Fernsby immediately bucked, then aimed a kick where no man could tolerate, but my hit had winded him. He did not have the strength or the angle to achieve more than a glancing blow to my leg, and Lestrade reached us as I centered my full weight on the vermin's back. He did not need to get up yet.

I might need to, however. Metal impacted the other side of Fernsby's escape route, the sound echoing on the other side of the wood. Another hit sent the latch to the ground, and repeated impacts slowly pushed the mounds of debris aside. Who would break into such a place? Had Fernsby signaled for help somehow?

No. Fear rose within me, then quickly mixed with anger as a familiar hammer shoved the door open. If they had broken that down before we subdued Fernsby—

Apparently ignorant of the danger they had narrowly avoided, Tim gave me the half-smile that said he knew he would be in trouble but did not care. He aimed for the decrepit stove in the far corner as four other boys scattered through the rest of the manor.

"Watson."

The word carried a note of warning. Cuffs clicked on Fernsby's wrists to let me stand, and I found Holmes kneeling over the young girl, blood rapidly staining her threadbare shirt. I hit my knees beside her without remembering crossing the room. Had I—

"Her side."

Holmes' calm voice recalled her pained squeak on Lestrade's entrance. She visibly flinched when I nudged her shirt out of the way.

"Easy," I murmured, my gentle inspection pausing to let me catch her gaze. "I will not hurt you. I swear."

Something in my words soothed the haunted fear in her eyes, though she still watched warily as I inspected the injury Fernsby had rendered.

"What's your name?"

Another whimper was my only answer.

"You're safe. He won't—"

"You!"

My reassurances drowned beneath Wiggins' growl—one carrying a degree of anger I had not heard in years. A glance at the doorway found the former Irregular not three feet from a cuffed Fernsby, Lestrade staring in astonishment.

"You know him, Sergeant?"

The inspector's tone hinted a caution to control himself, but Wiggins merely growled again. "Aye, sir. This clown ordered two of his goons to grab my sister and me when I was ten. Probably intended to bring us here." He stepped closer, halted, then moved back. A choice insult cut off before it fully formed, but a mouthful of saliva suddenly splatted Fernsby's cheek. "Why do you think every Irregular avoids Montague Street?"

A faint gasp brought my concentration back to my patient, though I half listened as Lestrade ordered Wiggins to provide an official statement later. Holmes' twitched grin noted the lack of reprimand for the "attack" on a bound man.

As did the girl's confusion. "You are safe, young one," I answered the silent question. "Fernsby is going to jail for what he did to you, as are most of his clients. The Yard will find the rest soon enough."

Bewilderment became something like hope that did nothing to alleviate her silent guardedness. Suspicion deepened when I dug through my bag again.

"The cut is too deep in one spot," I continued, ignoring Holmes' gradual standing to speak to Tim and another young boy. "I need to put a few stitches in it to hold the edges together. Will you let me?"

The bleeding had slowed enough to prevent any immediate worry, so when an attempt to sit up sparked a flinch, I quickly propped my suture kit where she could see it. Anxiety lessened at the sight of only needle and thread.

"It might hurt a little." Most young ones asked that, and the honest statement obviously guessed an unasked question. "Not as much as the cut itself, though," I added. "Would it help if I give myself one?"

She hesitantly nodded, eyes widening as I chose the largest needle in the box and ran several inches of thread through the skin on my arm. She watched me carefully for any reaction, surprise again breaking free when I gave none.

"Will you let me treat your side?" I asked again once the thread had disappeared into my pocket and the needle back to its place.

Fearful caution still silenced her, but she made no reaction as I carefully threaded a much smaller needle. When she did not move away from the needle's touch, I gently ran three small stitches through the middle of the injury—just enough to hold it closed.

"Will you tell me your name?"

No, but she did not fight me either, silently letting me anchor a bandage over the injury. I closed my suture kit as small feet sprinted closer.

"Gracie!"

The older girl that had been hiding with Max rushed through the far door, her full awareness on where Gracie lay in front of me. If anything, seeing her in a kitchen made her malnourished frame seem even thinner, but Holmes stood as if to intercept her. One hand waved him off.

"Leave her alone!" She lunged between us then dropped in a manner closer to a fall than a kneel, purposely making herself a target. My choices became remain needlessly close to her person or back up.

Reckless substitution faltered when I moved away. "You're not—You're not gonna grab me instead?"

"I already told you that I would not hurt you." I slowly dropped the rest of my supplies in their places then shoved my bag out of her reach. "Any of you. What is your name?"

Uncertainty kept her staring at me for several seconds. "But—then why is she in the middle of the floor?"

"Fernsby used her as a hostage," I answered simply. "The Yard already took him away, but I stayed to treat the cut on her side." The girl hazarded a glance backward, relaxing somewhat at Gracie's nodded confirmation. When she still did not tell me her name, I decided on a different tactic. "You are the only one who has spoken to any of us. You must be the leader."

"Been here the longest," she agreed quietly. A long moment passed before another question emerged nearly a murmur. "What's a doctor?"

What is a doctor?! No wonder she remained so suspicious. How long had she been here to know police but not doctor?

"A doctor is someone who knows how to treat injuries." I struggled to keep my voice from betraying my thoughts, only faintly noticing Holmes follow the boys out the far door. "Police frequently ask me to join them because while they cuff the criminals, I help the victims."

She said nothing for another long moment. "What kind of help?"

"Mostly medical—Move slowly, Gracie. You don't want to pull those stitches." I kept my movements predictable as I leaned around the older girl to guide Gracie upright. "I will do anything I can, though," I continued once Gracie no longer needed assistance. "The other man that was in here, Mr. Holmes, is a detective. I often help him help the police. Sometimes we find people. Sometimes we watch a business. It depends on the case."

She made no answer, attention on Gracie though they both stayed well out of arm's reach on our way to the main part of the house. A brief pause with her back to the wall sent Gracie to join the other young ones huddled in a corner, but old, wary eyes studied me again.

"Carla," she answered after several seconds, apparently debating something important. "You help people?" I nodded. "What about kids?"

"Kids are people." She put her own back to the wall as I slowly knelt, an involuntary assessment measuring the distance to the closest hole. "Age does not matter, Carla. I help everyone who needs it. With what do you need help?"

Her gaze flicked past me, another moment letting her scan the many young ones trying to hide behind their fellows. Worry bloomed when I finally grasped her silent deliberation.

"How many of you are still missing?" I asked quietly.

Rapid glances verified faces, raising one finger at a time. "Just over a hand," she finally replied, displaying seven fingers. "I think I know where Bill is, though. Marcos and Eli started checking the tunnels before Levi said Gracie was still in the kitchen."

"We will find them," I promised. "Can I ask the others to help, too?"

I referred mostly to the Irregulars slowly drawing the older children into any conversation they could—silent or verbal, but she hesitated before a slight gesture referenced Agar. "Is he a doctor like you?"

"He is."

"Will he go help Bill? Vicky might be with him cuz his skin got hot this morning. They like the second room on the top floor."

Fever, probably from a previous injury. He would need a doctor, and I doubted Carla would trust Agar enough to let him near her. "Of course."

She flinched only slightly when I gradually stood, but she stayed near the wall as I crossed the room. A short comment sent Agar heading for the stairs, while a wave brought Arthur, George, and Beth back with me.

"You're Carla, aren't you?" Beth's gentle smile met the younger girl's hesitant agreement. "Joseph has been telling me about how you take care of everyone here. You sound very brave. Can we be friends?"

Not yet relaxed enough to grant a true smile, Carla's posture still changed to declare her answer. I looked away to hide my own grin. Motherly Beth always knew how to care for another. In three sentences, she had eased Carla's fear more than I had since tackling the man harassing her.

"Who is missing?" I asked after the boys had introduced themselves. "And where do you think they are?"

"If Vicky is with Bill, then Alice, Olivia, Sam, Benny, and Ada." Several seconds considered hiding places. "Ada likes the attic cuz the grown-ups can't get up there at all, but only one of us can hide at a time. Alice and Olivia usually like the bedroom tunnels, and the boys said they found a cubby in Fernsby's room." Renewed fear abruptly centered on me. "Fernsby's room!"

"You and I are going there," I answered firmly. "Beth, why don't you go after Ada while George and Arthur follow the tunnels?"

"The hatch is in the back bedroom," Carla supplied when they agreed. A glance down the hall revealed her continued worry. "And look in the corners for the tunnels. We hid the holes behind furniture and piles of trash. Most of 'em have a little light with all the candles Fernsby keeps lit, but they're cramped."

"We'll find them," Arthur swore. "Com'on, George. Those girls might be hurt."

The Irregulars disappeared toward the stairs, but Carla led me back toward the kitchen, taking a sharp left just before the hall opened into that long room. Careful movements balanced keeping me within sight but out of reach even as she led me up one corridor and down another. A short set of stairs dropped us into a lower section of the house before she finally pushed open a half-closed door.

"Benny? Sam?"

The wood fell off its hinges with a crash, but I saw no sign of life in the overcrowded, disorganized office behind it. Papers littered the floor. Trash piled in every corner. Various metal tools glinted in the light of my candle and peeked from beneath the other debris. The blood staining one prompted a mental note to send an officer down here.

Carla disregarded the clutter, heading straight for a tall wardrobe strangely set on wheels. A practiced shove revealed a hidden room and a small figure lying face down.

So Fernsby's down, but they're still trying to find all the kids. What do you think? Anyone identifying the kids before they provide names? Don't forget to review!

And many thanks to MHC1987 and Fireguardian22 for the reviews on the last chapter :D