DeLacy stood high upon the stairs, directly in front of a massive bronze gong, a mallet in his hands, raised to strike.

"Dear me, Your Lordship..." Surprisingly, it was Titus who spoke first and stepped forward, a grin spreading across his face. "A little bit late to ring the dinner gong, don't you think?"

DeLacy's face twisted in rage. "You!"

"Yes. Me." Striking a pose, Titus adjusted his white-powdered wig and tugged on his livery. "How do you like your newest employee's performance so far?"

"Ha! Just you wait, you traitorous scum! You'll get what's coming to you soon enough!"

"Really?" Lifting an eyebrow, Titus crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Somehow, I don't think so."

Ignoring Titus' words, DeLacy smashed the mallet against the bronze gong. An almighty ring pervaded the manor house, penetrating every single inch of the place. Lord Abrehan stood there, a wicked grin spreading across his face—that is, until the sound died down, followed by a deep, all-encompassing silence.

"What the...!"

Not a footstep. Not a creaking door. Not a single shout in answer. Nothing.

DeLacy's gaze fell on Titus. "What did you do?"

"Didn't you find it curious that your house is very, very silent tonight?" He smiled. "I've been running around in your lackeys' uniform for more than eighteen hours now. Why wouldn't I use such an opportunity?"

"You...you mean..."

"Yes." Pulling a small bag out his pocket, Titus twiddled it between his fingers. "Amazing what a little bit of white powder can do. Too bad I couldn't get my hands on a laxative, though. That would have been fun."

"You...you...!"

"You know..." The corner of his mouth quirking, Patrick stepped up beside Titus. "It's moments like these that make me remember why you're my best friend."

"Thank you very much. I'll send you some laxative as soon as possible."

"You...!" DeLacy's face was flooded with rage, his fingers clenching around the mallet as if he intended to strike them all down.

"You look flushed," Titus observed, concerned. "Should we find a toilet to fit you in?"

"Die!" In a blink, DeLacy's hand moved down to his waist. Metal flashed.

"Down!" Patrick roared, raising his pistol. "Everybody duck!"

Bam!

Bam!

The gunshots echoed through the hall. Karim summarily grabbed the six children closest to him and dumped them behind a marble pillar. Amy did the same with three others—yes, three, she didn't have arms like Goliath, thank you very much—and then grabbed the last few, dragging them down to the ground with her.

"Stay down!"

Only out of the corner of her eye did she catch a glimpse of Patrick rushing up the stairs, sword in hand.

"Go 'elp 'im!" she called out to Titus.

"With what?" he demanded, tugging at his servant's livery. "This thing comes with a wig, not a bloody warhammer!"

Cursing, Amy shoved her remaining charges into cover and pulled a pistol from her maid's outfit. Thank the Lord for voluminous underskirts!

Clang!

Sparks flew as, up above on the stairs, two swords collided. Patrick was engaging DeLacy in a furious duel. Even to Amy's inexperienced eyes, it was clear who was the better swordsman. But no matter his superior skill, Patrick did not hold the higher ground and was slowly but surely being driven back. Keeping her head low, Amy snuck along the balustrade until she reached the edge of the staircase, reached for her pistol and...

Bam!

"Ah!" DeLacy jerked, his free hand reaching up to touch the streak of red on his cheek. For a long moment, he stared down, flabbergasted, at the blood on his fingers.

That was one moment too long.

"Aaagh!"

With a sound of steel scraping against bone, Patrick's sword stabbed past his enemy's guard and sank into DeLacy's shoulder. Gnashing his teeth, the wounded man lashed out, just barely failing to lop Patrick's head off as he desperately dodged.

"Give it up!" DeLacy growled. "You'll never best me in a duel with swords!"

"No?" Patrick enquired. "Well, it's good that I'm not relying only on swords, then."

And he drove his knee straight into the other nobleman's bollocks. As DeLacy collapsed with a gurgle, Amy gave an approving nod. Good student. This was the way to make a teacher proud.

Ripping the sword from DeLacy's shoulder with a satisfying sound, Patrick aimed straight for his throat. But DeLacy rolled away, sliding and rolling down the stairs. Scrambling to his feet, he clutched his sword with one hand while pressing the other on his wound. His eyes flicked from side to side, rage and desperation flaring in them in equal measure.

"What?" Amy smirked. "Lookin' for a way ta run?"

To judge by the scowl on DeLacy's face, that had indeed been the case. But it was far too late for that. Patrick stood above, blocking the staircase. Amy with her reloaded pistol stood to the right, Titus with a hat stand and a desperate expression to the left, and Karim blocked the entrance door, the children safe behind him.

"Now what?" Amy watched as Lord Patrick Day, his eyes alight, his mane of golden hair tangled by the wild fight, descended the stairs, sword in hand. His powerful stride, the merciless look in his eyes...everything about him was the spitting image of a hero. He flashed Lord Abrehan a cocky smile. "What are you planning to do now, DeLacy?"

"You want me to surrender? You want me to come quietly?" DeLacy sneered. "As if I would ever lower myself!"

Patrick nodded. "Good."

Then he charged. Leaping down from the stairs, he kicked straight at his opponent's chest.

Whirling out of the way, DeLacy hacked at Patrick's legs, taking off a chunk of his shoe. When Patrick hit the ground, he stumbled over his mutilated shoe and nearly fell face-first on the ground. But instead, he rolled, avoiding a sword strike that sent sparks flying up from the floor. Jumping to his feet just in time to parry the next strike, Patrick once again went on the offensive. Strike after strike, stab after stab, he slowly but surely drove Lord Abrehan DeLacy to the lowest step of the staircase. For several moments, DeLacy fought desperately, until finally, he was forced to step back. The instant he stumbled on the steps, Patrick struck!

"Aargh!"

One swift strike, and Lord Abrehan DeLacy lay impaled upon the cold stone steps. Snarling and twisting, he tried to get out from under the blade, but Patrick persisted, twisting the blade in the wound, making his enemy roar with pain.

From across the room, the girls were watching the whole scene with fixed expressions. Some people might think that letting little girls watch a man being stabbed to death would not be a good idea. In Amy's humble opinion, such people were bloody idiots. She had met men like Abrehan DeLacy in her past as well, more often than she could count. If she had a chance to see them bleed, she would pay good money for it.

And now here she was, and was actually getting paid for it. Wasn't life spiffing?

"You..." DeLacy rasped, blood trickling down the side of his mouth. "You...you'll never get away with this!"

Patrick raised an eyebrow, gazing down at the other man mercilessly. "Oh of course I won't. Because a nobleman in the British Empire getting away with crimes because of his power and social position would be so very, very unusual."

"You...you...!"

Lord Abrehan DeLacy reached out a trembling hand as if wanting to wrap it around Patrick's throat and squeeze—then it crumpled to the ground. He didn't move again. When Amy looked at DeLacy's face, his eyes were glassy and lifeless.

Her hand clenched in triumph, and a smile spread over her face.

"Well, well...who says dat 'and dey lived happily ever after' is da only kind of happy end?"

Panting, Patrick, who had been half bent over his fallen enemy with his sword clenched in both hands, slowly rose to his feet again and gazed down at DeLacy with a mixture of incomprehension and disgust.

"What should we do with this...thing?"

"Leave him to rot!" a cold voice came from behind them. Turning around, they saw a girl with a long, half-healed scar running down the left side of her face, and many more scars in her eyes. Patrick gazed at her for a long moment—then nodded.

"All right." Tearing his sword free, he glanced around the entry hall of the luxurious manor house, derision evident in his eyes. "Rubbish in a rubbish bin. Sounds perfect."

"A tiny piece of rubbish," Amy muttered, "in a big world full of waste."

Turning towards Amy, he held out his hand to her, meeting her gaze. Amy felt her heart make a leap.

"Then let's go, shall we? I feel inclined to do some cleaning."

A corner of her mouth quirked up, and she grasped his hand. "With pleasure."

And, together, they strode out of the manor house into the night that suddenly seemed very beautiful and peaceful.

***

"In retrospect," Titus said, shifting slightly under the weight of the three sleeping children who were strewn over his lap, "it was a brilliant idea to steal a coach and slaughter its escort. If we didn't have a second one, things might have turned somewhat problematic transportation-wise."

"We could always 'ave put another three brats on yer 'ead," Amy suggested in a friendly manner. "It should be more dan big enough."

Titus threw a look at her, then glanced over at his best friend. "I pity you. I truly do. If ever in the future you need a refuge from the tyrant at home, my house is always open to you."

Patrick grabbed his friend by the scruff of the neck. "Pardon, I didn't quite hear you right. What did you say?"

"IsaidIwishyoualongandhappybachelorlife!"

"That's what I thought I heard."

Patrick let go. His gaze happened to meet Amy's—and immediately, they glanced away from each other. Amy felt her cheek heating.

Did...did he find the idea of being married to her that horrible?

The instant the thought came to her, she wanted to hit herself! Idiot, of course 'e does! 'e's a peer! 'e's so far above ye, ye'd need a ladder ta lick his shoes clean!

But then...why were his high, well-defined cheekbones also tinged with a hint of red?

Quickly, she shook her head, chasing away those bloody stupid thoughts. The last remnants of fanciful ideas were driven from her mind when she felt the tiny hand in hers tighten its grip. Turning, she looked down at Grace who sat beside her, gazing out of the window, lost in thought.

"It...'asn't bin long since we went past yer village. We can still turn around and—"

"—and what?" The little girl glanced up at her with a sad smile. A smile far too sad for her age. "Try and stay where I ain't welcome? Or worse, say dey took me again—what's ta say dey won't sell me again tomorrow? I wouldn't be da first girl sold to God knows where as a chimney sweep, mine worker, or worse."

Emphasis on worse.

Swallowing, Amy slid an arm around Grace's shoulders. "Aye. Well, ye don't need ta go back. I think I know someone ye can stay with."

Grace's head jerked around to stare at her. "Really?"

Patrick slowly turned to stare at her. "Really?"

She grinned at him. "Oh, aye. And ye know 'er, too. After all, da two of ye are relatives."

It took a moment before the penny dropped. When it did, it dropped into a deep, dark chasm of terror.

"No. Oh no."

"Oh aye." Rising up, Amy pounded against the coach roof. "Karim? To London!"

A few days later, in a certain street in the middle of the night...

Ding-dong!

The sound of the doorbell echoed through the nocturnal street. For a long moment, nothing happened, until...

"Blasted bastards! Who on earth would ring the doorbell at this hour of the night! The only idiot capable is out of town and—"

The door opened, and the young woman's words cut off.

"Ehem." Patrick smiled. "Good evening, sister."

"No. No, no, nonononono! Not again!"

His Lordship straightened, looking as respectable and innocent as possible. "I have no idea what you could possibly mean, sister dear."

"Really?" Raising both hands, Angeline jabbed one finger of each forward, pointing. "Then what is that, pray?"

Turning around, Patrick came face-to-door with the two humongous carriages behind him. Just then, one of the sun blinds on the windows was lifted, revealing the curious faces of several little girls.

"Ehem, well..."

"Two coaches full, Patrick? Two coaches? What's next? Delivery by train?"

"Great idea." Amy choose this opportunity to stick her head out of the coach and send Angeline a beaming smile. "I'll keep dat in mind for next time."

"You...!" Eyes flashing, Angeline jabbed a finger at her. And not the forefinger, but its less friendly neighbor. "Just you wait! I'll be dealing with you soon enough!"

Whirling back towards her other victim, aka her brother, she was just in time to grab him before he was able to sneak into the house.

"And you! Don't you think you can just sneak off! What do you think this place is? Some kind of charity hotel for lost puppies?"

"Well..." Patrick's gaze strayed to the door of the house, where several tiny figures with big eyes and drowsy faces had appeared.

"Those don't count! Don't you think you can get away with this again! This is Mum and Dad's house! I won't take in anymore strays! I won't!"

"Oh?" Smiling innocently, Amy grabbed hold of the cutest of the girls and held her under Angeline's nose.

"I...I...shall not succumb!"

She pushed the girl a little closer, and she batted her eyelashes. "Are ye sure?"

"I...I shall not...This is unfair! These are cruel and unusual methods!"

"Aye, they are. Are ye gonna let us in?"

"I'm going to get you for this!"

"I look forward to it. Come on, girls! Forward march!"

She pulled open the carriage door, signaling for the troops to storm the castle. Not a single one of the girls moved. Some stared up at the tall, white town house with fearful expressions. Others seemed to be hardly aware of where they were. Yet others ducked into shadowy corners, trying to conceal their scars and bruises.

Amy didn't really know what to do. She knew what those girls had been through. She knew how they felt. But how to help them? How should she know that? After all, all the bad things she had experienced herself. But...nobody had ever helped her.

She clenched her hands.

Helpless. She felt completely helpless. What was she supposed to do? Who could possibly—

Just then, an angelic white blur rushed past her. "Oh goodness gracious! You poor darlings! You..." Angeline's eyes swept over the horde of children, then turned to stare daggers at the clearly guilty party. "Patrick! How could you have allowed such a thing?"

Patrick blinked. "What? Me? I didn't—"

"Out of the way! I'll deal with you later." Stabbing Patrick in the kidneys with a finger, she sent him tumbling backwards, then turned towards the open carriage door with an angelic smile. "You there, what are you still shivering in the cold for? Come inside!"

The children hesitated.

"I have sweets and hot chocolate."

"R-really?" One little girl in the corner piped up, eyes gleaming.

"What's 'ot chocolate?" whispered someone even farther back.

"Sweet and tasty." Angeline smiled up at them, holding out her hand. "Do you want to try?"

Just at that opportune moment, a new figure appeared in the light of the house's doorway.

"What's goin' on?" she grumbled, rubbing her eyes. "Why are ye all out 'ere at night?"

For a moment, silence hung over the street. Then...

"F-Flo?"

"Leona? Is that you?"

"Flo!"

A small flash of red flew out of the carriage and barreled straight into Flo.

"You...!" Leona's voice was nothing but a whisper. "You did all dis?"

"I didn't do nothing!" Over the top of her friend's head, Flo glared at the four traitors, Amy very much included. "Dey left me be'ind!"

"Y-ye know dis girl, Leona?" a hesitant voice from the coach asked.

"Of course I do! She's me friend!"

"We," Angeline said gently, "are all friends. And we have hot chocolate."

That clinched it. Like a mother hen with her chicks, Angeline herded the children inside. In the light of the entrance, she froze for a moment as, for the first time, she got a really good look at the bruised and malnourished faces all around her. Then she rushed everyone inside and started shooting off orders like a general.

"Patrick! Get me some blankets from those cupboards! Amy, wake up the housekeeper! You with the big beard, find me some old dresses from my wardrobe, and don't give me that shocked expression, I'm not asking you to try on my underwear! You...scruffy fellow?"

"Titus. My name is Titus. You know, your brother's best friend for the last ten years?"

"Yes, you! Get me anything and everything tasty you can find in the larder!"

A grin spread across Titus' face. "Yes, Ma'am!"

"And don't eat anything yourself."

"Oh."

"You! Put on some hot water! You, pull the covers off all the beds and sofas in the upper storeys! To the kitchen, everyone! Let's get you all fed till you're stuffed!"

Ushering the children into the kitchen, she started juggling pots and pans, pulling item after item out of the cupboards faster than the eye could see. Soon after, the swaying staff sleepwalked their way into the room, and she started rattling off more orders for the maids and footmen. In a blink, the table was set, and the children were perched on their chairs, gazing wide-eyed at the shining, sparkly-clean surroundings. Even those who had previously walked around like zombies seemed to slowly come out of their trance. And no wonder. They were in a warm house, wearing fresh clothes, without any people beating them. No matter how gruesome their past had been, Amy knew very well that deep down, children had an instinct. Especially the kinds of children who had been fighting to survive since they were young. They might bite the hand that beat them, but never the one that fed them.

"Err..." Patrick raised a cautious hand. "Can I have another helping?"

"Don't you worry." Angeline gave him a deceptively sweet smile. "I'll dish out what you deserve soon enough." Then she turned towards a little girl gazing up at her with disbelieving adoration. "Want another pancake, sweetie?"

It didn't take long before everything in the kitchen, and most of the hairs on the butler's head, had been devoured. When the children started yawning and sagging onto the table, Angeline clapped her hands.

"All right, everyone! Time for bed." Without any further ado, she shooed the children away from the table and up the stairs.

"Will dere be enough room for everyone?" Amy asked, gazing worriedly after the few dozen children.