemed to suddenly suffer from bronchitis explositis. He coughed so hard he nearly banged his head onto his desk.

"P-pardon?"

"Thirty-seven. You know, twenty plus twenty minus three?"

"I know what thirty-seven is, goddamit!"

"Good to know." Stepping aside with a smile that sent a shiver down the chief editor's back, Lord Patrick pulled open the office door, revealing a horde of tiny, determined figures. "Then you should have no trouble talking to all of them, should you?"

***

Over the next few hours, frantic activity spread through the newspaper's premises. Figures hurried in and out of the editor's office like busy bees, and yet, the whole place was suspiciously quiet. An atmosphere of secrecy hung in the air, and when, every now and again, the growl of the primordial editor beast issued from the chief's office, the whole staff ducked their heads and started sweating bullets.

"What da 'eck is goin' on?" one of the journalists whispered.

"No bloody clue!" his colleague hissed. "Keep yer voice down! If da old man 'ears us—"

"You there!"

They jumped at the roar, and whirled to face the door of the chief's office, where Mr Hendrickson's face had appeared like that of an avenging angel whose visage had had an unfortunate encounter with a bucket of crimson paint.

"Err...yes, Sir?"

"Are you still looking into the London gangs and the...secret auctions?"

"Not at all, boss!" the journalist said proudly. "After ye told me dat it's a dead end only an idiot would investigate, I stopped right away. I'm now halfway finished with me piece on da country flower exhibition of—"

"Never mind that, fool! Get me everything you have on those gang activities immediately! Names, dates, places, every single thing! Move your arse!"

"Aye, Sir! Right away, Sir!"

"And not a word of this to anyone outside this place!"

"As ye say, Sir!"

The frantic activity on the newspaper's premises was ramped up to an entirely new level. Soon, a clerk rushed into the editor's office with a depressingly small stack of files.

"Where should I put this, Si—" The clerk's voice abruptly cut off when he caught sight of his superior.

"What is it? Why are you just standing there?"

"Um...boss? Why is yer hair standing up like dat? And why is yer face so haggard?"

"Mind your own damn business!"

"A-aye, Sir!"

"And get me some coffee! With five lumps of sugar!"

"Aye, Sir!"

The clerk dashed out of the room and the door fell shut with a thud, leaving behind ominous silence. The children, who had been interviewed to the point of exhaustion, were scattered over a sofa, an armchair and various misappropriated cushions spread out on the floor. Patrick, Amy, Karim and Angeline sat on rickety chairs together with the chief editor, gathered around the desk, their faces grim.

"So, what is our next move?" Amy asked, exchanging a look with Patrick.

"I know you won't like to hear this," Hendrickson growled, "but I've got to tell you. You might have enough evidence to expose that filthy excuse for a noble you liberated the children from. But going after the organization behind him? The people in the shadows, who pull the strings and sell children like toothpicks, to use and throw away? Not a chance."

"But we have to!" Angeline exclaimed. "We—"

"You don't know who they are," Hendrickson cut her off ruthlessly. "You don't know where they are. And, most importantly, you don't know what you're up against."

"We will, someday soon!" Amy said fiercely.

"That's as may be. But for now, we cannot go against them. Once evidence has been collected...perhaps." He shuddered. "Although I don't relish the thought of what their response will be once that day arrives. For now, we can only start chipping away at the edges." A heavy hand came down onto the desk, slamming onto the stacks of witness accounts the children had given. "Time for this bastard to be revealed to the world for what he truly is."

"So," Patrick summarized. "An article about DeLacey it is."

"But should we really publish now?" Karim asked, stroking his beard. "Is it wise to let our enemies know we know?"

"As dangerous as those people are, I assume they already do." Lord Patrick said darkly. "This isn't us revealing sensitive information to the enemy."

"Den what is it?" Amy asked.

He met her gaze, a fierce fire burning in his eyes. "A declaration of war!"