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Forcing himself to move, Samuel inched closer. “Can you move your legs, Alfie?” he asked.

There was a moment of silence as Alfie checked the status of his limbs. “Yes, sir.”

Relief flowed through Samuel. Whatever damage the beam had done to the boy, if he could walk, his chances of managing what lay ahead were significantly better than if he were an invalid.

“Where are Charlie and the other boys?” Samuel asked.

All around them, chaos reigned, yet in that tiny patch of ground, all that could be heard was the rattle of unsteady breaths. Alfie sniffed, and Samuel wondered if he might be crying.

“They left me,” Alfie said. “When th’ stairs came crashin’ down, I . . . I called out t’ Charlie. But ’e ran.”

“Of course he did,” Samuel said, a surge of anger at Charlie’s recurring cowardice surfacing. “You should have gone to the Marine Society, as I told you to. The people there will not abandon you.”

Another pause. “S-Sammy?”

Samuel caught the shock in the boy’s voice just before Alfie began coughing again. Samuel reached down and lifted Alfie’s boney shoulders. The boy’s head lolled as he gasped for breath.

“Slow and steady, lad,” Samuel said, repeating the admonition Hannah had just given to him.

Alfie coughed again. It shook his whole body, and when he finished, he was completely spent. His chin lay on his chest, and he moaned.

“You know each other?” Hannah said.

“I met Alfie once, when I was at the wharf checking on your father’s warehouse,” Samuel said.

“And you told him then to go to the Marine Society?” She spoke slowly, and Samuel guessed it was not merely caused by her breathlessness; she was assimilating the information.

“I want . . .” Alfie’s whisper trailed off, but he attempted to raise his head and try again. “I want t’ go. If . . . if they’ll ’ave me.”

Samuel could see the whites of Hannah’s eyes through the swirling smoke and darkness. She was watching him, but her expression was impossible to make out.

“Will they take him?” she asked.

“I believe so. Especially if I deliver him there as a Bow Street principal officer.” Samuel coughed. He had no idea where Jealous and Clarke were, but they could most certainly investigate the fire without him. Samuel’s priority had to be getting Hannah and Alfie to safety. “I will take him as soon as you are with your father.”

“Alfie.” Hannah stood and then reached down to grasp the boy’s arm. “If Mr. Ross and I help you, do you think you can walk to the carriage?”

Samuel rose. Alfie rolled his head back until he was looking up at her. “I ain’t got a carriage, miss.”

“I know,” she said. “But I do. And we are all going to take a ride.”

Samuel stared at her. She was clever enough to have picked up on the clues and had undoubtedly realized that Alfie’s situation was uncommonly similar to the one Samuel had found himself in a dozen years earlier. And yet she’d just offered to give the soot-covered urchin a ride in her carriage. Samuel attempted to clear his throat. She surely had no idea how much this act of selfless kindness further endeared her to him. “Hannah, there is no need . . . Your father . . .”

“My father will be so grateful to see us he would order Prescott to drive us to Bath if we wished it.” Her voice cracked, and she began coughing again. “Please, Samuel.” She took another breath. “I wish to see Alfie safely delivered to the Marine Society too.”

Hannah’s current situation was the epitome of social impropriety. She was seated in a carriage across from a pickpocket and a Bow Street runner. Her gown was singed and torn, her bonnet and gloves were irretrievable, and her curls were flopping in an unruly tangle about her filthy face. And yet she felt nothing but gratitude. The devastation at the wharf notwithstanding, she had made a difference. It may take days for her scraped hands and knees to recover, but Alfie was alive. And if he was made of anything near the same stuff as Samuel, he could well be embarking upon a new life.

In fairness, few people could claim the kind of fortitude Samuel exemplified. He had come further and made a greater change for good during his lifetime than anyone else Hannah knew. She closed her eyes as the truthfulness and wonder of that thought took hold. The conversations she’d had with her sisters and—more recently—her father had helped her move beyond the shock and hurt pride she’d experienced after Samuel’s confession in the drawing room. But working beside Samuel to free Alfie had caused her admiration for Samuel to multiply beyond measure. Her response to his finding her at the alley’s entrance had removed the last traces of uncertainty from her heart and mind. His difficult past notwithstanding, she knew she could count on him. And when she’d been most in need, he had been the person she’d wanted at her side.

She opened her eyes and glanced at her hand clasped tightly in her father’s. Samuel had been right; her father had been beside himself with worry by the time they’d reached the carriage. He’d ignored her filthy state and had held her in a tight embrace. He’d been so grateful that she was safe that he’d scarcely been able to speak. And just as she’d thought, he’d been more than willing to drive Samuel and Alfie wherever they’d wished to go, but he’d not let go of her hand since they’d entered the carriage. With such an obvious show of affection, it was impossible for Hannah not to feel thankful that she had such a devoted father—especially when compared to Samuel’s and Alfie’s situations—but secretly, she could not help but wish that she were seated beside Samuel and that it were he rather than her father who was holding her hand.

She allowed her gaze to wander to Samuel. He was seated across from her but had spoken very little since they’d left the wharf. The dark night sky made it all but impossible to see his features clearly, but she sensed his nearness. And the few times a bump in the road had caused his leg or foot to brush against hers, her pulse had tripped in response.

Hannah knew he was keeping close tabs on Alfie. It was probably for the best. She thought it unlikely that Alfie had the wherewithal to lift her father’s pocket watch at present, but she was glad that Samuel was alert to the boy’s movements and well-being. If she were fortunate, Samuel’s preoccupation with Alfie would also prevent him from dwelling on her kiss.

She felt her cheeks warm at the thought. Heaven help her. What had she been thinking? That was just it. She hadn’t been thinking. Brushing his cheek with her lips had been an impulsive act borne of an overwhelming wave of gratitude—for his courage and his willingness to aid a woman who had judged him so harshly and a boy who was completely helpless. That was all. She willed her heart to agree with her sensible assessment. Gratitude. That was surely the reason.

Alfie coughed. He was doing it less now than he had when he’d first entered the carriage, though he continued to wheeze. He and Samuel were as filthy as she was, and they’d all brought a lingering smell of smoke into the vehicle. Her father might have commented on it, except that the pungent smell had also penetrated his clothing and wig.