Wesley kept his fixed smile. "Do not make me your enemy. I care as much for the word of a catholic priest as I do for any stranger on the street. I am not going to waste my time with that so you two may try to flee. Instead, how about I take you all in. And have someone watch you while their mother is found and I ask her privately. After all, if she allowed this, then you have nothing to worry about?"

"I have to pee," James interrupted.

Malachi scoffed. Do not make me your enemy, a mocking voice in his head repeated.

"Then do not make me yours, sir," he spoke over the rest of the constable's speech, not bothering to listen to the words. It was not his opinion Malachi was concerned about, when he mentioned the word of a barman against that of a priest. Obviously if this officer cared for Catholics he'd have been more pleasant from the start.

Fortunately, the boy at his side interrupted before anything else could be said.

"Go, then," said Malachi, and then looked back to the constable. "Oh, is that allowed, sir?"

Wesley smirked. "Then do not step on the wrong side of the law, and we can get along just fine. You can do that , can't you?" He asked using the tone one would on a small child. He was going to investigate this guy. There had been priests coming and going around here, and he wondered if Whitby was a place to drop off problematic Catholic priests. If this guy had skeletons in his closet, he would find it. He did not take well to his authority being questioned so boldly.

He glanced to the boy then back, "Of course he can go. But if he isn't back soon, you're the one on the hook since you are looking after them, right?" He said and placed a hand on the handle of the cart. "How about you change this one too while you're at it. It's not right to leave the child soiled just sitting there."

James frowned and shook his head at the constable. "But I can't go 'ere. T' barman said 'e doesn't want Longbottoms in 'is pub." He looked up at the priest with sad eyes. "Can we go back to t' church, I liked t' toilet there. And then ye can change Lucy."

It was fortunate for both Malachi and the patronizing constable that the child spoke up before he could.

Back to the church... if only the constable would allow that. It did not take a genius to deduce that the boy's wishes would likely be shut down.

"That would be wise," the priest agreed, ignoring the lawman for now. "Get in the cart, I'll push you."

Wesley smirked at the child. "I wonder why..." He then met the priest's eyes and stared at him. "How far is the church? The boy might not make it that far if it is a long walk. The constabulary might not be so far in comparison. We can get everything finished at once. Perhaps we will run into the mother, and I can question her privately to see if she does know who you are." He gestured for the man to put the boy in the cart and push it.

"The church is nearer," James lied. "Stop talking, I 'ave to pee." He squeezed into the cart behind his nephew, bearing Lucy's smell for the sake of hopefully getting away from the constable. His eyes shortly fixed on a spot in the crowd and he gave a quick shake of the head.

But it was too late.

"Maaaaaamaaaaaaaa!" his nephew cried when he spotted his mother. His baby sister joined with a wail and reached out her arms.

[CW: reference to domestic violence; cruelty against a child]

She hoped the flat was secured. Ruth was only slightly bothered by what she had done. Mostly by the possibility that Mr. Willaby would actually tell his wife what he had done. But look, if Rose found out her husband was a dick, that would just help her be more realistic. He still provided for her and it didn't sound as though he was aggressive toward her, so really, Rose had nothing to complain about.

She was on her way back to her parents' home when she spotted James! Getting into some bloody cart with her kids! She marched over, ready to lecture him, when she noticed the constable and priest and stopped in her tracks. Uh oh. That looked like trouble. She caught James' nonverbal warning. And then...

Ruth walked over, picked up the crying infant - oof, the smell - and knocked James on the head. "I told ye to stay put!" she yelled at him. Then she put her hand on her son's head and turned to the constable and priest. "What's goin' on?!" she demanded.

Her hair was still damp. Her clothes were old and showed neglect. At least unlike her brother and children, she wore shoes.

"The church is ne-" started Malachi, but the boy got it out before he could. At least they were both in agreement about that particular lie.

What happened next baffled him into (a fortunately fleeting) silence.

The infant -- Lucy, the boy had called her -- was snatched up, the older boy was knocked across the head, and the younger one was blessed with just a hand upon his own. Malachi blinked, took a moment to compose himself, and forced a polite smile.

"Ruth," he greeted, "the constable here was trying to claim neglect and have the children taken in."

God, he hoped she was as good a liar as her nephew.

"I was just telling him that you'd left them in my care while you were out."