Parkington had faith enough in Fletcher to rouse several of his colleagues to join the rush to the York Place ragged school. Many in the Dread Penny Society would be there already—Fletcher hadn’t a doubt Elizabeth had delivered her message—either doing their utmost to counter the threat or waiting for it to arrive. Parkington didn’t know they belonged to the DPS. They’d always explained themselves to him as merely a group of concerned citizens who did what they could where they could. Bringing the man in didn’t violate any rules. Sending Elizabeth had.

He’d not worry about that yet, though. They’d far more immediate troubles.

Hogg’s was a day school. The students wouldn’t likely still be there. But Hogg very well might be. His partners at the school, Kinnaird and Pelham, might be as well. The school’s staff also. While fewer lives were in immediate danger, the situation felt no less urgent. They’d people to warn and a school to save.

Parkington barked out orders as soon as they reached the school, sending some of his men around the building in one direction, some in the other.

“I’ve a few mates who’re likely here,” Fletcher told him. “They’ve come to protect the school as well.”

“Might be tough to tell who’s with us and who’s against us.” Parkington glanced at him briefly.

“We save the school first and sort out the rest later.”

A whistle pierced the air.

“One of my men,” Parkington said, rushing in the direction of the sound, Fletcher hard on his heels.

The sounds of a struggle reached them before the sight of it did. Brogan and Stone were fist-to-face with two brawny men, neither of whom Fletcher recognized. Three of Parkington’s men were rushing on other unknowns, all of whom held the very type of torches they’d been finding around the school the last weeks and that George’s bullyboy had tried to use to set fire to Thurloe.

Parkington rushed into the fray. Fletcher spotted Kumar, another of the Dreadfuls, swatting at smoldering flames among a few of the bushes that were dangerously close to the school.

“The staff?” Fletcher asked.

“We got them out,” he said. “Hogg and Kinnaird were here. They’ve taken the servants to a safe place. This lot”—he indicated the men fighting and shouting and attempting to get their torches to the walls—“were on us almost the instant the staff were out. It was a close-run thing, my friend.”

“And we ain’t clear yet.” Fletcher swatted at the bushes. It was the second fire he’d fought that day.

One of the policemen blew on his whistle again. Everyone who’d come would soon be there to join the fight. With any luck, they’d vastly outnumber the ne’er-do-wells.

Fletcher and Kumar managed to extinguish the glow in the shrubbery in time to spot the telltale amber of new flames not far distant.

“These blokes’ll burn the place down yet,” Fletcher growled.

“Not if we’ve a say in the matter.” Kumar was on the move before finishing the declaration.

Fletcher’s attention was caught by a stout man tossing a torch and running from the fray. Oh, he’d not be getting away so easily as that. Fletcher rushed after him, catching up easily. With a leap, his arms outstretched, he tackled the would-be arsonist, slamming him hard against the ground. The man struggled, surprisingly strong. Fletcher held fast, managing to turn his quarry enough for the dim remaining light to reveal his identity.

“Allen,” Fletcher spat.

“You. You were one of ’em who stole the boy.” Anger. Pure, unsheathed anger.

“I’ll steal a hundred children from the likes of you,” Fletcher said.

Even pinned to the ground, Allen’s arrogance didn’t abate. “And Four-Finger’ll steal ’em back. You’ll never save ’em all.”

“Watch me.” He shoved the man hard against the ground again.

“Rough me up all you like. I already have what I came for.”

Fear seized Fletcher’s chest. Daniel. Had Allen abducted him again? Fletcher refused to believe he’d failed the child again. But the Dreadfuls might not’ve thought to evacuate the mews.

“Parkington!” He had to shout twice to catch the policeman’s notice. “I’ve a lowlife for you here. Caught him tryin’ to run off.”

“You’ll be too late.” Allen sounded gratingly sure of himself.

Fletcher tried to hold back his own doubts and worries. He’d not lose Daniel again.

One of Parkington’s colleagues soon took Fletcher’s place. Ignoring Allen’s heckling, Fletcher rushed toward the stables a fair distance away. Joe would be guarding the boy, but he needed to know the danger was higher than it had been.

The stable door was open. Fletcher didn’t pause, but ran directly inside and nearly collided with Joe. He ducked before the man could land him a hard facer.

“It’s Walker,” he said, slipping out of the way of a second punch.

Joe lowered his arms and took a tight breath. “Thought you was Four-Finger Mike.”

“You know, then?”

Joe glanced over his shoulder into the dim interior of the stable. “Miss Black told us there was like to be trouble tonight.”

“She was here?”

“Is here.” Joe motioned with his head in the same direction he’d looked only a moment ago.

Was she daft? “Elizabeth?”

“I was afraid for Daniel,” her beloved voice answered. “I knew Joe would stand guard if only he knew.”

“Keep an eye out,” Fletcher told the stablehand, then crossed to where Elizabeth was. His eyes adjusted as he moved farther inside. By the time he reached the backmost stall, he could see her sitting there, holding Daniel to her. “You took a mighty risk.”

“I’ve taken quite a few today, in fact,” she said. “I’ll keep taking this one until I know the boy is safe.”

Fletcher crouched down on the ground in front of them. “Your school’s secure. My mate at the Metropolitan Police sent some men over to keep watch. We might do best to take Daniel there until we know he’d be safe here.”

Elizabeth thought on it a moment. “I don’t think he’d like being away from Joe. But it wouldn’t be permanent. I imagine he would be back here tomorrow.”

“Likely.” Fletcher’s senses were on edge. He had the strongest suspicion the danger was growing, though he couldn’t say why he felt that so keenly. “Joe,” he called over his shoulder. “Would you object if we took the boy to Miss Black’s school? He’d be safer there.”

“Whatever’ll keep him safest.”

Fletcher tucked Daniel up against him. Elizabeth kept close at their side. Together, they moved swiftly from the stables, pausing long enough for Joe to tell the boy to be brave and that he’d come for him the moment it was safe to do so.

Out into the night they stepped. It was nearly completely dark. Perhaps they’d best call for a hansom cab. They’d only just crossed in front of Hogg’s school when pounding footsteps approached.

“Guard the boy,” Elizabeth called out the instant before a looming figure pounded into Fletcher, sending him to the ground, Daniel with him.

The assailant reached for Daniel. Enough light remained to reveal his four-fingered right hand. This was the man they’d feared would come.

Fletcher rolled away, hopping to his feet and setting himself between Daniel and Four-Finger Mike. Elizabeth slipped behind him, guarding the child. “Leave the boy be.”

“Cain’t do that. He knows too much.”

“I know a few things, m’self.” Fletcher was stalling, hoping Joe or one of the Dreadfuls would pass and tip the scales in his favor. “I know you’re being watched by the police.”

“That ain’t news, friend.”

“I know you have dealings with Mr. Alistair Headley.”

Four-Finger snorted in derision. “That gentry cove? Small beans, that one.”

Headley was involved in something shady, then, but not this. “He’s not one for arson or kidnapping, then?”

“Ain’t kidnapping if I’m taking back what’s already mine.”

“The boy’s not yours—or anyone else’s.” Fletcher stood firm.

“I say he is.” Four-Finger brandished a dagger.

Blimey. Without a blade, he was doomed in a knife fight. This situation could get bad quickly.

“The boy stays with us,” Elizabeth said, moving to stand beside Fletcher. She’d changed up her voice in a believable version of a street accent. Enough of Móirín’s disguise remained that Four-Finger wasn’t likely to know who she was.

“No bird’s gonna thwart me.”

Elizabeth shrugged then pulled a knife from her boot. One of the largest knives he’d ever seen hidden on someone’s person. She brandished it like an expert. Her show of confidence brought the first hints of doubt to Four-Finger’s face.

“Drop your wee knife,” Elizabeth said. “Save me the trouble of cutting it out of your hand. I ain’t looking to make that kind o’ mess.”

“You’re bluffin’,” the man spat.

“Try your luck, then.”

Directly behind Four-Finger Mike, Fletcher could see a tall, broad-shouldered silhouette stealthily approach. Elizabeth kept her knife pointed menacingly at their foe. Fletcher assessed their situation. Where could they run? What makeshift weapons did they have? How likely was it this new arrival was one of Four-Finger’s comrades?

The figure addressed Four-Finger Mike by a less-than-­flattering name. The thug spun about and was, almost too fast to be seen, leveled by a punch so hard, so perfectly placed, that Fletcher swore he could hear teeth and jaw and nose all crack at once. Four-Finger hit the ground, hard. A kick was delivered, causing the man to curl up in pain. He’d not be going anywhere.

“Danny.” The figure was Joe. Of course it was.

Daniel rushed to his friend and guardian and was promptly scooped up and carried away without a backward glance.

“That was impressive,” Elizabeth said.

Fletcher eyed her sidelong. “As was your expert knife brandishing.”

She pushed out a rush of breath. “I’m a better actress than I thought. I was also doing my best to appear unafraid, which was absolutely not true.”

Fletcher crossed to the prostrate form of Four-Finger Mike. He would eventually feel equal to standing. Fletcher would be ready when he was.

“The other Dreadfuls’ll come ’round soon enough,” he quietly told Elizabeth. “It’d be best if you weren’t here when they arrive.”

“Because then I’d be able to identify them?”

He nodded. The more she learned of the Dread Penny Society, the harder it’d be to keep his membership.

“You ain’t likely to get credit for all you’ve done today,” he said. “But I thank you for it.”

“I didn’t do it for the credit,” she said. “I suspect you didn’t either.”

He eyed the man still curled up on the ground and holding his hands to his bleeding face. “There’re too many men like this’n in the world.”

He could hear someone approaching. Telling her the location of the Dreadfuls’ headquarters, giving her the ability to identify a growing number of them . . . he’d broken a lot of rules. There were always consequences for that. If another of the Dreadfuls were to appear, it’d be best if she didn’t see him.

“Rush off,” he told her earnestly. “It’s for the best.”

She hesitated only a moment before leaving swiftly. Watching her go, he realized something. Losing his membership in the Dread Penny Society would hurt and sting and frustrate him. But losing Elizabeth was a tragedy he’d never recover from.