He pushed his chair away from the desk and gave her the only thing he had to give. His smile drew a grin from her. She came closer and, with a nod of permission, climbed into his lap. She tried to put the coin in his hand.

„No, Poppy. I appreciate your generosity but you must keep it. For an emergency.“

She made a small sound of acceptance, wrapped her fingers tightly around the coin and leaned against his chest. „Tell me a story, Papa.“

„You tell me one, Poppy.“

„All right,“ she said, biting her lip, the way she did when she was thinking hard. Storytelling came as naturally to her as smiling.

„Once upon a time there was a little girl who lived in“ – she paused – „in a little village. Her mother had lots of parties and the little girl was always sent to bed before the guests came and told to pray before she went to sleep. It was hard to pray when there was a party, but she closed her eyes tight“ – Poppy leaned away and demonstrated how that was done – „and prayed for a brother.“ Opening her eyes, she added, „Not for a papa. She never prayed for a papa.“

Lindsay knew he was not her father. He had spent the year of her conception as part of the expedition to Copenhagen and the rest of 1807 in a convent recovering from a leg wound. Until last year he had not been in England for ten years. He was not Poppy’s father, but it was possible that her brother, Billy, was his son.

„God sent a brother, but then he took her mother to heaven and she knew better than to pray for anything ever again.“

The little girl paused and leaned against him with a deep sigh that brought tears to his eyes. They were quiet a while, the only sound the drip of rainwater from the gutter.

Poppy had not prayed for him to care for her. It was her mother who had made that arrangement. It had not been that odd a friendship. Lindsay could see now that they had a lot in common, the war-weary soldier and the fading courtesan, both tired of the work they were growing too old for and not at all sure that there was another choice. They had consoled each other in the only way they could.

There had, after all, been a price to pay for the sex she gave him for free. He would never forget the last time he had seen her. It had been months since her bed had been used for anything but sleep. Death was close, the room cold with it. He could still hear her asking him, begging in a hoarse whisper, to be the guardian of her children.

Of course he had taken them in, praying that their lives would be better with him than they would be in an orphanage.

„Since prayer did not work the way the little girl wanted,“ Poppy continued, „she decided she would make a wish instead. For you see, Papa, she had a magic coin. A coin that one of her mother’s friends had given her. He’d told her to make one wish and then to pass it on.“

Poppy leaned back to look at him and handed him the coin. „I want to give you the magic coin, Papa.“ She held it out to him, again. Her stubborn gaze was a command.

„Was your wish granted?“ Lindsay asked as he took the coin, not looking at it, but God help him, wondering if it was worth enough to pay for something other than the butcher’s leftovers.

„But yes, of course my wish was granted. I wished for a papa. Now close your eyes and think your wish. You will know it is the right one when the coin turns warm.“

So much trust, so easily given. The least he could do was play her game. Lindsay closed his eyes as ordered. A way out of this hell.

But wait; if he was the answer to her wish for family, then he had best be careful with the phrasing. He thought a moment. I wish for the profitable sale of my commission.

„Keep trying, Papa. When it is the right wish, you will know.“

„Very well.“ What kind of magic coin was this if you had to make the „right“ wish? With his eyes closed tight, Lindsay wished again for the prompt sale of his commission and that it would provide enough money to invest and live on.

The coin still felt cold in his hand. This was no more than a game. He smiled a little and wished for work that was satisfying and that paid an impressive wage. Even as he had the thought, the coin warmed his palm. Lindsay opened his eyes with a jerk and then opened his hand.

Poppy straightened, and at that very moment the sun broke through the clouds. A beam of sunlight found its way through the front window, falling directly on the coin. It glowed as golden and warm as the Mediterranean sun. „Very good, Papa. It must have been a very fine wish.“

„I was always good at following orders.“ Lindsay kissed the top of her head. „Now I give the coin away?“

„No, Papa,“ she said with the long-suffering tone of women everywhere. „You keep it until you are sure your wish is granted. You will know.“

„How? Will the coin glow again?“

„No.“ She snuggled closer.

That was reassuring. He had handled death and war and now poverty, but Lindsay was sure that he would find magic more unsettling than all the rest combined.

„At first I was not at all certain that you were the answer to my wish. You see, I had wished for a papa and a mama. The night before we came here, I was in the kitchen eating a syllabub that Cook had made as a treat. I took the coin out, laid it on the table and asked quite out loud if you were the answer to my wish. At that very moment, Mama’s friend who had given me the coin came through the door. He told me he was sorry that Mama was gone and yes, in- deed, you were the answer to my wish. Then he bowed and left.“

She turned her head so she could see him as she explained. „And Papa, the man was right. It was my mistake, you see, for I did not think to ask for a papa and a mama both at the same time.“

She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. In one minute she was fast asleep. Lindsay examined the coin.

Ah, from the East India Company. He used his thumb and fingers to turn the coin and found something in Arabic. There was the Roman numeral X at the bottom and the word „CASH.“ Ten of whatever. How convenient, but of no use to him at all. He would hold the coin to please her, even though he was sure it was no more magic than his shirt button.

Lindsay made his way down the crowded street. „Sorry,“ he said to the flower seller he nudged with his arm. She merely shrugged at his clumsiness. „Beg pardon, ma’am.“ He bowed to the woman who bumped into him. She made her own apology with a gap-toothed smile. Did the sun send rays of good humor as well as light? Or was it that after a week of rain, the people of London felt nothing but gratitude for even half a day of dry, fine weather?

Stepping aside, Lindsay watched a bunch of street urchins race from an alley. No matter the age or station, half of London had the same idea he did. Walking cost not a shilling and after days of rain was pure pleasure.

Or would be if he could lose the feeling of impending financial disaster. He could barely support himself, much less his new family, and it would take time to sell his commission. He could borrow against the sale, but the cost of the loan would seriously reduce the money that came his way. And he needed every guinea far more than the moneylenders did. Lindsay walked on as though time and distance were the key to his problems.

He might wish for employment every minute of every day, but it would hardly fall into his arms. Not without some effort on his part. But where to start? Lindsay looked up as if he would find the answer wherever his random walking had brought him.

Bond street. Far from his Chelsea neighborhood, in more ways than one. For all that the exalted streets of May-fair had been his milieu until ten years ago, he felt a trespasser.

It did not seem to matter whether it had been ten years or ten days. The same well-dressed men and women made their way in and out of shops, pausing to bow, stopping to chat. Maids and footmen moved with more purpose than their betters, laden down with parcels.