Murder in the East End

by Jennifer Ashley

  My hands shook as I tried to sip calmly. The men had frightened me badly, demonstrating how far I was out of my depth. I’d always been proud that, because I’d grown up in Cockney London, I could hold my own. Tonight had reminded me that a young woman with too much confidence could not prevail alone against three hardened men.

  As I drank the tea and tried to restore my equilibrium, one point tapped through my fears—why had they not wanted me to continue down that street?

  When Mr. Fielding had come to look for the address, had they driven him off too? He’d not mentioned any such thing, but I now realized Mr. Fielding only imparted information he wished to.

  A half hour passed as I drank bad tea and speculated, the hot water replenished once by the barmaid. My assailants did not appear, but I knew I could not remain much longer. I had a job to return to, and the later I lingered in Seven Dials, the more dangerous the area would become.

  I handed a coin to the barmaid when I rose to leave. “Will you take a peek outside the front door for me?” I asked her. “Tell me whether a very tall gentleman, quite large, with a black beard and thick side whiskers is anywhere about? He has two friends with him, one of them with pale hair.”

  The barmaid’s face screwed up in concern. “Is that who you’re hiding from? Sounds like you mean Luke Mahoney, you do.” She shook her head. “He’s a bad, bad man, is Luke.”

  “So I gather. Will you tell me whether he is about? I do need to go home.”

  She did not look happy, but she nodded. “Right you are.”

  The barmaid nipped away, the unkempt hem of her skirt brushing her worn boots. She returned not long later.

  “Looks like he’s gone,” she said. “But I’ll slide ya out the back way, in case he’s hiding himself and watching. You his new woman?”

  I blenched. “Indeed, no.”

  “I thought ya looked too sensible, but a sensible woman can be a fool about a man, can’t she? Don’t have nothing to do with the likes of ’im, is my advice. This way.”

  She took me down a squalid back hall to an even more squalid cubby of a kitchen. Had I seen the kitchen first, I certainly would not have drunk the tea.

  From here we went into a noisome passageway that exited to a tiny lane. The barmaid pointed through the inky blackness to a light at the end.

  “That’s Queen Street. You take it to King Street, which will lead you up toward St. Giles’s Church. But go carefully. There’s bad people about.”

  Well I knew. I gave the young woman another shilling to thank her and went on my way. “Ta ever so much,” she called after me in a whisper.

  I lifted my skirts from whatever filth might be coating the alley and hurried toward the light. It was a lantern, hanging from yet another public house, swinging back and forth in the wind that struck me as I emerged from the narrow walk.

  Queen Street led to King, as the barmaid had said, and not long later, I was in Oxford Street, hailing a hansom. I could ill spare the money for a cab, but I was finished with the roads of London and the brutes I might encounter in them.

  * * *

  * * *

  I went almost eagerly to my warm kitchen that night, and even more eagerly to my bed at the top of the house. I took a long time to drop off, while I studied the ceiling and tried to convince myself I was safe.

  The next morning everything was as usual, and I enjoyed slipping back into my routine. Elsie took her half day at noon, hurrying over the dishes so she could depart as soon as they were done.

  Tess and I started the pies and bread for the evening meal after Elsie had gone, keeping ourselves warm near the stove with hot cups of tea. Mr. Davis came stalking down the stairs and into the kitchen not long later.

  “A vicar’s come to call,” he said. “And he’s asking to speak to you, Mrs. Holloway.”

  “A vicar?” I repeated, though the next instant I realized he must mean Mr. Fielding.

  “He said he’d come to you below stairs, with the mistress’s permission, but Mrs. Bywater says you may speak to him in the small sitting room on the ground floor.” Mr. Davis dropped his imperious tones and took on a look of disbelief. “The mistress has been gotten ’round by that Miss Townsend, no mistake. She’d never have let you have a visitor, not even a vicar, otherwise.”

  As he spoke I busily peeled off my apron then hurried to the scullery and dashed water over my floury hands.

  “Off you go,” Tess said, her interest acute. “You’ll tell me all about it, won’t ya?” she added in a whisper.

  Mr. Davis led me upstairs to the smaller of two parlors on the ground floor, where Mrs. Bywater received visitors neither important nor intimate—more prominent guests were taken to the grander sitting room on the first floor. This was a polite room, with restrained furniture in a salmon color, the paneled walls painted white, fitting for a guest of lesser status.

  Mrs. Bywater herself sat on a small sofa, looking utterly charmed by Mr. Fielding, who inhabited the wing chair next to it.

  Mr. Fielding rose smoothly to his feet as Mr. Davis opened the door and announced, “Mrs. Holloway.”

  “So good of you to receive me, Mrs. Holloway,” Mr. Fielding said before Mrs. Bywater could speak. “And for agreeing to converse with me about the committee for the Foundling Hospital.” He regarded me neutrally, waiting for me to go along with whatever rigamarole he’d concocted for Mrs. Bywater.

  Mrs. Bywater also rose. “How kind of you to consider contributing, Mrs. Holloway. It speaks well of your character.”

  I tried to look modest. “The least I could do.”

  “I came to tell her our latest ideas,” Mr. Fielding said, a man happy to find a willing donor for his cause. “Explain our mission, as I promised. There are many details.”

  His glance at Mrs. Bywater implied that such details would be tedious for the lady of the house, who surely had better things to do. Mrs. Bywater, to my surprise, took his cue.

  “I’ll leave you to it. Ring when you are ready to leave, Mr. Fielding, and Mr. Davis will see you out.”

  “Excellent. Thank you.” Mr. Fielding would overdo the dithering, I feared, becoming like something from a music hall stage.

  Mr. Davis, at his butler best, stood rigidly aside as Mrs. Bywater glided out of the room, then he closed the pocket doors and left me alone with Mr. Fielding.

  “Lovely house,” he said admiringly, studying the furnishings and elegant bric-a-brac. “Not cluttered up with peacock feathers and preserved flowers under glass and other such rubbish.”

  I remained in the middle of the room, hands at my sides. “I am pleased you approve,” I said coolly. “What did you wish to tell me, Mr. Fielding? Have you set appointments with those Lady Cynthia and Mr. Thanos met at the Foundling Hospital?”

  “Not yet. Lady Cynthia agreed she would write to them and be every inch the earl’s daughter. We can only wait for their response.”

  “Then what did you wish to say to me?”

  I debated whether to impart what had happened to me the evening before in Seven Dials. The incident might have nothing to do with the Foundling Hospital, except as happening at the address arbitrarily chosen to throw Mr. Fielding off the scent. I also wanted to see if I could pry out of Mr. Fielding whether he had encountered the bullies himself, or had learned more than he’d let on.

  Mr. Fielding turned his ingratiating smile upon me, his neatly trimmed beard emphasizing a flash of white teeth.

  “I simply wondered if you’d turned up anything else in the awful business. You and Daniel left together yesterday, and he did not return.” His smile deepened. “You are rather intimate with him, are you not?”

  I drew myself up. “I hope you are not insulting me, Mr. Fielding.”

  I saw him realize he’d taken the wrong tack. He became instantly contrite. “Forgive me. I put it badly. I meant that you and my brother are grea
t friends. He might tell you anything he’d discovered before he would me. I’m afraid he does not trust me.”

  I did not soften. “I cannot be surprised. But no. I haven’t spoken to Daniel since we parted yesterday afternoon.”

  “Ah.” He looked disappointed. “Then I apologize for annoying you. But what happened to Nell has thrown me all in a flutter.” In spite of his light words, I saw a flash of grief in Mr. Fielding’s eyes, raw and powerful. “I long to bring her assailants to justice.”

  I rather thought he wanted to show them the might of his fists, but I kept silent on that matter.

  “I am very sorry for her,” I said gently. “I too wish to see the villains found.”

  Mr. Fielding let out a sigh, abandoning his pretense at simple curiosity. “Shall we sit?”

  I was not comfortable being seated in the mistress’s parlor, but I saw sense in us not standing rigidly in the center of the room. I perched on the edge of the sofa, and Mr. Fielding resumed the wing chair.

  He took time to look me over—I imagined he was deciding how to broach whatever subject was truly on his mind.

  I’d noted that he did this with every person he met. Took them in and assessed their measure. Only then would he speak, tailoring his words carefully.

  “How is Daniel?” he asked as though the question was incidental. “I mean in general. I haven’t spoken to him in years, but he seems to have prospered. Seems, anyway. He is friendly with the police, which is quite a change. So many a time I witnessed young Daniel speed from the constables.”

  He chuckled, and I permitted myself a smile. If Mr. Fielding could take the measure of people, so could I—his true purpose today was to fish information from me about Daniel.

  “I am afraid I can’t tell you much,” I said. “Daniel does not confide in me.”

  Mr. Fielding’s brows went up. “Does he not? And yet, he speaks to you in a far more open manner than he ever did anyone. Including me, the man raised as his brother. He is very fond of you, I believe.”

  “And I am fond of him. But I speak the truth. I know Daniel works as a deliveryman and sometimes assists the police, but that is all.” I saw no reason not to impart any further information than Mr. Fielding already seemed to know.

  “That statement could cover a multitude of facts. If he’s in thick with the police, why spend his days carrying sacks of meal up and down kitchen stairs? He could take an office and put his feet up on a desk. And why would they trust a deliveryman to bring them information?” He shook his head. “Then there’s his son. Daniel McAdam, with a son. I can scarce credit it.”

  “These things happen,” I said, making my voice uninflected. I kept to myself my feelings about Daniel and the woman who’d borne James. None of my business what Daniel had got up to before I met him, I’d told myself. “Daniel has not imparted much about James’s mother. He did not realize he’d fathered a child at all until she sent for him on her deathbed, so I’ve been told. She’d sent James away, but Daniel managed to find him, and now looks after him.”

  “Good heavens, what a tale. Very melodramatic.” Mr. Fielding watched me closely. “Do you believe him?”

  “Of course. Why shouldn’t I?”

  “Because Daniel is a great liar, my dear. He was a fabulous mimic as a lad, could become anyone he wanted. A chameleon, I called him.”

  Mr. Fielding’s words held a ring of truth, I hated to admit. Daniel took on other guises well, subsuming his true self in them. When I’d first seen him in the suit of a City gent, I’d not recognized him for a moment. If I hadn’t met him before that, I’d never have realized the man in front of me was anything but a middle-class banker.

  “I see no reason for him to have made up the story of James and his mother,” I said.

  “Good.” He pronounced the word with satisfaction. “Then I am pleased he has taken you into his confidence.”

  “Are you?” I eyed him. “Why?”

  Mr. Fielding leaned back in his chair, the very picture of a relaxed clergyman who’d come to discuss nothing more dangerous than charitable works. “He needs a confidant. Daniel was ever alone. Had few friends, trusted no one.”

  “I cannot blame him. I have heard a little about his childhood, and I understand why he kept himself to himself.”

  “Our life was not all bad.” Mr. Fielding took on a nostalgic look. “Carter was kind to us, in his way. He knew we believed he’d taken us into his house for the worst of reasons, and so at first he left us alone, simply giving us place to sleep and food to eat and not minding if we came and went as we pleased.”

  “Kind of him, indeed. What was his price?”

  Mr. Fielding blinked at me. “Beg pardon?”

  I sent him a pitying look. “Unless this man was of angelic disposition, wishing to save all boys from the streets, he must have expected something in return.”

  “He did,” Mr. Fielding conceded. “But what Carter asked was far less disgusting than some would have demanded. He had us run errands, nothing dangerous and none that would get us arrested. Or we’d carry messages to his cronies. We’d find out things for him—no one pays much attention to small boys. Men who thought themselves clever criminals would tell their entire schemes to one another right in front of us and never notice.” He chortled in remembrance.

  “How long did you live with Mr. Carter?”

  “Oh . . . two or so years. That seemed a great while when we were young.”

  “I know Daniel was fond of him. He told me he was quite broken up when Mr. Carter was killed.”

  Mr. Fielding’s laughter died, his expression darkening in an instant. “It was a cruel thing. Terrible. They didn’t even give Carter a chance to defend himself. Daniel is correct when he said I fled that night. I knew we’d never prevail. If I hadn’t gone, and Daniel hadn’t hidden himself, we’d not be here now. Those men slaughtered everyone in the house.”

  He fell silent as more true grief flickered through his eyes. Daniel had told me of the horrors of that event, which Mr. Fielding had likewise witnessed.

  After a moment, Mr. Fielding cleared his throat. “And now someone’s done for Nell. The Lord seems determined to take away everyone I care for.”

  “Life has tragedy, Mr. Fielding,” I said gently. “And that is the way of it. I do not speak lightly—I have had my share. Most of us do.”

  “Thank you for reminding me I am a selfish sinner,” Mr. Fielding muttered, then he sighed. “You are right, of course. I have been wallowing in self-pity and not thinking straight.”

  “Of course.” I kept my voice quiet. “As you loved her.”

  “Nothing so sentimental.” Mr. Fielding frowned. “Let us say I cared deeply for her.”

  “It is the same thing.”

  Mr. Fielding studied me a moment, then his face lost its dour expression. “I believe I understand why Daniel is so taken with you. You are a sensible woman, and kind, but also unrelenting. Daniel must find this irresistible.”

  “Please, cease speculating about Daniel and me,” I said sternly. “We are friends only.”

  Mr. Fielding’s quick smile blossomed. “Ah, well, if I am deluded about my feelings for Nell, then I can’t be surprised Daniel is about you. What is holding him back? There is affection, there is friendship—”

  I cut him off. “He is a busy man. And I am a busy woman.”

  “Neither of you would be half so hard-pressed if you joined forces in holy matrimony.” Mr. Fielding peered at me. “Or is it you who is resisting? You have refused his suit?”

  “There is no suit.” I rose, my annoyance growing. “Now, if you have finished with your interrogation, I must get on with my work.”

  He was on his feet and beside me in an instant. “Mrs. Holloway, forgive me. I had no wish to offend you, only to know you better. Daniel will not speak to me. Not in a friendly way, I mean, sharing storie
s from our pasts, our thoughts and hopes, as we once did.”

  Mr. Fielding took on a morose expression, but I’d seen he could be as much of a chameleon as Daniel.

  “Are you truly a vicar?” I asked. “Anyone can purchase a suit and find a collar.”

  Mr. Fielding’s amusement returned. “Yes, dear lady, I am. My name is listed among those who took a degree at Balliol. I did not gain top honors, I am afraid, but I finished. I was also granted the living in Shadwell—those records can be checked.”

  “Why the clergy?” I asked. “You were allowed into a prestigious university, and you chose to study to be a clergyman?”

  “I knew I was not clever enough for maths or the sciences,” Mr. Fielding answered readily. “Not certain I could pull off law either, having faced enough severe barristers as a youth for my comfort.” He gave me a serene smile. “Have you not considered that in divinity studies, I perhaps found my true calling?”

  “No, rather you strike me as a man who seizes opportunities.”

  The laugh he let out was more genuine. “I am indeed.” Mr. Fielding took my hand in a firm grip and shook it. “Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Holloway.”

  “Not at all.” I withdrew from the clasp immediately. “But you do not need to come to the house to quiz me for information. If I learn something about Nurse Betts or the children, I will tell you. Or Daniel will.”

  “I doubt I’ll have any news from my brother,” Mr. Fielding said, resigned. “Old wounds run deep.” He gave me a brief bow. “Good day to you, dear lady.”

  I gave him a cordial farewell in return and stepped back to let him depart.

  As he opened the sitting room’s door, he resumed the befuddled expression of a minor vicar dazzled by, and a little wistful about, his visit to a great house of Mayfair. Mr. Davis, ever alert, appeared from the shadows of the back stairs with Mr. Fielding’s wraps and escorted him to the door.

  Mr. Fielding was as good as Daniel about taking disguises, I mused as I watched him fumble with his coat, allowing Mr. Davis to help him. But Mr. Fielding had subsumed himself far deeper into his part than Daniel did in his, and I wondered if that made Mr. Fielding the more dangerous of the pair.