“I am a mess,” I announced as I moved to the nearest mirror. I did not look as unkempt as I feared, though I needed to unpin and recomb my hair. I’d feel better when I could wash my face as well.
“You’re lovely,” Daniel said behind me.
“Base flattery.” I smoothed out my hair the best I could—it would have to do until I reached home. “What is the time?” The windows were dark, but the early spring sun didn’t rise until after six.
Daniel stepped behind me and rested his hands on my waist. I confess I rather enjoyed the firmness of his touch, but I turned and broke his hold. He didn’t move away, which meant he stood far too close to me.
I drew a breath and made myself take a crisp tone. “You do understand why I am angry with you, do you not? Why I have been for . . .” I trailed off. I couldn’t remember how long anymore.
“Months,” Daniel finished for me. “Since you saw me that night in Oxford Street.”
“Indeed.” That had been the first time I’d seen him in a gentleman’s suit, and what’s more, he’d been handing a lovely woman into a posh coach. “I believe you are a good man, Daniel McAdam, but you are not to be trusted.”
To my surprise, his face crumpled with amusement. “You have the measure of me, Kat. You and no other.”
He at last moved from my side, seeming to understand that he made me uncomfortable, and twitched back a curtain. The gray light outlined his tall form, which no longer held the deferential stoop he adopted when he carried boxes and bags into lords’ and ladies’ houses.
“It’s six, and will be sunrise soon,” he said. “Stay here and rest. I’m certain they can do without you for a day.”
“Six?” I gasped. I snatched my coat from the large hall tree near the door. “What sort of a cook would I be if I neglected to fix breakfast? I’d never find a position again.” Only one thought kept me from dashing straight out the door. “You will tell me what you and Lady Cynthia and Mr. Thanos discover, won’t you?” I tried not to sound too wistful, but without success.
Daniel’s smile was as warm as Bobby’s cozy stove. “I’ll not leave you out, Kat, do not worry. I know you’d find me if I did try to leave you behind, no matter how diligently I hid.”
I buttoned my coat with jerking movements. “Don’t talk nonsense,” I said, then opened the door and stalked from the room. Daniel didn’t follow me, but his laughter did.
• • •
Mrs. Bowen pounced on me the moment I walked into the kitchen at the Mount Street house. Her eyes were red-rimmed and wisps of gray hair straggled from her usually neat bun.
“What has happened?” she demanded. “Where is Lady Cynthia? She hasn’t come home.”
I steered Mrs. Bowen into her empty parlor and shut the door. I felt fusty and wanted a wash and change of clothes, but there would be no time now.
Mrs. Bowen refused to sit down, no matter how much I entreated her. She was clearly upset, and worried I’d done something with Lady Cynthia, so I quickly told her what we had found with the timetables—which was nothing—and that Lady Cynthia had gone out to hunt up her chums.
I did not like to impart we thought the timetables had something to do with the Queen’s travels. Mrs. Bowen had spoken out fiercely against Fenians, but she also had tried to suppress Sinead’s ties to them and had destroyed possible evidence that might lead to them. I was becoming like Daniel, I realized, to my dismay. Watchful of everyone.
“And Sinead?” Mrs. Bowen asked me, her face pinched. “She will remain blameless, whatever this is about?”
“If she is blameless,” I said. “But I agree with you—Sinead did not seem the sort to come up with wicked plots or wittingly participate in them. She likely had no idea what sort of information her beau was passing to her. If he did pass it to her.”
This seemed to satisfy Mrs. Bowen somewhat—at least, she looked less anguished. I advised her to go to bed after reassuring her again that Lady Cynthia was fine and likely would soon be home. I was too tired and in no mood to stay and placate Mrs. Bowen further, so I left her sinking down into her chair in relief and made my way to the kitchen.
Had Sinead been given the timetable by her lover to deliver to another conspirator? Or had she been meant to deliver the paper from a conspirator to her young man? And why would either of them use a kitchen maid turned cook’s assistant for communication?
Likely because few would suspect such an innocent-looking young woman of carrying terrible secrets, I surmised.
I stepped to the scullery and its sink and opened the tap, using the freezing water to wash my face and hands—it would have to do for now. My mind continued to spin as I scrubbed my face. If using Sinead to pass information was useful, then why kill the poor thing?
I might not be as good at sums as Mr. Thanos, but nothing was adding up to any satisfactory answer.
It is fairly easy to please an Englishman at breakfast, and so I quickly had plenty of boiled eggs, sausage, bacon, ham, and potatoes ready as well as a stack of muffins dripping with butter. I sent them up to the dining room for Lord Rankin to devour alone.
Later I’d prepare a tray for Lady Rankin, to be delivered whenever she finally rang for Sara to bring her breakfast. I reflected that I hadn’t seen the woman since she’d interviewed me for the post, but she rarely left her chamber except to dine with the family and go out in the evenings.
Lady Cynthia was completely different from her sister, I mused as I checked that Mary had started the dough for a seed bread as I’d instructed, and then went to my table and mixed together flour and butter—three parts butter to four parts flour—plus a bit of sugar and cold water for a pastry crust. There were pears in the larder that needed to be eaten, and what better way than a pear tart with a lemon glaze and a sweet custard sauce?
I pegged Lady Cynthia as a “doer.” She didn’t like to sit and gossip or ride in coaches or idle at a theatre, like Lady Rankin. Lady Cynthia liked to be up and about, riding horses, driving a rig, traveling with her friend Bobby, or tearing about London helping Daniel and me discover things.
Lord Rankin struck me as a doer as well, rising early to go to his business in the City, not taking up the life of a gentleman of leisure. I again wondered at his choice of Lady Emily instead of Lady Cynthia. Had he picked Emily because he knew he could rule her with a firm hand?
Or perhaps he’d fallen in love, I thought, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt as I gathered my dough into a ball and put it into a bowl to rest. The heart makes the choice. One sister does not necessarily equal the other.
As I prepared to carry the bowl to the larder to let the dough chill, I spied Lord Rankin’s boots through the high windows as he moved toward his carriage to head for the City. It was Friday—Davis told me Lord Rankin worked on Saturday as well, conceding to stay home only on the Lord’s day. On Sunday, he worked upstairs in his study while his wife and Lady Cynthia attended church.
Once I cleaned up my mess from making the pastry and set Mary to peeling and stewing the pears, I climbed to my chamber at the top of the house and allowed myself the luxury of a sponge bath with hot water I’d convinced Paul to carry up for me. I combed out my long dark hair after I dried myself and glanced at the bed with regret. If I indulged in stretching out on the mattress, I’d likely fall asleep and then would have no time the rest of the day for anything but cookery. I braided my hair, dressed, and returned to the kitchen.
I donned a clean apron and started in again. The pears were finished—Mary had done well with the simple recipe—and I’d let them baste in their juices for a time.
As I turned to my notebook to decide what I would do for luncheon, Lady Cynthia walked into the kitchen, tipped me a wink, and motioned for me to follow her outside. Mr. Davis, already in the servants’ hall filling his plate, saw this and raised his brows high, but said nothing, mercifully.
I was hungr
y, so I snatched up a stale roll from breakfast and quickly spread it with the potted meat I’d made yesterday morning, devouring it as I slid on my coat and followed Cynthia up the scullery stairs.
A cab was waiting to take us back to Bobby’s flat—I had no time to argue before Cynthia pushed me in, and we were off. We arrived in a short time to find Mr. Thanos and Daniel already there, sitting at a table near the window.
“McAdam insists this is the best place to chat,” Cynthia said, shutting the paneled door behind me. “Exciting,” she said as she threw herself into a chair. “Like a council of war. Except we ladies are allowed to attend. As it should be.”
18
As I took the upholstered seat Daniel held out for me at the table, I realized that they hadn’t been obligated to invite me here. Lady Cynthia, Mr. Thanos, and Daniel could have discussed this problem on their own, leaving me to my kitchen. I was certain Daniel had insisted on fetching me, and I was grateful.
“I made a nuisance of myself last night to all my old friends,” Lady Cynthia began as soon as we were seated. “I happen to be acquainted with most of the ladies who have been honored by Queen Vic—some are friends, some friends of friends. My mum was proposed once to be part of her court, because Papa was a war hero and highly thought of in some circles. But we were far too scandalous.” Lady Cynthia chuckled. “Poor Mum would have been stifled as a lady-in-waiting. She has quite the temper, does our mum. She’d have been throwing dishes and screaming like a fishwife if she had to stay long in freezing Balmoral or in boring Osborne House.”
Cynthia seemed quite pleased with her family’s tempestuousness. I remembered Mr. Davis telling me that Lady Cynthia’s brother had died by his own hand. I wondered how old Cynthia had been at the time and what that grief had done to her. At the moment, her eyes took on a fond look as she smiled about her mother.
“Anyway,” Cynthia went on. “I have the interesting information that the Queen isn’t going to Scotland as per usual—at least, not directly. She has decided to make her way north by going leisurely west, seeing a few sights she enjoyed with dear Albert. She’ll be following the Great Western route in her special train, through Cornwall and to Wales, back to Bristol, and then north. Something of the sort. I wasn’t handed an exact itinerary—this is what I pieced together around gossip about who is in love with whom and whose husband is walking out with whose wife.” She laughed. “I could write a hell of a story today and sell it to one of the more salacious news sheets.”
“Interesting,” Elgin said, his dark gaze fixed on Cynthia. “That route changes gauges—I wonder how they manage this with her train? Or do they move her from one to another?”
“More to the point,” Daniel broke in, “how do these times correspond to her route? If they do at all?”
“And how would we know?” I asked. “The Queen won’t be stopping at the usual stations, will she? And other trains will have to get out of her way, will they not?”
“That is simple, good lady,” Elgin said. He spread the copy he’d made of the numbers from my notebook and opened a Bradshaw. “If I know the route, and the approximate speed her train travels, it’s a simple calculation to see if these times correspond to towns she’ll pass through. Let me see . . .”
He hooked on his spectacles again, removed a pencil from a case in his pocket, and began to jot notes on the paper.
“She likes to travel slowly,” Elgin murmured. “So let’s say twenty-five miles per hour. That would put her . . .” He trailed off as he looked back and forth from the Bradshaw to the paper. His pencil danced, and we all watched as numbers poured out of his fingers.
Elgin wrote for a time, doing swift calculations that would have left me writing laboriously and whispering the answers as I found them. Elgin skipped steps, or he seemed to, and scribbled new numbers along the margins of his page.
“Hmm.” His pencil slowed and then halted and dropped. He massaged his fingers and wrung them out.
Lady Cynthia leaned forward. “Hmm, what?”
Daniel made no move from his casual slouch in the chair he’d taken, but his eyes came alert. Of the three of us, I was the only one who sat primly upright.
Elgin tapped the original numbers. “These times having nothing to do with stations the Queen’s train will pass on her journey.” He sighed, dropped his hands to his lap, and looked morose.
I deflated. “Then maybe the numbers have nothing to do with trains at all.”
Cynthia was peering narrowly at Elgin. “How do you know? Trains never go all at one pace. They slow down and speed up, climb hills, wait for other trains . . . Last journey I took home, the train’s speed was all over the place.”
“I took that into account, my dear lady,” Elgin said. “You see?” He skimmed his fingertips down his calculations, which were pure gibberish to me.
“That is why he had to write the calculations out,” Daniel said in dry tones. “If the train went only one speed, he’d have been able to figure it all in his head.”
Elgin nodded, looking not the least offended.
“We’re back to nothing, then,” I said, as gloomy as Elgin.
Daniel’s eyes sparkled. “Not necessarily. Trains pass things other than stations.” He turned to me, a smile spreading over his face. “How would you like to take a railway journey, Mrs. Holloway?”
• • •
I thought Daniel was absolutely mad, but at the same time, the idea of climbing aboard a train with him and speeding out of London for a while was enticing.
I had, once upon a time, traveled to Bath, when a woman I worked for moved her household there. She knew I didn’t want to work outside London, so she’d agreed that once the staff was settled, I would return to Town and take another post. For that sojourn, I was mostly concerned with making certain crates, maids, and adventurous footmen didn’t go astray, so I’d seen little of the countryside. The return journey had been at night, and I’d slept.
The thought of rushing away, leaving behind Lord Rankin, the place of Sinead’s death, and my impending decision about my daughter was appealing.
The Queen, according to Lady Cynthia, was traveling this Sunday, when the fewest trains ran, so we hadn’t much time to investigate. However, a cook doesn’t suddenly run away on a brief holiday.
“I have my duties,” I argued with Daniel once we’d returned to Lord Rankin’s, making a brief stop at a greengrocers along the way so I’d have an excuse for my outing. We were alone in the kitchen, the staff upstairs cleaning, Mary and another maid washing up in the scullery. The rush of water and clatter of dishes ensured we would not be overheard if we spoke quietly.
“Lord Rankin will let you go without impediment,” Daniel said. “I’ll make certain of it.”
“Hardly the point.” After setting aside the asparagus and greens I’d purchased, I put on my apron and moved the dough for my seeded bread from its bowl to the table, rolled it in the spread of caraway and sesame seeds, cracked pepper, and coarse salt, divided it into two loaves, and popped them into pans for their final rise. “Cooking is a great deal of work, Mr. McAdam. I cannot leave the other staff to take it over. It isn’t fair to them, and they wouldn’t much know what to do anyway.”
Daniel folded his arms and leaned against the table, not looking bothered in the slightest. “I will arrange for someone to come in and take your duties temporarily, a good enough cook that your reputation won’t suffer. Will that do?”
Temporary staff can be two-edged swords—if they are unskilled, the household complains for months; if they are brilliant, the household might not want you back.
“Be that as it may,” I went on, “surely it’s more important for you to take a policeman or someone who works for the Queen on this mad journey.”
Daniel only continued leaning against the table. He didn’t scowl or frown, but I became aware as I watched him that Daniel McAdam was an u
ncommonly stubborn man. He used amiability rather than harsh words to get his way, but he had a strength of will that could push aside a mountain.
“A policeman or one of the Queen’s equerries wouldn’t thank me for leading them on a wild-goose chase,” he said. “I want to be certain of our speculations before I alert the palace. They take a dim view of false alarms.”
“And who are you to alert an entire palace?” I asked him as I set the loaf pans on their shelf over the stove and covered them with floured cloths.
Daniel only gave me his enigmatic look. “Not the entire palace, Kat. But I am alone in this. If I make a mess, it is entirely on my head. I prefer to have irrefutable evidence before I present my theories to the world.”
“Elgin is helping you,” I pointed out.
“Yes, as a friend; not in an official capacity. Elgin does me favors because he’s interested in the problems I give him. I make certain no blame falls on him for my mistakes.”
“But what on earth can I do?” I asked, bewildered. “I’m a cook—I don’t know about railways and dynamite and the Fenians.”
Daniel had left the table and now stood immediately in front of me. “Because you have a wisdom and kindness that sees me through the hardest days,” he said in a low voice. “Because I’d like you to come.”
I had difficulty drawing my next breath. Daniel was watching me as he had when I’d copied out the paper of numbers and he’d thought my attention safely elsewhere. Now he didn’t care that I looked straight at him.
I wavered. I knew Daniel could make it easy for me to run away for a day, and truth to tell, I very much wanted to.
“You have flattery for every occasion,” I said, trying to sound offhand.
“You may take it as flattery if you wish,” Daniel replied without moving. “I would still like you to come.”
“I suppose you will let me prepare things for the rest of today’s meals?” I asked.
Death Below Stairs Page 19