Daniel made a sound like a snort. “Errol has never fallen in love in his life.”
“My point exactly. He was bewildered by his feelings. I am a good judge of character, Daniel.”
Daniel set down the pot and sent me the ghost of his usual grin. “I know you are—you have made very trenchant remarks about mine. But I am inclined to agree that Errol did not kill her. I saw her body. Errol is a liar, a cheat, a scoundrel, a swindler . . . but he would never beat someone to death, least of all a young woman. Even as a child, when he had to fight, he’d strike out only until he was free, then he’d run like mad. Errol learned early how to run.”
“What did you do in a fight?” I asked in curiosity.
“I usually stayed a bit longer and was a little freer with my fists. Errol took advantage of that and often threw me into a fray so he could flee.”
I could imagine it, and the boy Daniel’s irritation. “What do the police say?” I asked. “Who do they think did this?”
“They don’t much know what to make of things. Nurse Betts was found near a church in Bethnal Green, one of the sergeants told me, by a kind elderly couple—she was alive when they found her but badly hurt. They took her inside their house and sent for a physician, but he could not help her, and she died in the night. They and the physician reported the death to the police—she was taken away to be examined by the coroner.”
“The poor thing.” My heart ached for her, lying alone and terrified in the street, in wretched pain. “I’m glad the people took her in. At least she was with someone caring when she went.”
“Yes.” Daniel was somber. “There is a search for whatever brute did it, but not much hope that he’ll be found, unless the police are lucky and discover an eyewitness. Good luck to them in Bethnal Green. Inspector McGregor has been put on this case, as it involves the Foundling Hospital. Prominent members of society are on the board there . . .”
We went silent a moment. A hunk of coal fell inside the stove, the whoosh of it muffled. The fire was dying, coal breaking down into ash.
“Would you like me to tell Mr. Fielding?” I asked. “He might be very angry at you, or not believe you.”
“No, I will do it.” Daniel regarded me glumly. “I know him well, and know how to break news like this. And I want to see his face when I tell him. He might not have struck the blows himself, but know who did.”
“I doubt it. He was very worried about her.”
“With good reason, it seems.”
I took another sip of tea then wrapped my hands around the hot mug, soaking up its warmth. “Do you believe she was killed because of the children? Because she knew what happened to them?”
“If she was trying to find them, that is very possible.”
I shivered, in spite of the tea’s heat. “I hate thinking of them lost and alone, perhaps locked away, perhaps worse. Did Mr. Fielding tell you he’d looked for them, that the director gave him false addresses, pretending that was where the children had gone?”
Daniel nodded. “Yes, I wrested that out of him before he disappeared into his church.”
“We must find them, Daniel.”
“We will.” He rested his hand on mine again. “We will.”
I withdrew my hand, but gently. “I know you are trying to comfort me, but it will not work, not about this. We cannot wait. Every day they are missing might be one more horrible night for them.”
“I know.” The hard light returned to Daniel’s eyes. “I was like those children once, Kat. I know exactly what they might be enduring.”
I regarded him with sympathy. “I am sorry.”
“I grew tough. I had to. That is why Carter’s death infuriates me so.” Deep anger flashed in his eyes. “He gave us a place of safety. We didn’t have to fear the night when we lived with him. We could sleep in truth, like children ought. The night he was killed . . .” Daniel let out a breath that held old anger and grief. “I could do absolutely nothing to prevent it.”
He’d told me the tale, and I heard his anguish anew. I squeezed his hand. “You were only a child. There was little you could have done—you’d have been killed yourself if you’d tried to defend him.”
“I know.” Daniel’s blue eyes were quiet. “Perhaps what I do now is meant to make up for my helplessness then. I can ensure others stay alive and safe, away from those whose only wish is to kill.”
“You do help,” I said with conviction.
“Some days, I believe that. Others . . .” Daniel rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. “What I do makes me lie and trick and be every bit the confidence man I say Errol is.” His voice went soft as he met my gaze. “And when you look at me in anger, Kat, the person in my life I least want angry with me, I wonder if I can be anything but a liar and deceiver.”
My heart gave a jerking beat as he looked at me with his warm eyes. I wasn’t certain I understood entirely what he meant. He wasn’t lying now—this man sitting with me was the real Daniel, telling me of his past and his worries.
But what did I know about him, in truth? Daniel assisted the police, though at the same time claimed he did not work for them. He had several residences throughout London, he disappeared entirely at any given time, and he knew how to transform himself into different guises, all of which were believed by the people he put them on for.
What guise did he assume for me?
“When you refuse to tell me who you work for,” I began, carefully choosing my words, “it is because you’ve been forbidden to. Is that not so?”
Surprise flickered in Daniel’s eyes. “It is.”
“You’ve been free telling me much else,” I conceded. “I am being charitable and assuming the decision to impart information has been taken from you.”
“It has.” Daniel gave me a nod, but his shoulders held tension. “I don’t agree entirely with the decision, but I understand why it has been made.”
“I would certainly not be happy if you were sent to prison for telling me. Am I correct it is that dire a thing?”
“Yes.” Now the corners of Daniel’s mouth twitched. “You are a frightening person, Kat.”
“I am an observant person and a thoughtful one. Slicing twenty carrots and ten turnips for a stew is not the most absorbing of activities. One’s mind wanders, and one makes connections about many things.”
The twitch became a full grin. “I must remember to take up chopping vegetables when I need to ruminate on a problem.”
“You make fun, but it is no joke. A repetitive task releases the mind to think.”
“I believe you.”
I became serious once more. “We must find those children, Daniel.”
“We will.” He twined his fingers through mine. “I have not been idle. I have ideas, and Errol will help. Because he already has the Foundling Hospital’s board and its director trusting him, he will put that trust to use.”
“And I will find things out,” I promised. “You have the police and Mr. Fielding, but I know servants, and foundlings. And Lady Cynthia.”
“Yes, your own forces. Quite formidable they are too. I make no joke—you can go places and speak to people the police cannot, especially policemen as intimidating as McGregor.”
“He is clever and persistent,” I said, defending him to my surprise. “If wrongheaded some of the time.”
“Shall we be a team again?” Daniel lifted our joined hands and turned the hold into a handshake. “Put aside your annoyance with me to find the children and bring Nurse Betts’s killer to justice?”
“I think I will have to,” I said, withdrawing after we’d shaken on it. “Neither of us can do this alone.”
“True.” Daniel did not try to reach for me again, and I suppressed a twinge of disappointment. “We should set up a place to meet—all of us, where we can confer. Not here. Mrs. Redfern does not approve of me, and I
don’t want Errol too near the costly silver Mr. Davis guards.”
“Bobby’s flat, perhaps. She has offered to help. Though I will not be able to slip away often.”
“Thanos’s flat is closer,” Daniel said.
“Is it? I thought it was in Bloomsbury.”
“It was. He’s moved to Regent Street, not far from Hanover Square.”
I blinked. “Gracious, that’s a fine address. Did he come into money?” I felt a frisson of hope. If he had funds, he could propose to Cynthia.
“Unfortunately, no.” Daniel shattered my ideas. “A chap from the Polytechnic on Cavendish Square hired him to do lectures. The flat is part of the salary. The man who hired him is quite wealthy, a dilettante, very clever and half runs the Polytechnic, or will, when it opens again.”
I’d heard of the Polytechnic, but I knew little about it. I would have to ask Mr. Thanos. “If Mr. Thanos will allow us to invade his flat, it sounds a good place.”
Daniel rose but remained next to the table, his expression guarded. “We’ll meet there Monday afternoon, then.”
Monday was my half day. “Early in the afternoon. The rest of the time, I spend with Grace.”
“Of course.” Daniel did not move as I stood up, which put me close to him. He regarded me with eyes so very blue, with a hint of gold inside them. “I wish . . .” he began softly.
I waited, but Daniel closed his mouth.
“You wish what?” I prompted.
Daniel lifted his fingers as though he’d trace my cheek, then dropped his hand. “I wish I could be everything you deserve, Mrs. Holloway.”
My heart beat a little bit faster. “Our lives are not our own,” I said, hearing my regret.
“No. They are not.” The distance between us increased, though I wasn’t aware of Daniel taking a step away. “But maybe one day, they will be.”
“That is my hope.”
Daniel smiled at the determination in my voice. “You teach me so much, Kat. You stare down the world and dare it to take anything away from you.”
“I’ve learned to. I’ve had very little in my life.” Now I had Grace. And for her, I’d fight the desert hordes in the Sudan if I had to.
“I’ve known strong men who despair at less adversity,” he said, “while you simply get on with things.”
“Despair does no one any good.” I tried to sound reasonable. “Best to dispense with it at once.”
Daniel’s smile broadened. He leaned down and kissed my cheek, his hand finding mine and warming it. “I always feel better for having been with you.”
I ought to have given him my usual scoff of “Nonsense” or “Get on with you, daft man,” but my emotions were topsy-turvy and the words would not form. He confused me greatly, did Daniel.
“Good night, Kat.” Daniel lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my fingers.
Then he turned from me, disappearing into the shadows of the scullery. The door creaked, and he was gone.
* * *
* * *
The next day was Sunday. Mrs. Bywater had once again invited a slew of guests for tea, including, it turned out, Miss Townsend. Mrs. Bywater sent word down with Mrs. Redfern that I was to create a fine meal to serve twelve.
Mrs. Redfern delivered the news with apology and stood by while I ranted.
“She has no idea at all what it takes to produce such a feast.” I snatched a copper pot from the rack and slammed it to the stove. “It is Sunday. The markets are closed. If she had told me yesterday, I could have spent the afternoon shopping for what I need.”
“The tea was a last-minute idea,” Mrs. Redfern said. Her hands rested quietly on her abdomen, but her ever-present keys clinked. “The mistress wishes to introduce Miss Townsend to her friends, and also to her friends’ sons, hoping for Miss Townsend’s opinion on the young men, and whether they will suit for Lady Cynthia.”
“Oh, good heavens,” I snapped. “I thought she’d left off all that.”
“Mrs. Bywater wishes to consult Miss Townsend before she resumes her matchmaking schemes. Lady Cynthia will not be joining them, in any case.”
Indeed, no. Lady Cynthia would put on a frock and go out and do charitable work today, to which Mrs. Bywater had readily agreed. Mr. Thanos had answered my note, again via James, that he would be pleased to escort her.
I banged down another pot. “Even so, she must realize she will drive Lady Cynthia mad, or at least goad her to take some foolish step.”
“That’s not for us to say.” Mrs. Redfern sent me a superior look, but I knew she had plenty of opinions on the subject. I’d heard her tell them to Mr. Davis when she thought no one could hear.
Mrs. Redfern left me and Tess to get on with things. I was studying my notebook, trying to do decide what I could toss together with the ingredients I had on hand, when Lady Cynthia came down to the kitchen to inform me she was going. She’d dressed herself in a slim blue walking dress and a matching jacket trimmed with dark fur. A black hat tip-tilted forward on her head, its brim tastefully small.
“Very fetching,” I said in approval. “The blue brings out your eyes.”
“Impossible to walk in this dratted skirt.” Cynthia kicked, her foot traveling about eight inches before the tight front of the gown arrested it. I saw that she’d donned her man’s boots beneath. “I tore the veil from the hat. Could see nothing but spots.”
“It is lovely, all the same,” I said, speaking the truth.
“Yes, well, I’m off to view the foundlings. Mr. Thanos will join me there. I will tell you all, later.”
“There might be little to tell,” I said. “Abductors would be mad to try to coerce the children away in the dining hall, under the matrons’ sharp eyes.”
“One never knows.” Cynthia lifted a muffin from a plate where Tess was piling them and took a big bite. “Mmm. Excellent.”
The muffins were full of butter that Tess had melted into them. A droplet of gold leaked down Cynthia’s chin as she chewed. I thrust out a cloth and caught the butter before it could stain her frock.
“Take this napkin with you, and do have a care.”
Cynthia laughed as she snatched the piece of linen from me and wiped her chin. “You’re far better than my own mum, Mrs. H. She’d never have noticed.”
Cynthia’s age and mine were very close, but I was not offended. Her mother, by all reports, was a frivolous and careless woman.
“Off you go,” I said.
Cynthia waved at me and departed, taking the scullery stairs to the street. Tess thrust tongs around another muffin on the rack at the stove and transferred muffin to plate.
“Her ladyship is so beautiful this morning,” she said in admiration. “Mr. Thanos’s eyes will fall out.”
“I agree.” I turned back to my notebook, wondering how on earth I’d put together a meal for twelve with the few pieces of salt pork I had in the larder. “I didn’t like to say so, for fear she’d balk and decide not to see him.”
“They’re a rum pair,” Tess said as she slid another toasted muffin from the rack. “Think they’ll ever marry?”
“I would like that, but Mr. Thanos has little money, from what Mr. McAdam tells me. But he has recently been hired to do lectures. Perhaps that will help.”
“Nah,” Tess said decidedly. “I think you’re born rich or you work for the rich, but nothing in between, Mrs. H.”
I sighed. “I’m afraid you might have the right of it, Tess.”
* * *
* * *
I produced a meal, if not out of nothing then next to nothing. The soups were relatively effortless—I frequently prepared stock from bones and herbs and had a pot of broth warming every day on the back of the stove. From that I created a clear soup with chives and a heartier soup by adding new potatoes and thickening the broth with a touch of flour and cream.
&n
bsp; The meats were more difficult. I had to make do with grinding up the pork plus leftover chicken and stuffing a seasoned mixture of this into pastry dough Tess had made, intended for more tarts.
Every fresh vegetable I could find in the larder we rinsed, sliced, or tore, and made into salads or simply boiled or sautéed with a bit of butter and herbs. I threw sweet pies together from whatever pastry dough was left over plus walnuts in brown sugar with a dash of brandy.
When I hastened from stove to cupboard at one point, I nearly tripped over Miss Townsend, who’d slipped to the corner stool with her sketchbook. She smiled at me serenely and moved her feet.
I had no time to speak to her at the moment, and once the meal was ready, she went upstairs to partake of it.
Cynthia returned from her outing to the Foundling Hospital late that afternoon. She arrived soon after Mrs. Bywater’s guests had departed, and I wondered if she had waited to watch them go before venturing inside.
“It was ghastly,” she exclaimed, tossing her hat to my flour-strewn table. “I want to adopt the lot of those poor children. Thanos feels the same. I think I’ve never been more disgusted at my fellow beings than today, Mrs. H. Would like to herd them straight to hell.”
11
Sit down, Cyn.” Miss Townsend, who’d descended to us again once tea had finished, rose from her seat and closed her sketchbook. She’d so far never let any of us see what she’d drawn. “I’m sure Mr. Davis could spare you some brandy.”
“A cup of tea,” I countered.
Cynthia did not answer but fell into a seat at the table. I poured her a cup from a full pot of tea and slid it toward her as she tugged off her gloves.
“’Fraid it will take more than tea to wash the foul taste from my mouth,” she declared after she’d gulped a swallow of the hot liquid and dabbed her lips with her fingers. “I think I’d rather have been at my aunt’s table, listening to her tell the gentlemen how well I embroider, which is all rot. I can’t embroider a stitch.”
Murder in the East End Page 11
