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I was officially introduced to the resourceful gang of street children who came to Baker Street - passing along information to and from my friend Sherlock Holmes - in the Spring of 1887. The circumstances were unfortunate, however.
— — —
“Mrs Hudson!” Holmes roared as soon as we came in through the front door to 221B Baker Street, “Draw a bath for our guest!”
On the floor above us, the sounds of a scurrying Scotswoman could be heard.
The little girl - hardly more than eight years old, yet far too light - shook in my arms. A gaggle of street children, a hardy boy named Wiggins among them, clustered in the foyer.
“Give her some air, if you please!” I gave a sharp instruction, carrying the poor child past them and up the stairs.
“Will Kitty be alright?” The aforementioned Wiggins, himself only ten and three or four, called from the landing, “You’re a doctor, ain’t you?”
“Kitty will be fine.” My eyes softened and I turned on the upstairs landing to assure him, “She just needs some rest.”
“She’d better be.” I caught a wiry girl named Annabel mutter under her breath as I passed into the sitting room, where Mrs Hudson had a fire going, a bathtub filled and towels hanging.
I inclined my head and set Kitty down on the sofa, “Thank you, Mrs Hudson.”
Holmes appeared, with his dark coat still on, “I have alerted Scotland Yard - Inspector Lestrade and his men are on their way down to Bethnal Green as we speak. I intend to accompany them.”
“Holmes, I-”
He shook his head and reached for his hunting crop, “I intend to catch the ruffians, Watson. You must tend to your patient.”
“Mr Holmes?” A small voice cut through the heat of action, “Are you still there?”
Immediately, our gazes snapped round to a stirring Kitty, who lay on the sofa. Mrs Hudson had wrapped her in a blanket.
Holmes’ entire face went soft.
“Yes, I am still here, Kitty.”
“You are at Baker Street.” I added, “Among friends.”
She went to sit up, but I caught her and laid her back down, daubing at her shivering forehead and cheeks with a damp cloth.
“We’ll wash and dry you, dear, don’t you worry.” Mrs Hudson helped the little girl out of her ragged sack of a dress and into the full, steaming bathtub.
“You should stay, Holmes.” I urged, “Lestrade and his men are perfectly competent when it comes to raiding kidnappers, if not solving strange cases.”
Holmes paused, one foot out of the door into the hallway already.
He sighed and nodded, “You are right, Watson. It is, after all, my duty to protect these children.”
I shook my head fervently, “None of that now, my friend. You did everything in your power to find her and you succeeded in rescuing her. You did fulfil your duty.”
He did not seem convinced.
“It’s alright, Mr Holmes.” Kitty spoke up from her place in the bath, obscured by Mrs Hudson, “You saved me!”
I sent him a look that said: “see?”
“You were very brave, Kitty.” Holmes declared.
Kitty giggled, “Not as brave as you, Mr Sherlock.”