Chapter 14: 13: Company Pride Taken

The next morning, the weather had not improved, and true to their word Matthew and Thomas bundled themselves into a coach in the early hours. As their journey began, wheels rumbling over the rocky drive, Thomas watched the Humphrey home fade from view with a pensive frown.

In their absence, the household drew closer still to a semblance of normalcy. With heartfelt thanks and not a little persuasion, Aunt Jemima was convinced to return home for a few days and rest. Bart accompanied her, set on checking that the weather had not caused any damage on the estate, and Simon was similarly caught up in his responsibilities. Without a governess, Phil joined him and was far more help than hinderance.

Beth and David had also chosen to remain for a few days, both to spend time with their family and assist with Isabela as much as they could. Mostly they could be found in the sitting room, curled together on a settee with a book between them, or strolling through the gardens when the rains eased. Once, they were even found in the servants' quarters, emerging from the room David had first occupied when he was recuperating with them. If David's hair was mussed, or Beth's dress slightly askew, the servants knew better than to comment on it, even as the couple blushed and hurried back to the sitting room.

Vincent was oblivious to all of this; his days had one very specific, very delicate, focus.

Two days after Matthew and Thomas had departed, Beth found him sitting in the library with a book forgotten in his lap. He had been thinking.

Beth took the seat opposite him, her smile genuine but firm as she set her hands in her lap.

"Vincent, I-" She cut off as he winced, dipping his head at the woven basket by his feet, half hidden by a table. It took her a moment to recognise it as a makeshift bassinet, and even longer in the dim afternoon light to recognise the quick rise and fall of Isabela's chest. Beth's mouth was slightly agape, half shocked, half amused, as she quickly rose and seated herself closer to her bother.

"I didn't realise you had company," she commented softly, leaning forward to smile down at the sleeping child.

These days, Vincent always had company. Isabela did not want to be parted from him, but he could not spend all his time in the nursery, and he could not constantly have her in his arms. In compromise, he, Matilda, and his Aunt Jemima had strung together a bed for the child that he could easily move from room to room. The moment he could contrive to safely put her on horseback with him was the moment he resumed his daily rides. He had not voiced this aloud however, as he was concerned someone might misconstrue it as a joke.

Beth didn't seem concerned by his silence, her gaze lingering on Isabela's soft features. "She looks so young," she murmured, "and so much littler than she should."

Vincent had a similar concern. By their aunt's estimation, Isabela was perhaps six or seven months old. By that age, she'd said, the babe should be sitting and playing, and doing her best to crawl. Mostly, Isabela slept. Vincent was doing his best not to be worried, but even then he felt himself frown. Although, he reasoned, if he'd been through all she had, perhaps he would want to do little more than sleep or eat as well!

Still, he nodded his agreement with his sister's thoughts.

With a small, huffed sigh, Beth drew her attention off the child's face and met Vincent's gaze evenly. "Have you given much though to what happens next?"

Vincent blinked. Before he could ask her to be more specific, Beth continued.

"Now that you know her mother has passed, what will happen to Isabela? From what you've described, the other women aren't in a position to care for her suitably."

Ah. It had been one of the things he was considering. The sooner Isabela found a permanent home, the better for all of them. She needed someone to encourage her to crawl, and teach her to talk, and bring out smiles and laughter. She needed someone to love her as much as Gabriela had.

"I know there are some children's homes and orphanages in town," Beth continued softly, her gaze fixed on his face. "I thought perhaps I could write to them, explain a little, and then we might go visit them. If she were only an hour away, you could visit her too." Whatever she saw in his expression seemed to alarm her. "If you chose to."

Truthfully, Vincent hadn't considered whether or not he would stay in Isabela's life once he found her a home. He had assumed... In a matter of weeks, he would be a man of the law. He would be busy! And he was hardly a person worth knowing when one was concerned with raising a child!

As if she could hear his thoughts, Isabela stirred at his feet. She twisted and stretched, almost rolling onto her side, and as her tiny fists rubbed against her cheeks, her dark eyes blinked open. She met Vincent's intense look with one of her own.

He sighed, and looked to his sister. "When...If... Write them," he said eventually, "and we will visit."

.

A day to send messages, a day to receive them, and then they were off to town. Aunt Jemima returned, refreshed from her days at home, and took the squirming bundle from Vincent as he climbed into the carriage. Beth and David were already seated within, and offered smiles tempered by the early hour. Over the journey, they exchanged quiet whispers which Vincent was more than happy to ignore, but as they reached the outskirts of town, Beth offered some more details on the orphanage they were visiting. It was funded and run by the church. The children were kept from the workhouses, and many found work by the time they were sixteen. She might said more if they hadn't drawn to a stop at that moment.

They were greeted by the headmistress, a woman whose grey garb led Vincent to believe she was a nun, who escorted them inside a narrow building set amongst a host of other narrow buildings. The stench of mould was immediately clear. As was the sheer number of children contained within such a small building. Some were smeared with dirt, others so thin Phil might have been able to study anatomy from their frames.

It was not five minutes into their visit when the nun spotted a child climbing the stair banister and excused herself, snapping a few choice words at the struggling child, Vincent turned slowly where he stood. As he took in the leaking walls and peeling paint, Vincent let out a deep sigh.

"Well," Beth said after a long moment, stepping closer to her brother. "It's an option." She did not sound convinced.

Her husband shadowed her movement, his frown less easily hidden than hers. "Is it?" he said quietly, his gaze flickering to a small toddler as he waddled passed. He was thin and unsteady on his feet, and as they watched him cross the room, he stubbed his toe and fell backwards. He landed on his bottom with a light thump, before letting up outraged cries. No one seemed to care. The children around him played on and the headmistress was still occupied with other children. Vincent saw David's hands twitch, but his buried them in his pockets. After a heart-wrenching moment the boy realised no one was coming to his aid. He sniffed back the rest of his tears, pushed himself upright, and continued on, completely unaware of the three adults who watched him with hollow chests.

This was not an option.

Vincent was convinced. He would not be leaving Isabela here. Whatever good intentions were had were overshadowed by too many orphans and not enough staff or resources.

His sister cleared her voice gently, swallowing down emotion as she drew their attention away from the children. "She needs a home," she reminded both Vincent and her husband. "This place may not be ideal, but..." She had no way to end the sentence, and offered only a weak shrug.

The bile was back in Vincent's throat. He was... confused. His every instinct told him to leave that place and never return, but he was the first to admit that his instincts were... alternative. If Thomas were here, he'd ask him what to do. Thomas was excellent with people and-

Vincent's mind staggered to a halt, a deep frown descending on his face. Since when had Thomas' opinion become the first he'd sought? Here he had his sister, likely carrying her own child, and her judgement was one that he'd believed for years. He only worried that she might not appreciate the question.

But for Isabela he would ask and apologise later.

"Would you leave your child here?" The question was sharper than he'd intended, probably worsened by his remaining frown, but still he locked gaze with Beth. Her eyes flew wide, hand moving quickly to cup her stomach without conscious thought, but she didn't seem angry. Slowly, her surprise faded, and she shook her head, first gently, then vehemently.

David closed the gap between them, his arm slipping gently around her waist to sit atop hers. "Never."

Vincent nodded firmly. "Then we leave."

They did.

Meticulous as ever, that was not the only establishment Beth had considered. The remainder of their day was spent touring various orphanages and children's homes, and gradually growing more and more disheartened. There were too many children, too few adults, and too much mould, and each successive visit set Vincent further and further on edge.

The last institution was the best, or at least the best funded. From what the headmaster said – or rather, what he didn't say – Vincent gathered that most of the children there were the bastard children of wealthy merchants or lower gentry. They seemed well-fed and happy, and smiled shyly at the three strangers that trailed slowly after their headmaster.

The man had seemed slightly surprised to find their particular configuration – a woman and two men – at his door, but welcomed them in smoothly enough. Beth had tried to explain the situation, if only to clarify what they were looking for, but the man waved her off quickly.

"Please, madam," he said, bowing slightly. "We pride ourselves on discretion, and the easiest way to be discrete is simply not to know!"

Beth frowned, but the man never noticed; he swivelled on one heel and continued the tour. It was when they reached the schoolroom that she spoke up again.

"This is an excellent classroom," she said, admiring a row of books that seemed to cover everything from languages to science. "Do all the children receive a good education?

"Oh, yes, yes! The young men take their lessons in here for many hours each day. We pride ourselves on our high acceptance rate for trades and even university!"

Vincent frowned. David put a hand on his wife's lower back, either in comfort or support.

Beth's polite smile did not waver. "And for the girls?"

The man sniffed. "We find the girls are not as interested." He someone seemed unperturbed, despite the three stern expressions pinned on him.

David cleared his throat lightly. "What becomes of the young women when they leave here?"

"They take up more suitable work," the headmaster said. Vincent wondered if he was as steadfastly avoiding Beth's gaze as he seemed to be. "We pride ourselves on that."

They barely made it to the carriage before Beth's mumbled comments under her breath escalated to furious exclamations. "What an imbecile!" she snapped as she hoisted herself into the carriage and sat down a little too forcefully on the seat. When Vincent saw the whole carriage shake, he was more than happy to let her husband follow her in. When he eventually sat opposite her, his sister was still fuming. "I doubt those girls even get to see the inside of those classrooms, let alone learn anything! The poor things probably don't even get taught their sums!"

Vincent would have agreed – though at a lower volume – if he'd been allowed the chance.

"You cannot send Isabela there, Vincent!"

Whilst it was not his preference, he felt the need to point out the obvious. "If... the... then where can she go?"

"Not there," was the only curt reply he received, before Beth's chin raised a fraction and he gaze fixed firmly on the countryside.

Whatever the excursion had intended to resolve, it had not. Rather, it left Vincent with a bad taste in his mouth, a fuming sister, and a strong desire to return to Isabela's side. And all the while, he couldn't help but wonder what Thomas might think.

.

As Vincent balanced life with Isabela, Matthew and Thomas pursued different plans. From dusk til dawn for the first three nights they were in London they could be found in gentleman's clubs with whiskey in one hand and cards in the other. It was, as promised, an excellent distraction, and every time Thomas thought about Vincent, he ordered another drink.

By the fourth night, they had gotten most of the raucous behaviour out of their systems, and were more inclined to sit, think, and chat. Thomas was considering the Spanish women and what he could best do to help them, when he replied unthinkingly to a question of Matt's and was suddenly roused to the present.

"Wait." Matt had also been surprised by his answer, glancing up from the tile he'd been studying. "You own a club? Which one?" He frowned, though his eyes still shone with humour. "If I'm not a member I'll be most upset."

Thomas smirked into his cup, but still he hesitated. Slowly, he reclined back in the chair, raising one leg to prop his ankle on the other knee. The very picture of nonchalance, he hoped, even as his heart pumped forcefully in his chest. He took a fortifying sip of his whisky before he replied.

"The one we first met in." Not an obviously vulnerable confession, but he watched Matthew's face carefully in his peripheries nonetheless.

First Matt looked up, trying to think. As the memory fell into place, he grinned, holding his drink out to Thomas. "Pride's? Excellent choice, indeed."

Although Thomas agreed wholeheartedly, that was not an opinion universally held. Pride's Gentleman Club was... unusual. When it was appreciated, it was usually by a certain sort of person. And that sort was not Matthew Humphrey. Thomas took a moment to look him over carefully, searching for any hint of the man he might have missed before.

Matt was still reclining languidly, his smile loose and easy, and it wasn't until Thomas's gaze drifted back to his face that he recognised the raised eyebrow that indicated Matt knew he was being appraised. He didn't seem affronted though; he was still smiling.

"How long have you been a member?" he asked Thomas.

He shrugged slightly, taking another small sip of whiskey as he carefully chose his answer. "A few years now. I first discovered it when I was eighteen."

"I imagine it's quite a different environment from the Thorne family residence?"

As his eyes flicked up to find Matt watching him, Thomas realised he had never given the younger man enough credit. Surrounded as he was by intelligent, personable, responsible siblings, he was an easy man to overlook. But despite the reputation he cultivated, Matthew Humphrey was a man of keen insight. Thomas would not underestimate him again.

"Quite."

They fell into companionable silence as both men took a sip of their drink.

"You should take Vinny next time you're both in London."

Thomas nearly spat out his drink. As it was, he choked down the mouthful, coughing and spluttering in a way that would have been embarrassing if he wasn't so completely shocked. Matt thumped him on the back a few times – it didn't help – and frowned at him until he eventually dragged air into his lungs.

"What?" The word was little more than a harsh whisper. "What did you say?"

But Matt had already been distracted by a game of cards across the room, waving a hand for Thomas to follow as he trotted towards a table with a glint in his eyes. The other man was left to stare after him with wide eyes and more than a few burning questions.

.

In the end, Thomas elected not to ask. By the time the pair rolled out of bed the next morning and exchanged muttered greetings over large cups of tea and plates of eggs, he had convinced himself that he had misheard. And even if he hadn't, he was not prepared to ask without a little liquid courage. With food in their bellies, they began to chat and the conversation turned to plans for the day.

Thomas grunted a 'yes' as he swallowed a mouthful of scalding tea, and nodded as he set the cup down. "I plan to visit Lupe and the other women today. I hoped to have more of a plan..." he shrugged, but a twitch in his lip revealed his true irritation.

Matt nodded easily. "I'll join you. I want to see if my charm can win them over where yours failed." He ducked just in time for a crust of toast to fly over his head.

They mustered themselves remarkably well, hailing a hired hackney and journeying towards the docks. This driver was a little braver than the first Vincent and Thomas had hired and he was happy to deliver them to the mouth of the right road. From there, they strolled down the dilapidated street, Matt's eyebrows inching higher with every step.

"They actually live here?" he asked under his breath.

When Thomas approached the factory, staggering up the pile of fallen bricks and planks of wood towards the hole in the wall, Matt stopped still, mouth open in shock.

Feeling a touch of déjà vu, Thomas jumped lightly down from the brick wall into the factory. With the sounds of Matt's scrambling echoing behind him, he walked purposely through the bottom storey, reaching the stairs as Matt let out a gasp. Thomas assumed he'd encountered a spider. He rolled his eyes and trotted up the stairs.

It wasn't until Thomas reached the next landing that he hesitated. There was an anxiety in his stomach he wasn't used to, like a fluttering of butterfly wings, and the hair on his arms slowly rose to stand on end. Something was missing. Or perhaps present when it hadn't been before. He cast a slow look around the landing, stepping lightly from side to side to peer into the next room. Despite the roiling of his stomach, he couldn't see anything wrong.

Soft creaks on the stairs heralded Matt's arrival, and Thomas couldn't help but throw a look over his shoulder to confirm it was him. The man's hair was a mess, a thin strand of spiderwebbing hanging from one curl, and he let out an irritated huff and he came to a stop beside Thomas. His mouth opened.

Usually, Thomas would have encouraged whatever Matt had to say.

But not in that moment.

He held his finger sharply to his lips, fixing an uncharacteristic frown on the other man. Whatever words had been about to form died easily enough on Matt's lips, and as his mouth clicked shut he offered Thomas a raised eyebrow. Without an answer, he just turned away.

Cautiously, Thomas moved forward, pressing the first door wider and cursing the fact he hadn't thought to bring a weapon. There had never been any need, and he was sure it would only stir more distrust in the Spanish women. As he'd thought, the room was empty, but still he couldn't shake the tension.

With sudden urgency, he strode across the room, throwing open the next door and clattering across landings and up stairs to find the room the women preferred. As he pushed his way inside, he was struck dumb. What had been a meagre but organised home was in disarray. The few mattresses and blankets were torn apart, feathers and stuffing strewn across the room, and the strong smell of rotting food had him wrinkling his nose. There was no sign of the women. Worse still, the remnants of the mattress closest to him was stained with something he feared was blood.

A thump and heavy breathing behind him announced the arrival of Matthew. "I feared I'd never-" He took in the room for the first time. "Was it always like this?"

Thomas was frozen in place, and could not manage a reply. As Matthew waded into the room, choosing his footing carefully, Thomas' mind reeled. He was too late. He'd been stalling – thinking, or at least pretending too – and the women had been moved. Lupe had told them from the start that they moved from factory to factory, and yet he'd never considered what would happen if that happened.

"Is this where they slept?" Matt nudged the closest hessian sack with the tip of his boot, seemingly relieved when nothing moved within. "It's not even fit for livestock!"

The other man was too deep in thought to agree. The women were lost to him. He felt guilt rise up from the pit of his stomach.

Matt neared the metal at the back of the room. "What is this? I-"

The metal panels toppled over landing with a crash that warbled on and on until Thomas realised it was a scream. He tore his gaze from the ground in front of him, looking first to Matt who had his hands raised, and then at the woman who cowered in the corner, her face contorted in terror.

Muddy brown hair, tanned skin, and wide eyes; it was Lupe.

And she was terrified.

Thomas staggered forward, nearly tripping over the edge of a mattress as she took another breath and shrieked again.

"Lupe!" As he drew her attention, her screams cut off abruptly.

Her head whipped to him, lip trembling, and then as recognition set in she pushed out from the corner and stumbled towards him. "Tomás!"

"¡Las secuestró! ¡Él se llevó a los demás!" Her words tumbled out of her mouth as she clung to him, a stream of fast-flowing Spanish he couldn't hope to understand. Instead, he caught her as her knees gave way, holding her in a tight hug and murmuring the only comfort he could under his breath.

"You're safe, Lupe. Segura. You're safe."

It took a few moments, but her heaving breaths reduced to quivers, and Lupe pulled herself upright against Thomas. She pulled away from him slightly, but only to pin him with a tearful look. "Él se llevó a los demás. Ellas han sido secuestradas." She made a small noise of frustration as one tear broke free and rolled down her cheek. "Taken!"

Thomas guided her gently to sit on the closest chunk of whole mattress, squatting down in front of her. "Who, Lupe? Who took them?"

She swiped hair out of her face as she whined, hesitating.

"Please, Lupe, tell me." Thomas took her hand in his. "I can't help if I don't know."

Lupe tugged her hands free, tucking them under her armpits as she hugged herself. "El jefe y el feo." It was said so quietly, Thomas might have missed it. As it was, he didn't know enough Latin to know if it would have been helpful to translate. Even if he didn't understand, at least she had trusted him with an answer. Into the silence, Lupe's tears welled again. "¡Ayúdalas, por favor!"

"Do you have any idea what she's saying?" Matt asked softly, startling them both. Thomas winced as fear flooded Lupe's eyes again, and he rose quickly, chucking his chin to draw Matt over, and took him by both shoulders.

"This is Vincent's brother, Matt," he said, wishing not for the first time that Vincent was here. He had no idea how much they were misunderstanding each other.

"Mateo?" She asked, pointing at him.

After his shoulders were forcefully squeezed, the youngest Humphrey nodded. "Uh, yes. I am Mateo."

Lupe considered that for a moment. Then she looked around the room, her gaze resting on the door. When no one entered, she asked, "¿Dónde está Vicente?" Her frown was fixed on Thomas. "Where?"

"He's at home." Thomas winced as soon as Matt spoke. "He's not here in London with us." With each sentence, the girl's frown deepened, and the young man kept trying to dig himself out of the hole. "He stayed behind, whilst we came to London to-"

Thomas pulled him back. "For God's sake, shut up," he muttered under his breath. He looked at Lupe. "Vincent is with Isabela."

With mention of the baby, Lupe's confusion cleared, and she lurched to her feet and caught his hand to give it a happy squeeze. But ever so slightly, her frown returned.

"¿No estáis juntos? ¿Por qué?" She shook her head slightly. "Why no together?"

Thomaswas thinking the same thing.

~~~

Hello Lovely Readers!

I'm so very sorry for the delay with this chapter! I am trying my darndest to do right by Vincent and Thomas and it's just taking me a long while to put words on paper. But I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please remember to vote or comment!

xx Flo