Lord Patrick Day sat on his chaise longue, stroking his chin, deep in thought.

Why?

The reason for his intense concentration lay right in front of him on the table.

It was about an hour after breakfast. Most of the children had left the house to wreck the—ehem, play in the garden. From upstairs, the sound of a piano being tortured echoed through the house. Apparently, Flo and Jo were putting the lessons they had learned from Edmund to the test. Well, it was good they were all busy. He and the others had business to attend to that wasn't exactly fit for children's ears.

"So that's it?" Angeline's words were more a statement than a question, each syllable saturated with anger.

"Aye." Amy nodded. "The list."

They had not looked at this thing ever since they had liberated the children from the gang's secret east end hideout. But now, all their attention was focused on it.

"Why are we looking at this?" Karim growled. "The girls on this list need to be rescued, true. But with every moment that passes, more and more are captured and sent to locations all over Britain we don't even know about. We should attack the heart of the organization, rather than whittling away at the edges."

A fighter to the core. But not a general. Well, I suppose that is what I am here for.

"True." Patrick nodded grimly. "Unfortunately, we don't know where said heart is, or if it even is a heart, or perhaps a liver or a kidney. Remember, we still don't have any idea who is actually behind this. Which gang is kidnapping the children? Is it actually just one, or are several cooperating? How did they manage to secure connections to the nobility to sell their...products? We need answers to all those questions, yet we don't have any way to get them."

Reaching out, he tapped the crinkled document on the table.

"Except for one."

"You mean..."

"I mean since we don't know which gang to go after, we go after their victims instead. With every single one we find, we will obtain more information. A whispered name here, a glimpse at a face that was supposed to be masked there...Sooner or later, intelligence will accumulate. Sooner or later, our enemies will not be able to hide anymore. We will rescue all the children they have stolen from all over Britain, and once we have witnesses that can lead us where we want to go, we will strike straight at whoever is behind this!"

From the other side of the table, Amy sent him a grin that would have caused any hostess of a ball held by a well-respected family to throw her out on her derriere in horror. Patrick, for some reason, did not feel the appropriate amount of horror. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"Ehem." Karim cleared his throat.

"Ah. Right." Hurriedly, Lord Patrick Day lowered his gaze to the list again. One thing had to be said for that list—it was incredibly effective at driving out any embarrassing thoughts. Ruthlessly so.

***

Amy watched as Patrick's finger started wandering down the list, mumbling as he went.

"Sir MNG, Lord F, Duke RH..."

The others exchanged looks.

"Those are merely initials," Karim pointed out. "How are we supposed what any of that means?"

Patrick looked up, only cocking one eyebrow in response.

'ell, now I know where da word "cocky" comes from. 'ow da 'ell does he manage ta look dis arrogant just by doing dat? And...why da 'ell ain't I more pissed off about it?

"You," Lord Patrick Day informed them, "have obviously forgotten to whom you are speaking. I am Lord Patrick Day, Peer of the Empire and Knight of the Order of the Garter."

Amy cocked her head. "So...dat means ye've got pantyhose, too?"

His Most Noblistic Lordship sent her a cool look. "That means," he said, "that there is little to nothing about the British aristocracy I do not know or cannot discover."

Rising to his feet, he marched over to one of the elegant bookshelves that lined the wall and pulled out a leather-bound volume, the cover of which proclaimed in golden lettering Who's Who. Amy watched intently as he sat down on the chaise longue once more and, flipping open the book, started to scan the page.

"H...H..."

"Which one are you looking for?" Karim asked.

Amy wanted to know that, too. Of course, she'd rather choke to death on chicken feathers than admit it out loud, but still...She watched keenly as Patrick slowly looked up from the book.

"Duke RH."

Amy leaned forward, frowning. "Why 'im?"

"There are hundreds of lords in Great Britain, and tens of thousands of knights. Yet dukes are different. Including the royal family, who I hope to God aren't involved in this, there are only thirty-one dukedoms in the entirety of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland. That narrows down the list of suspects quite significantly, wouldn't you agree? Moreover, dukes are wealthy." His eyes narrowed. "If they're so inclined, they have much more funding to...indulge in their proclivities."

"So...da worst one is da first one?"

His Lordship inclined his head. "Setting aside your atrocious mispronunciation of the definite article—well put."

Amy grinned. "I like da way ye think. Now..." Cracking her knuckles, she leaned forward. "Of da thirty-one, which bloody bugger is Duke RH?"

"A moment please."

Holding up a finger, he once more bent to study the book his hands. Never in her life would Amy have thought she'd be eager to hear the contents of the book that was essentially Britain's Top 1000 Snobbish Nobs and Arseholes. Her foot tapping on the floor quickly, she waited. And waited.

"H...H..." His finger wandered down the page—then abruptly stopped. "Harrington, Ronald, Duke of Arrendyle."

His gaze slid up, meeting Amy's.

"RH," she said.

He nodded. "RH."

"Who is dis man?" Amy almost felt her eyes burn. "Or, more importantly, where is 'e?"

Patrick stroked his chin. "Hm...he has a house in town, of course. But seeing how risky it would be to keep a significant number of captives in the city, he most likely spends a great deal of his time in the country, at his manor near Collundale."

At the sound of that word, Amy froze. Her eyes flicked to Karim, who was frozen in place just like her. Or at least he was for the moment. Any second now, however, Amy knew, the message would register, and the explosion would erupt.

"His. Manor. Near. Where?" The Mohammedan enquired, each word landing like a heavy hammer.

Patrick frowned. "Collundale. It says here in the book it's a small village, just a few miles away from Ambrose Manor. Why? Do you know the place?"

"Aye." Amy felt sparks erupting from her eyes. "Ye could say dat."

An animalistic growl issued from Karim's throat. He looked as if, at any moment, he'd jump up and start attacking the porcelain shepherdess on the mantelpiece. Fists clenched, he rose to his feet.

"We...are leaving right now?" Patrick's eyes flicked from Amy to Karim and back. Piercing. Perceptive.

"Aye." Amy couldn't help but think of her friend, Lilly, and her man, the master of Ambrose manor, now married and thankfully out of the country. She couldn't help but think of her two oldest friends, Jenny and Cora, one of whom was now expecting her latest child.

Her child.

Living in a certain village that began with C.

"Aye." Amy repeated, rising to her feet. "We're leavin' right now. Right friggin' now!"

"As soon," Karim added, one fist clenched around the hilt of his sabre, "as I have contacted a few colleagues."

Whirling around, he marched out of the room.

Patrick frowned. "Colleagues? What does he mean?"

Amy grinned. Oh dear. The poor man had no idea what he was in for.

No, a small voice at the back of her mind whispered as a grim smile spread across her face. It ain't 'im. It's dat bastard 'arrington who don't know what 'e's in for!

"Ye'll see soon enough," she told Patrick. "Just wait."

"Very well. Meanwhile...shall we go get our own reinforcements?"

"Ye mean..." The grin on Amy's face widened.

"Yes," he said. "Exactly."

***

Ding-dong...

Birds twittered. A cock crowed in the distance, greeting the sunrise.

Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong!

"I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm coming! God, who the hell is at my door at this hour of the morning? It couldn't be that idiot, he came by...just...yesterday..."

"Hello there." As the door slid open, Lord Patrick greeted his best friend with a cheerful smile. "Would you like to—"

"Heck no!"

Leaping back with speed a cheetah would have been proud of, Titus tried to slam the door shut.

"Oh no you don't!"

Lord Patrick had known his friend for a very long time. His foot moved with astounding alacrity, squeezing itself between the door and frame. His hand followed, grabbing Titus by the scruff of the neck and dragging him outside.

"Hey! This is kidnapping! Help!"

"Indeed it is. And you want to help the poor victims? How wonderful. I'm sure the children will appreciate it."

"I was talking about me!"

Patrick cupped a hand behind his ear. "Pardon, what was that? I find that I am sometimes hard of hearing lately."

"Police! Police! I'm being kidnapped!"

"Haven't you read the paper this morning? The police are deplorably neglectful regarding such sad events. It is a real shame, is it not?"

Before Titus hada chance to think of a response to that, Patrick unceremoniously dumped him into the coach waiting in front of his house.

***

Meanwhile, in a miserable little hellhole...

"Gadzooks! I 'aven't bin 'ere in so long I nearly forgot 'ow bloody awful dis place looks."

Shifting an unidentifiable something—A rubbish heap? A mould monster?—out of her way, Amy cautiously stepped into the place that was...

Her home.

This miserable little dump of a flat was her home.

Right then and there, it really hit her hard how pathetic her life was. She hadn't really cared or noticed before. So...why now?

The image of a resplendent town mansion appeared in front of her inner eye.

Why do ye think, genius?

So this was all his fault. Bloody son of a bachelor! Of course it was!

Grumbling, she started rummaging through the room, trying to gather what supplies she could for the upcoming trip. It was certainly easier than expected. Her funds and supplies had recently increased quite a bit due to...a certain someone.

Why da 'ell is 'e so bloody generous? And...and why da bloody 'ell am I pissed off about 'im givin' me money? I love money! I especially love takin' it from snobby aristocrats!

Yet, every time he handed her her payment for her assistance, money she had insisted on receiving in the beginning, she felt an ever growing desire to fling the coins in his too darn handsome face! Growling, she gave her mattress a kick—causing it to slide aside, revealing the cover of a familiar book beneath. On the cover was emblazoned a title in far too darn corny italic writing. The only two words visible were...

Love.

Nobleman.

For some very, very annoying reason, Amy felt her face flush.

"Oh, ta 'ell with supplies!" she grumbled. "We 'ave a perverted kidnapper ta take down! Let's just get out of 'ere!"

And, whirling around, she rushed out of the room.

After she had made sure to hide that book beneath the mattress once again.

***

Not far away, in a certain coach, approaching the aforementioned hellhole...

"Well, if you want to find accomplices for your kidnapping, you're certainly going the right way."

"Shut up, Titus."

"You could just gag me, you know. I hear that's standard practise."

"Hm...for something coming from you, an amazingly sensible suggestion."

"Tell me again, why do I have a friend like you?"

"Because nobody else would ever lend you gambling money."

Titus opened his mouth to respond—then closed it again, defeated by the truth. Pulling a face, he threw a look at the dilapidated street outside.

"So...if not to look for accomplices in crime, why the hell are we here?"

"To pick someone up," Lord Patrick answered curtly. And make sure she's in no danger.

But he didn't say that last part aloud. His mind had already hired an expensive team of mental lawyers to deny he had ever thought it in the first place.

"Pick someone up?" Titus snorted. "What sort of blithering idiot would live in this kind of horrific dump?"

"Oy!" came a voice from just outside the window, and the two men instinctively turned to come face-to-face with a certain lady of the night. "'ello dere. Fancy seein' ye 'ere."

"Oh." Titus cleared his throat, ducking his head to avoid Patrick's deathglare.

"Please allow me." Pushing open the door, Lord Patrick extended his hand to help her inside. "May I?"

"Sure ye may!" With a wink, she dumped her luggage into his hands, nearly making him topple out of the carriage. "'ere ye go."

By the time he righted himself, she was smiling at him. Patrick felt his heart make a little leap. Excitement about their upcoming mission, probably?

Then her gaze travelled on to Titus.

"Ehem." Titus cleared his throat. "About what I said earlier...no offense, right?"

Amy sent him an innocent smile. The kind Patrick had seen his mother give his father just before Armothergeddon came. "Of course not."

"Great! That's great! Then, perhaps...I'm in a little bit of a pickle." He glanced at Patrick, who was blocking his way of escape. "Help? Please?"

"Aye." Her grin widening, Amy climbed inside, sliding an arm around his shoulder and efficiently blocking off the other door. "Ye're going ta 'elp all right. I hope ye brought yer pistol, some knives, and a copy of yer will?"

"Rrnng."

"Dat's a good boy! Coachman, go!"