"Wake up, George."
No reaction. George remained slumped against Arthur's side, so an elbow drove the order home. Bleary eyes finally provided a weak glare.
"I have to be at work in less than five hours," he grumbled, no heat behind the words. "Let me sleep back to the—oh."
Arthur released a tired smirk as the growler lurched to a halt. George had fallen asleep the moment they sat down, but while Arthur could watch the others alone, he needed help reaching their alley entrance.
"This is as far as the four-wheeler can go," he said mostly for the others' benefit. "I need you to help me with Bill."
George stretched, then yawned widely enough to spread the condition to Arthur before nearly stumbling upright. Several nearly soundless chuckles carried as he shook himself from head to foot, but he soon gripped one end of Bill's blanket. Arthur grabbed the other as Vicky froze, her own hand outstretched.
"Walk beside him," Arthur suggested, "so we don't scare him if he wakes up."
She did as he bid, and with George's eyes still trying to close, Arthur led their small group down the winding alley. Being the first group meant the younger kids did not yet have the relay going, and the utter silence tugged at him. No matter the late hour, so many children should be at least audible. They should not trail behind him like so many ghosts, without so much as a stomped foot. He would not know they followed if he did not periodically check for stragglers.
It was eerie, but Arthur well remembered his own reticence those first few days. They would probably need a while to learn a new "normal."
"Where are we going?"
Though the older ones might adapt faster. He risked a glance back at where Vicky alternated watching him and her own feet. Despite obviously being one of the group's leaders, Vicky had let Carla do the talking at the manor. Perhaps splitting them up for the ride had done them some good.
"Our courtyard." Careful maneuvering guided Bill over a fallen pallet. "The archway is a lot easier to reach in daylight, but it's not much further."
"Just—around this corner," George supplied, a near stumble breaking his sentence in half. "Lily should be on watch by now."
"Only just." Familiar footsteps caught the tail end of George's reply, hurrying into sight. "Is anyone hurt?"
"Almost everyone from that despicable place," Arthur answered sadly. "One serious in our group and the next. Everyone, this is Lily. She and Johnny divided tonight's guard."
"We expected you hours ago." She hesitated just out of range, waiting for Vicky to acknowledge her before reaching Bill's side. Small fingers brushed his forehead. "Infected injury? Doctor Watson's coming, right?"
"In one of the later groups," George confirmed. "Twenty-something of us plus sixteen new additions made a few too many people for a single growler."
A tired grin answered his attempted humor, but they reached the entrance—containing rather less debris than usual—before she could voice a reply. Two shadows stood from a quiet game of cards against one wall. One made the silent group press much closer together, and a tilt of his head directed Vicky toward the collection of bedrolls near the emergency exit.
"The others'll start trickling in soon, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you for waiting up."
"Of course." A slight frown noted the wide berth the others maintained. Even warned to expect her, the lesson to treat adults with caution had been well taught. "We found enough blankets for everyone," she told them, "and the food along that wall is for you. Take what you want. There should be plenty."
A slow hand indicated the simple dishes she had brought from Baker Street hours ago. Murmured disbelief announced they could smell it as well as he could, but no one left the tight knot following Bill's makeshift litter. Vicky gave the covered food a look of longing, her whispered question barely reaching Arthur's ears.
"What's the catch?"
"No catch," he promised, ensuring everyone could hear his reply. "Doctor Watson wouldn't have had enough time to cook and join the raid, and our stores would've run out trying to feed so many more people. Mr. Holmes telegrammed Mrs. Hudson's motel sometime yesterday."
"Her motel?"
He nodded but did not reply immediately, absorbed in keeping Bill level. He and George gently lowered the boy to Vicky's chosen bedroll, but while Arthur's arms ached in relief at dropping the increasingly heavy weight, George struggled to keep his chin off his chest.
"Go to bed, George."
George's silent refusal still did not help him stand, but a playful shove nearly unbalanced him. His half-asleep scowl received only an unrepentant smirk.
"Go to bed," Arthur ordered again. "It's closer to dawn than midnight, and I'm pretty sure you're the only one that has to work today. We can handle it."
A slow blink nearly kept his eyes closed. He finally agreed, stumbling to his own bedroll as Arthur concentrated on where Vicky now sat with her back to the wall.
"Mrs. Hudson cut her holiday short to help tonight," he confirmed, slowly claiming a spot over a foot out of reach. Between talking to Vicky and getting some water for Bill in a minute, he might not be able to sleep yet, but he wanted to sit. "Mr. Holmes sent for her yesterday morning, right after Tim told him where you were. She originally wasn't supposed to come back until today's midmorning train."
"But…" Something about that baffled her. "We're just a bunch of kids."
"So are we."
The slight frown she aimed through her feet showed she had not made the connection. Arthur let her think for several seconds before speaking again.
"Vicky?" Incomprehension still turned her mouth as she stared at his shoulder. "You heard Tim say we found the Haven, right?" She gave a single nod. "Mr. Holmes did not even confirm our findings before planning the raid for sunset. Look around." Surprise mixed with her continued uncertainty when she finally noticed the many young ones now awake and watching from a distance, each wanting to help but not yet sure how. "Mrs. Hudson, Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson, over half of the Yarders across every shift, and all fifty-something of us Irregulars had some hand in tonight. Tim flat disobeyed Mr. Holmes' orders by leading four of us into the manor proper before all the adults had been cuffed, and I betcha he won't even apologize when the doctor gives him an earful for it later. Nor would Doctor Watson expect him to. The doctor would have done the same thing—has done the same thing when Mr. Holmes got himself into trouble."
Clear confusion still marked her expression, but whatever she might have replied faltered when Timmy hurried forward, a bowl and several rags in hand. The boy's constant energy sent Vicky back a few inches.
"Thank you." Arthur said quietly. Vicky's questions meant he had not been able to ask someone to go for water. "East pump?"
"Acourse." Their youngest Tim carefully gave Vicky her space even as he aimed a question at her. "You want me ta bring some food over? I get not wantin' to leave him, but I can hear your tummy rumblin'."
She opened her mouth, then closed it, eyeing the smaller boy. "You would do that?"
A tilt of his head tied the answering frown to puzzlement rather than anger. "Why wouldn't I? Ya need ta eat, 'n Mrs. Hudson's food is the best! There's chicken over there. You like chicken?"
"I—" She hesitated, still studying him. "I don't know. Probably."
"Be right back!"
He darted away, much too awake for this time of night, but Vicky cast an uncertain glance at Arthur. He had gone on enough Alphas to recognize the wordless worry.
"You're not gonna owe him anything," he promised as a rag dripped down Bill's cheek. "Nobody here is keeping tabs, Vicky, whether child or adult. Home doesn't want anything to help you."
"But—" A short pause let her rephrase. "Him, alright, maybe. He acts like every other new arrival, but grown-ups don't help kids, and if your Mrs. Hudson made and brought the food…"
She let the comment fade as two more cabs arrived. Mrs. Hudson failed to hide her concern when several young ones silently joined Arthur's group, but Arthur disregarded the expected to study Vicky. For her to believe that adults never helped kids…
"You've never had a real home, have you? With people that care about you?"
Vicky shook her head. "Me and my brother lived with my grandma until I was…" She faltered. "Knee high to a grown-up?" Another moment passed before she shrugged the numberless age away. "She didn't like us. Didn't hurt us either, though, and we had food most o' the time. After she died, we stayed with my uncle until he decided he was tired of having kids in the house. My brother was old enough to work for one of my cousins, I think, but my uncle took me to the orphanage on his way to work the next morning."
He had not wanted to have kids? What kind of lowlife had she called "uncle" that he would up and decide to get rid of his family?
One worse than his own Bedlamite father, but Timmy's voice carried before Arthur could decide on a reply. She turned as the younger boy wound through the other beds, pausing several feet away to be sure Vicky had seen him.
"Here ya go." Simple meats, bread, and a little cheese dotted the plate he offered, along with a large helping of the shredded chicken that was Arthur's favorite. "Didn't know what else you liked, so I grabbed some of almost everything."
"Thank you."
The words barely reached audible, but Timmy merely gave another grin and darted away to suggest several of the littles start dishing up plates. Arthur waited for her to start eating before returning to their conversation.
"And shame on him for sending you there." He slowly adjusted against the cobblestones. Even if he could leave Bill, he still could not go to bed. He would keep her talking as long as he could, both for her sake and for every listening ear studiously pretending to ignore them. "I bet Mr. Holmes'll hunt 'im down just for that. He doesn't take kindly to anyone that hurts someone else, especially a kid."
"'Hunt them down'?" she repeated, glancing away from the rapidly disappearing meat. "Would he make me go back?"
"Not if you don't want to, but if your uncle dumped you there knowing what Fernsby was doing, Mr. Holmes'll put him in jail. He and the doctor already promised Carla they'd try to find parents."
That earned several looks, some excited, some thoughtful, but Vicky shook her head again.
"Not possible. Grown-ups don't care about kids. He probably just likes beating other grown-ups. Fernsby's secretary was like that—always had to take somebody down. He usually left us kids alone because the other grown-ups were a better 'challenge.'"
A secretary. He tucked the information away. Mr. Holmes might want that.
"Mr. Holmes does like putting mean adults in jail," he agreed, "but he also cares about us. He once took the first train back from the continent because the newspapers headlined three kids attacked not half a mile from our entrance."
"The continent?"
Oh. Right. No schooling. She had probably never even seen a map. They would have to remedy that in the coming weeks.
"More than a three-hour trip," he told her instead of trying to explain islands and oceans. "Nobody answered his telegram, so Mr. Holmes immediately paused his work to come home. The way he barged into this courtyard said a lot for how worried he had been."
Two familiar figures followed the last of the Irregulars through the archway. Mr. Holmes wandered toward Mrs. Hudson, checking the older ones as he went, but the doctor aimed straight for their otherwise silent group. Arthur paid him no mind, his attention on Vicky.
"Maybe they chose to like you," she decided after several seconds, "but I still don't get what that has to do with us. Or why she brought us food. We're just a bunch of strange kids. Carla's the only one that'll even talk to them."
He could not stop a tired smile. Only her confusion and the others' evident curiosity kept her talking to him, though he would not call her on it.
"Stranger or no, nobody here is 'just a kid' to Mrs. Hudson. Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson, too. We've been theirs since the beginning. More than half of this courtyard would call at least one of them 'Father' given the opportunity."
Twenty feet away, Doctor Watson froze mid step, then quickly hid his face in digging through his bag. Arthur's grin escaped when he noticed Mr. Holmes talking to Mrs. Hudson, ears a brilliant red. Fifteen rescued children were not the only ones eavesdropping.
Though listening adults did nothing to aid a young girl's confusion. Frustration finally bled something more than cautious curiosity into Vicky's tone. "Why aren't you listening?" she almost snapped. "There has to be a catch somewhere. They can't care about us when your grown-ups don't even know our names. They have no reason to look for our families, bring food, anything. You might be theirs, but we're not."
"You're sleepin' here tonight, aren't you?" Exasperation became something more like shock as she caught his meaning. "They don't care who you are, how you arrive, or how long you stay. They'd do anything for you." He paused, watching her reaction. "Mr. Holmes started the Irregulars from six half-starved street kids fighting to survive, and those same street kids now work as everything from doctor to lamplighter. Our first leader was one of the Yarders at the raid tonight. We don't expect anything from you, Vicky. We came because we found someone in trouble, and we'd do it again in a moment. Age doesn't matter to anyone here. You are important because you're you."
"He's right." Vicky startled slightly, wide eyes darting to where Tim stood several feet away. "We came as soon as we could, Vicky, and you will always be welcome here, whether they find your parents or not."
She made no answer, apparently done talking as she processed that. Tim focused on Arthur.
"How is he?"
"Warm," Arthur replied simply. Doctor Watson's silent question sparked a fatigued nod as a fresh cloth wet Bill's face and neck. The doctor waved Mr. Holmes to the corner Carla had chosen. "He hasn't moved, but he might just be asleep. His forehead doesn't feel that hot."
"Doctor Agar cleaned the cut, right?"
"Of course he did."
Tim huffed a faint laugh. "You sound as tired as I am. Where's George?"
"Bed." He stole a piece of meat off a passing Irregular's plate, smirking at the feigned irritation. "He couldn't even stay upright."
"And he has to work later," Tim finished. A pause studied Arthur. "Wave one of the younger ones to take over before you fall asleep sitting up as well."
A shrug answered him. "I'm not gonna fall asleep sitting up. And the others will need you more later," he added, anticipating Tim's next argument, "so don't offer. I can stay with him."
Tim's frown said he did not agree—and revealed a forming plan to ask the doctor to intervene, but Arthur ignored him. The younger half of their group would seek their beds soon enough, and Doctor Watson would only get so many opportunities at the information Carla carried. He could sit vigil. He had nowhere to be, anyway.
Pewter clattered against brick as Vicky looked between them. "I'm still awake."
"You need to sleep, too. It's alright."
She shook her head. "Sleeping at night means—meant—getting caught," she reminded them. "We'll all be awake for a while. Is something the matter? I thought he was just sleeping off the hot."
Arthur checked the rest of her group to find fourteen silent young ones watching curiously as the courtyard slowly went to sleep. He had forgotten about the flipped hours.
"You treat a fever by helping them get rid of the heat," he replied. "Bill needs someone to keep wiping his face, neck, and chest. If you're sure you want to help?"
She nodded, and he concealed his relief to pass her the bowl and rags. Tim disappeared into the shadows as Arthur pointed out his own bed.
"You should have enough water to last a while, but if you need something, wake me."
She agreed, her own furtive glances noting Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson in the corner. The bowl moved to let her face them.
"Do you want me to stay?"
The effort required for her to look away from the nearby adults prompted a shot of sympathy, but she shook her head.
"The others probably have questions, and you need to sleep." She shifted again. "Tha—" The phrase cut off, haunted eyes almost brave enough to meet his. "Thanks, Arthur."
"Not a problem," was all he could safely reply, but his wide smile lasted all the way back to his thick blanket cocoon. Yes, she would adapt quickly.
And judging by the murmured questions that started the moment he walked out of range, the others would not be far behind.
And so ends this roller coaster of a case. Don't forget to drop your thoughts below (reviews are always very much appreciated!) and thank you to those who reviewed last chapter :D
Fireguardian22: That was exactly the response I hoped to prompt when I wrote and rewrote that scene. Thank you for taking the time to let me know your reaction :)
And just in case that was a legitimate question, Carla revealed in Family Locator that she had been there for about 6 years. Kidnapped at age 5 and Henry thought she was about 11.