The door creaked as I entered, and silence met me within. This pawnbrokers was set up like many others, with a long counter against one wall, behind which was secured the more expensive items—jewelry, musical instruments, small paintings, silver pieces. In a place like this, however, I’d wonder about the silver content in the candlesticks and the provenance of the paintings.
On my side of the counter, a few tables held cheaper items—small books with whole signatures of pages missing, plaster-cast knickknacks, small wooden boxes, tarnished pewter candlesticks and scratched wooden ones, and empty and chipped picture frames.
The man behind the high counter sat on a chair tipped back against the wall, so that only his hair and forehead showed. When I peered over the counter, I saw that he had his feet propped on a wooden crate while he read a magazine, the drawing of a large-bosomed lady cheekily advertising cigars on its back. The man’s dark suit was dusty and had a rent or two on its sleeves, and his boots, crossed at his ankles, were caked with mud. A greasy cap lay on a table by his side, leaving his hair, thick and wayward, exposed to my gaze. A more disreputable character I do not think I’d seen in many a day.
He had obviously heard me enter, because he turned a page of the magazine without looking up and said, “You see something you like, missus, I’ll wrap it up for you.”
I kept my hands folded over my reticule, not liking to touch the dirty counter. “If the books are missing bits, is the price for them less?”
I had the pleasure of seeing Daniel McAdam give a violent start. I so rarely caught him unawares that I smiled in triumph.
He quickly tossed the magazine under the counter and stood up to his full height, staring at me wide-eyed across the counter.
“Bloody hell, woman. Is there nowhere in this city I cannot turn and see you before me?”
I regarded him primly, not letting on how glad I was to have found him. “I very much doubt it,” I said. “I travel along the Strand on my days out, as you know, unless I go along High Holborn. Is it so odd that I should pass this shop and see you in it?”
Daniel’s look turned skeptical. “You happened to glance into an unsavory pawnbrokers and decided to browse its wares? Or are you selling something?”
“Don’t be silly. Mr. Davis spied you here, and he cannot keep anything to himself. As I was walking along this street this afternoon, I thought I’d look for you.”
Daniel relaxed, and his lips twitched. “Good—I would hate to think of you dirtying your shoes in a place like this for any other reason. It is a fine thing to see you, Kat.” For one moment, Daniel regarded me in a manner that made his shabby clothes and this dusty place fall away. I saw only his blue eyes, his charming smile, the handsome man hiding behind the scruffy clothes.
Then his glad look vanished. “I enjoy your company, as I have told you, Kat, but you do know how to choose exactly the wrong time for a friendly chat. I need you to go—I can meet with you later if you like.”
His impatience was unfeigned. Daniel might truly wish to talk with me after he conducted whatever business he wanted me out of the way for, but I sensed he had no intention whatsoever of telling me what he was up to.
“I can hardly step out of the house and have a chin-wag with you whenever you ask,” I said in a lofty tone. “This is the end of my day out. I must return and prepare supper.”
“Yes, yes, of course.” His smile returned as did the charming Daniel. “Another time, then.”
“Do not patronize me, Mr. McAdam,” I said. “I am wise to your ways. Good afternoon.”
I saw the dismay on his face, and I nearly apologized for my brusqueness, but then again, the man drove me to distraction. He must be here for intriguing reasons, and I admitted I was annoyed because he would not satisfy my curiosity.
However, I then reasoned I ought not leave in a huff, because Daniel would be an excellent person with which to discuss the problem Lady Cynthia had laid before me.
I began to offer to visit him at a more opportune time, when Daniel jerked from the counter and bolted out through the door in the wall that separated the counter from the shop. He grabbed me by the arm and without explanation fairly dragged me into the back, shoving me through another door that led to a dingy storage room.
“Stay there,” he said. “Don’t make a sound.”
3
Daniel’s sharp tone alarmed me. I did not demand, like a ninny, to know what he thought he was playing at or grow outraged that he told me what to do. I knew Daniel well enough to understand that when he spoke like that, it meant danger was not far behind.
I gave him a nod to show I understood, and he closed me into the room in silence. The latch did not catch, the door swinging the slightest bit ajar, but its creak was drowned out by the sounds of a man coming noisily into the shop.
The storage room was filled with dusty shelves piled high with objects of every sort, from broken toys to fine clocks to sets of porcelain dishes to much-dented tin cups and plates. Some of the things in this dim interior looked as though they’d sat here for a very long time.
I pressed my hands to my skirts and moved to the crack in the door, peering through. I was disappointed in that I could see very little, but I could hear quite well.
A lone man had entered, but hardly furtively. He sang out a greeting, calling Daniel “Tom.”
“Plenty of tickers,” the man said. “And wipes, beautiful linen ones. Cost a fair penny, I’d wager.”
“Mmm.” Daniel made an impatient rumble. “Anything else?”
“Statues—marble. Well, look like marble anyway.”
“Nah.” Daniel’s chair creaked; I imagined him leaning back in it. “Not worth me time, mate.”
“What you want then?” the other man growled in irritation.
“Something with a bit more class. Something a punter ain’t going to flick with his nail and tell me it’s fake. Something real, know what I mean?”
The man’s voice went low. “What you’re talking about ain’t easy. Not for the likes of me, anyway.”
I heard Daniel flap open the pages of his magazine. “You’ll do fine. You said you had mates, didn’t ya?”
“Oh, I know plenty. But they don’t know you. They’re used to the last bloke.”
“Look, old son,” Daniel said with exaggerated patience. “I’m not asking you to upset the applecart. I’m only asking for a little business to come me way. I want to move up in the world. And you can tell ’em no one’s more discreet than me. Old Tommy will never steer ’em wrong.” The magazine rustled, and the chair creaked. “Come back when you’ve got something better for me.”
The other man went silent for a time. “Right,” he said in resignation. “I’ll have a chat with me friends. They’re not the most trusting sorts.”
“I understand. They don’t know me. But when we get acquainted, they’ll see it as a beneficial cooperation, eh?” Daniel pronounced the long words carefully, as though unused to speaking more than a syllable or two at a time. “Old Tom can make them a few bob. You too.”
“Yeah.” The man sounded more cheerful. “Don’t mind if I do. Be back when I can, all right, guv?”
“Don’t hurry yourself. Now be off with you. I’ve got hordes of customers to tend to here.” Daniel chortled.
The man laughed, sounding happy to be let in on the joke. “Good evening to ye, Tom.”
“Right you are. Mind how ye go.”
The man chortled again, his footsteps light as he crossed the gritty floor and let himself out. The shop bell clanged, then all was silent.
“Stay there a moment,” Daniel said before I could move. “Mr. Varley is fickle-minded and might come back to tell me something he left out.”
I spoke through the crack. “If I stay in here much longer, I might have a fit of the sneezes.”
“Soon, I promise.”
I moved so I could see Daniel through the slit. He remained with his chair tilted back, his feet up, the magazine in front of him as though it enthralled him. The room I stood in was not only dusty but dank, chilly on this warm May afternoon.
Daniel had an uncanny way of being right. Sure enough, the door banged open in a few minutes, and Mr. Varley’s step sounded.
“Fing is,” Varley began.
“Eh?” Daniel asked. “Forget something, did ya?”
“Fing is, there might be a bit of luck coming your way soon. Can’t say more than that.”
I couldn’t see Varley from my angle, but I watched Daniel toss down the magazine and give Mr. Varley a stern look. “I don’t deal in mights, me old china. I like actual things I can put my hands on, right?”
“You will, you will,” Varley said hastily. “But I can’t tell ya anything else. More than me life’s worth. But when it’s done, I’ll cut you in. You’re a fair-minded man, Tommy. Ya won’t regret it.”
“You won’t, ye mean. Ye wouldn’t bring me nuffink if ye didn’t stand to get paid, would ye?” Daniel chuckled. “It’s all right; I like a man what knows his mind. We wouldn’t be in business at all if we didn’t want the blunt, would we?”
“Huh, right you are, guv. As long as the coin is spread to me, I’m your man.”
More laughter. They were very happy with their little joke. “It’s getting late, Tom,” Varley went on. “Pub?”
“Naw,” Daniel said. “Need to finish up here then I’m off home. Missus don’t like it when I’m late.”
Varley found this hilarious. “Henpecked, are ye?”
“Ain’t it the troof,” Daniel said. “Ye married?”
“Naw, I never.”
“Trouble ain’t an exaggeration,” Daniel said. “Why d’ye fink I need the money?”
More guffawing, then Varley, sounding a bit superior that he could go along to a pub anytime he wished, said a final good night and disappeared again.
Trouble was rhyming slang. Trouble and strife—wife. Quite unjust, I’d always thought. Husbands could be just as much of a bother, if not more.
“May I emerge now?” I called once Varley’s footsteps had faded into the traffic outside.
“Of course.” Daniel was up, his working-class accent falling away as he opened the door for me. “My apologies, Kat, but for all his groveling, Varley is a dangerous man. I did not wish him to see you or know you have any connection to me.”
“I quite understand.” I did not, not entirely. But I concluded that Varley was a criminal, and he’d likely not be too happy that a woman had heard him and Daniel discuss what sounded like a shady deal.
“Stay a bit longer,” Daniel said as I brushed off my skirts. “I want to make certain he’s well away.”
“I do have supper to cook,” I reminded him. The sun was shining mightily, and would for some hours—as we approached summer, the days were growing longer. However, the clocks continued at their same steady pace, and Lady Cynthia’s aunt and uncle expected their meals on time.
“Rest yourself a quarter of an hour at most.” Daniel’s tone told me this was not an offer of comfort, or even a request. Daniel did not want me to move one step out of that shop until fifteen minutes had elapsed.
“All right, then,” I said. “That will give you time to tell me exactly what you are doing, and why you have set yourself up to be a receiver of stolen goods.”
One of Daniel’s pleasing traits was that he did not look surprised when I understood something. No shock that I, a mere woman and a domestic, could grasp a situation. He only nodded thoughtfully.
“You are indeed correct. Not much excitement in it, I am afraid. It’s a sordid business, one I seem to be suited for.”
His nonchalance and little smile made me give him a sharp look. “No excitement, you say, but at the same time, you do not want Mr. Varley to see me?”
“These men have no honor, Kat. I do not want them to grow angry with me and use you to punish me.”
I regarded him in surprise. “Would it punish you?”
His voice softened. “Indeed, it would.”
I refused to let him know that my heart squeezed at this declaration. “Funny way you have of showing it, Mr. McAdam. Not a word from you in weeks and weeks, not a sign until Mr. Davis spies you in a pawnbrokers.”
“I had to go to Scotland,” Daniel answered without apology. “Unexpectedly and discreetly.”
“I see.” I looked him up and down, from his unwashed hair to his dirty boots. “What were you there? A Highland laird?”
Daniel leaned against the counter and folded his arms. “I promised I’d tell you all my adventures one day, remember?”
“Yes, indeed. I have decided we will both be quite elderly when that day comes.”
“This current business truly is uninteresting, Kat. Thieves are stealing items for the money they will make and taking them to pawnbrokers to sell. Therefore, I am now a pawnbroker.”
“Funny, that.” I pretended to examine the clasp of my reticule. “Lady Cynthia told me last evening that one of her friends has had paintings go missing from her house. I will visit with this friend tomorrow and listen to her tale of woe.”
Daniel did not look surprised or concerned. “It is a sad fact that theft is rampant in London. From pickpockets to wellborn art thieves stealing paintings from the walls of a fine house, there is an amazing abundance of burglary. I’m looking in particular for items coming out of museums. Antiquities long forgotten.”
I looked up with a start. “I was at a museum earlier this week. Showing Grace bits from Egyptian tombs. Have those things been going missing?”
“Nothing from the public exhibits. The items in question have been stored away—bits from digs in the Greek isles and Egypt that haven’t been cleaned or displayed. Things that wouldn’t be noticed right away.”
“Clever,” I said.
“Easier,” Daniel amended. “Unlike in magazine stories, museum pieces are not locked away or protected by armed men and guard dogs. Sometimes they are left on shelves in unlocked rooms or tossed into boxes. Lately, they have been turning up at pawnbrokers—small pieces at a time, not a lot of them at once.”
“Possibly nothing to do with Lady Cynthia’s friend’s troubles, then,” I said.
“Likely not.” Daniel unfolded his arms. “Still, I’d like to hear about her burglary.”
“Well, it will be quite the task for me to find time to tell you,” I said, my vexation returning. “The house is at sixes and sevens with no housekeeper and no assistant for me in the kitchen.” I waved my hand. “My apologies. You have no need to hear my domestic troubles. They must seem trivial compared to chasing thieves who run about London stealing what they please.”
Daniel shook his head. “Not trivial. I do know what it’s like to work in a place that’s shorthanded.”
He had done all sorts of jobs and held all sorts of posts even in the year or so since I’d met him. A veritable jack-of-all-trades was Daniel.
Clocks hanging on the walls and on the shelves began to chime. “I see that my quarter of an hour is up,” I said. “If you wish to hear what Lady Cynthia’s friend tells me, you will have to seek me out. Call after supper tomorrow or after breakfast on Saturday. Good evening, Mr. McAdam.”
The grin he flashed at me was his own—the Daniel I knew, if I knew him at all.
“Good evening, Mrs. Holloway. Save me back something, eh? I haven’t had a decent meal in donkey’s years.”
* * *
* * *
Tonight’s supper was not as difficult to assemble as last night’s had been. I had prepared well before I’d gone out, and only two people dined tonight—Lady Cynthia and her aunt. Her uncle had gone to his club, and Lady Cynthia and Mrs. Bywater would leave for the theatre after their meal.
I did not eve
n have Sara’s help tonight, because she was in a bother trying to make certain Lady Cynthia’s theatre clothes were in good order. Truth to tell, in spite of her praise for me last night, she’d jumped at the excuse to take herself from the kitchen. I was certain Lady Cynthia’s gowns were all quite pristine, as she seldom wore them—the Bywaters tolerated her lounging about the house in breeches and frock coat, as long as there were no guests.
I sent up a simple repast of beef and roasted potatoes dressed with a sauce of the roast’s juice flavored with herbs and onions. I served pieces from the remains of last night’s tarts on small plates, and jumbled the rest of those leftovers onto a platter for the servants to enjoy.
Though the meal was fairly easily put together, I was glad to sit down with a cup of tea and a small meal for myself and Mr. Davis, with a footman to wait on us in the housekeeper’s parlor.
I liked this room, with its books, worn furniture, and comfortable respectability. In the absence of a housekeeper, I had been using it as my own retreat. Whenever Mrs. Bywater got around to hiring a new housekeeper, I’d have to give up my haven.
Mr. Davis chattered about anything and everything, never minding that I only nodded or said, “Oh really?” at intervals. I was thinking of my lovely day with my daughter, and after that, Daniel in the dingy shop waiting for dangerous criminals to offer him stolen goods.
What would he do when they came? Arrest them himself? Men like Mr. Varley would fight, I was certain, and there Daniel was, all alone. Or did he have policemen lurking outside awaiting his signal? Either way, what he did was perilous, though he seemed used to such things.
I worried for Daniel, but at the same time, the man made me fume. Surely, he could trust me enough to share his exploits with me.
He certainly knew about mine. Daniel had told me, if you please, that he was aware of my bigamous marriage and that my daughter had been its result. And yet I did not know where he’d been born and under what circumstances—although his tones of South London weren’t false. Only someone raised there could speak so.
Scandal Above Stairs Page 3
