Chapter Two

O n Sundays, Dorcas took time from her sewing so she could spend time with Stephen. They were seldom apart, but usually, Dorcas was sewing while she supervised his lessons or watched over his play. Or she was cooking or cleaning or shopping while he helped the best he could, given he was only four.

"Time for church, Stephen," she told him on a Sunday a couple of weeks after her encounter with Mrs. Dove-Lyon. She determinedly did not look at her work. It sat in two bags, the linens waiting to be embroidered, and those she had finished, one on each side of her usual chair. The to-be-done pile had been refreshed yesterday when she returned the last batch from the huge bag she had been carrying when she met Mrs. Dove-Lyon. That lady's laundry woman had worked a miracle, and nothing had been marked or otherwise damaged.

Dorcas helped her son into his warm coat, for the April wind was cold and blustery, even though the sun shone and the sky was blue. Like many of Stephen's clothes, the coat had been cut down from something of Noah's—in this case, the jacket of his dress uniform. Dorcas had found a scrap of fur on a market stall to make the collar and cuffs and had managed to scavenge half a dozen plain black leather buttons so that, apart from the color, it no longer looked like a rifleman's jacket.

Shoes were the biggest worry. Dorcas could make nearly everything else Stephen needed. She picked through the used clothes others had rejected as too worn or too ripped and chose those with undamaged pieces large enough for a sturdy little boy. But shoes must be not too big and not too small, and Stephen kept growing.

However, if Dorcas had anything to say about it, Stephen would not have to worry about a roof over his head, food on his table, and clothes on his back until he was much older. Their troubles were for Dorcas to solve, not her child.

"After church, we shall go to the park," she told Stephen.

"Feed the ducks?" Stephen asked, hopefully.

"After church." She had spent a couple of pennies at the bakery yesterday and had a bag of stale rolls and crusts.

Church lasted a long time for a healthy and restless little boy, but Stephen did his best to behave and Dorcas turned a blind eye to swinging feet as long as they did not kick the pews or other members of the congregation. At last, they stood for the final blessing, sang the final hymn, and queued to make their way past the minister.

"Now the park?" asked Stephen, pulling slightly at her hand.

Dorcas ignored the misdemeanor and nodded. He really had been very patient. "The park, darling," she confirmed.

The ducks at St James Park were happy to mob anyone with food, but Stephen had learned from experience to toss the bread as fast as Dorcas handed it to him. One day a couple of months ago, he had tried to reserve the crust he held for a little duck right at the back of the flock. She had had to snatch him up from the middle of an attack by feathered bullies, determined to wrest it from his very hands.

Brave boy. Once she had explained to him why the ducks had attacked, and what he needed to do to avoid future incidents, he had insisted on trying again.

When the bread was all gone, they purchased milk from the cows in one corner of the park—another treat much loved by her son, and worth the pennies it cost both for the good, fresh milk and for Stephen's pleasure in the activity.

After that, it was time to return home. Stephen's steps lagged, and Dorcas slowed down to match her stride with his. He was big for his age and rather large to carry any distance, but they did not need to hurry.

They stopped to watch two horse guard troopers riding together along the road, and again to admire the equestrian statue of Charles I, a favorite of Stephen's from previous walks. To his delight, while they were there, an ornate carriage, with six splendid horses and the royal coat of arms on the door, came out of the royal mews, through Charing Cross, and away toward the Mall.

For most of the rest of their way home, they would follow The Strand. Dorcas hoped for some interesting carriages or a group of soldiers or some other appealing sight to keep Stephen entertained, for he was tired after their busy morning, and could easily become difficult if he had time to think about how far he had walked and how much farther it would be to their two little rooms.

At first, all went well. A smart carriage with a matched team of six horses attracted his attention first, and then a buck of the ton went by in a high-perch phaeton with a boy in the tiger's seat behind. Stephen chattered for several minutes about that boy, and how wonderful it must be to sit up so high and to be left to care for the two proud and restive horses that pulled the vehicle.

"I could be a tiger," he decided. "When I am bigger, Mama."

Not if Dorcas could help it. She had not had great exposure to children of Stephen's age, but she believed him to be clever. She would teach him as best she could for as long as she was able and save whatever pennies she could spare from keeping them housed and fed. Somehow, she would see him properly educated, so he had at least some of the choices that should have been his by birth. Would have been, if Ves had made a will, or if Ves's family had acknowledged Stephen.

Lost in her own thoughts, she reacted a moment too slowly when Stephen pulled his hand out of hers and darted into the street. A bushel basket had fallen from a cart and apples were tumbling all over the road.

"Stephen!" she protested when she saw him scooping up apples until his arms were full. "Those are not your apples! Take them to the man, darling." Two men had descended from the cart to retrieve what they could, while a boy of perhaps twelve ran to the head of the cart horse to hold the bridle.

Stephen's scowl told Dorcas what her son thought about her instruction, but he obeyed.

"Thank 'ee, lad," said the man as he tipped his own armful of apples into a basket. "Just put them in the basket."

"I like apples. I like apple pie," Stephen announced, as he stretched up onto his toes to reach. Dorcas lifted him the last few inches and he dropped the apples into the basket.

"Put me down, Mama," he demanded. "I am helping." He trotted back and forth, busily collecting apples and dropping them into the basket.

A crowd had stopped to watch the cleanup, and a ragged child who looked only a little older than Stephen slipped out of the crowd, picked up an apple that had rolled near, and ran away.

"He took an apple," Stephen said, accusingly. Dorcas wasn't certain whether he was critical of the boy's theft or of Dorcas for preventing Stephen's chance to pocket a piece of fruit.

Apart from a few apples that had rolled into the path of passing vehicles and been squashed, the spill had been cleaned up. One of the men approached Dorcas, holding out an apple. "A gift, ma'am," he said. "For the young gentleman." He offered it to a thrilled Stephen, who bowed as if to a prince, much to the man's amusement.

"Thank you," Dorcas said. "You are very kind."

He touched his cap, smiled shyly, and retreated to swing himself up onto the cart, which was already on its way again.

"Do you want me to carry your apple, darling?" Dorcas asked Stephen. It was a beauty—large and rosy. Stephen needed two hands to hold it, but he shook his hand. "I will carry it, Mama," he insisted.

They walked on along the path and had crossed two side streets before he admitted defeat. "You carry the apple for me, Mama. Is there enough for an apple pie?"

Dorcas did a quick calculation and nodded. She would have to buy some flour and a bit more butter and beg space in her landlady's Dutch oven, but she could make her boy a pie. "Yes, darling," she told him.

They had taken another few steps when someone grasped her by the arm and said, "Is this the apple, sir?"

A familiar hated voice spoke in a drawl. "Yes. I had just purchased it when she stole it from me—bumped me so that I dropped it, and that pernicious brat grabbed it and ran off with it."

Lord Augustus Seward. As much as rage filled her, she knew she needed to remain calm for Stephen's sake. She fought every impulse within her to turn and punch Seward in the nose.

Lord Augustus was Ves's brother and therefore once her brother-in-law. Lord Disgusting , Ves used to call him. Ves had despised his twin for being a bully and a coward, and Lord Augustus had hated him back. As Dorcas had discovered when she went to her brother-in-law after Ves's death and was turned scornfully away. And here he was again, being disgusting and hateful.

"I did no such thing, Lord Augustus," she declared and drew herself up tall. Even if she couldn't give Seward the reaction he deserved, she wasn't about to let her son see her be cowed by the vile man. "As you know full well."

Seward looked at her, his eyes glittering with amusement; he had the power here and he knew it. She was helpless. "Do your duty, officer," Lord Augustus demanded.

The officer's hand on her arm had loosened. "The lady appears to know you, my lord," he pointed out.

"He is my brother-in-law," Dorcas said.

At the same moment, Lord Augustus said, with the hateful sneer she remembered so well, "She was my brother's whore, but she left him for a commoner. Perhaps that is why she stole my apple. Take her in, constable and that little devil spawn with her."

Stephen had begun to cry. Dorcas bent to comfort him. She was aware the officer was trying to avoid obeying Lord Augustus, while he was using all the weight of his rank and class to browbeat the man into arresting Dorcas. Her rage seeped away, quickly replaced by fear. What would become of Dorcas if the officer did as he was told? What would become of Stephen?

"You'll have to come along, ma'am," the constable said, at last. "Can you carry the little lad, or shall I help?"

"I can do it," Dorcas told him. "Augustus, I hope your brother haunts you. And Noah, too, who saved me when you wouldn't." He paid her no mind, but walked off with his nose in the air, going ahead of them to swear out a complaint at the Bow Street Magistrate's Court. Stephen curled in her arms and sobbed for the loss of his prize. Her heart broke into more pieces with each hiccupped cry, and she wished there was something she could do besides let Augustus win.

There was a chance! She suddenly remembered the tinder box that Mrs. Dove-Lyon had pressed on her two weeks ago. The lady had taken Dorcas to her home and insisted on Dorcas staying for tea while arrangements were made with the laundry woman. When Dorcas left, to be conveyed home in the lady's carriage, Mrs. Dove-Lyon had given her the box. "Inside are three tokens," she had said. "Send me one if you are in need. Three favors, one for each token. Don't forget, Mrs. Anderson."

She'd nearly forgotten about them. How fortuitous it was she'd tucked the box into her reticule with the thought Stephen might enjoy playing with the tokens and box if they'd been delayed somewhere.

The constable had a hand under her arm, helping her to take Stephen's weight. He seemed sympathetic. Would he help her?

She thought about it as they walked to Bow Street, which was all the way on the other side of Covent Garden. Stephen seemed to have doubled in weight by the time they entered, but Augustus was still there, writing at the reception desk. The constable led her through a door to one side and showed her to a chair. Stephen had gone to sleep on her shoulder.

"I had to bring you in, ma'am," the constable said, "with the gentleman making such a fuss and you with no one to speak for you. Can you send for someone, ma'am? Someone who will stand up for you and protect you from the gentleman?"

Dorcas certainly hoped so. She searched one-handed in her reticule and retrieved the box. "I think so," she said. "Could you open this box and take out a token? There is a lady, a Mrs. Dove- Lyon, who will help me, I think. I just need to get the token to her. Is there someone who might take a message for a penny?"

"I shall organize it, ma'am. And then I shall have to come and interview you but do not worry. I shall make sure it takes long enough for the lady to receive the token and send help. No one needs to frighten the little lad any more than he already is."

He exited the room, and for a moment, while the door was open, she could hear Augustus's voice. She shivered. She hoped that Mrs. Dove-Lyon had not forgotten her promise.