Alice consulted a fob watch attached to her lapel. ‘Goodness, is that the time? I must get back to the hospital.’
‘Yes, I must get home too.’ Flora scraped back her chair, the sound bringing Mr Martell to their side with the speed of a magician, a tiny white box tied with red and green ribbon hanging from his fingers.
‘Have you ’ad a pleasant af-ter-noon?’ He eyed them both with interest.
‘Perfectly, thank you.’ Alice’s lips did no more than twitch as she continued past him to the counter at the front of the shop.
Flora took the box from him with a weak smile and followed, annoyed when he remained firmly attached to their side.
‘I ’ad no idea you ladees were acquainted,’ he persisted, unabashed.
‘Did you not?’ Flora placed a handful of coins onto the counter, refusing Alice’s attempt to do the same.
‘Such dreadful goings on at the ’ospital, I hear, Mees Feench.’ Mr Martell stepped in front of them as Flora reached to open the door. ‘One of your nurses met with an accident, did she not?’ He inclined his head, so shiny with pomade the surface reflected the overhead gaslight.
‘Accidents happen, Mr Martell.’ Flora eased past him and grasped the brass door handle. ‘Good day to you.’
‘That’s the last thing I need.’ Alice sighed when they gained the street. ‘Gossip about the hospital won’t help the donations. The slightest scandal can discourage people from having anything to do with us.’
‘I wouldn’t take any notice of him, he’s renowned for his nosiness.’ Flora resisted the temptation to look back, though experienced an unnerving sensation that Mr Martell was watching them through the window. Had he overheard their conversation? Or did he read the newspapers like everyone else?
‘Ah, here’s my horse bus.’ Alice approached the kerb, her arm raised to hail it. ‘I really must go. If I have to wait for the next one, I shall be very late.’
‘Perhaps I could come to the hospital tomorrow and let you know what I find out?’ Flora said.
‘Excellent. I’ll warn the porter, Forbes, to expect you.’ She climbed nimbly onto the platform of the horse bus and turned back with a smile that made Flora’s breath catch. ‘My dear Flora, I do believe we have a plan.’
Chapter 9
A gust of frigid air swept along the hall from the rear door which had been left open. When Bunny had insisted on the installation of the telephone at the Eaton Place house, she had imagined reclining on a chaise longue beside a fire to chat to her friends, not shivering in a draughty rear hall. She would have to convince him to buy one of the candlestick models she had seen on her visit to New York four years before and have it located beside a more comfortable chair in the sitting room.
‘Lydia, I wanted to ask how you would—’ the line crackled in her ear and she broke off wincing. When it cleared she tried again, ‘How do you feel about doing some poor visiting?’
‘Even with this noisy line I detect a conspiratorial tone in your voice.’ Lydia sounded as if she was in a tunnel. ‘Is this another of your murder investigations?’
‘Not exactly, and it’s not dangerous. At least I hope not.’ She bit her lip, glad that Lydia couldn’t see the lie in her eyes.
Apart from the odd hiss and crackle, the line went quiet for so long, Flora was convinced Lydia had hung up the telephone. ‘Are you still there, Lydia?’
‘I’m thinking,’ Lydia said. ‘Where exactly are we going on this charitable visit of yours?’
‘To Bermondsey, it’s an area known as St Saviour’s.’
‘Why would you want to go down there?’ Lydia’s shock came clearly down the line. ‘Those docks south of the river contain some of the city’s worst slums.’
‘I thought that was the point of offering charity to the poor.’ Flora tried not to sound sarcastic but doubted she succeeded. With a start she registered what Lydia had just said. ‘Do you know it?’
‘I teach a class on the history of London to my pupils, so, naturally, I’m aware of the industrial area of the city. Are you sure that’s where you want to go?’
‘I’m positive. What do you say?’
‘In that case, we’d better take Abel Cain with us.’
‘Abel Cain? How very biblical. Who is he, and is that really his name?’
‘It is. He’s a carpenter who lodges at the end of my street. He does odd jobs for me and my neighbours in exchange for a few shillings. I’m sure I could persuade him to spare us a couple of hours.’
‘Why do you think he would be useful?’
‘You’ll see when you meet him. When do you wish to go?’
More crackles and hisses meant Flora had to repeat the arrangements for the following morning – twice. When she finally replaced the receiver, she turned to find Sally watching her from the doorway to the kitchens.
‘You weren’t thinking of going without me were you, madam?’ Sally wiped her hands on her apron, her brown eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘Can’t have you going to a place like that on yer own.’
‘You’re as bad as Lydia. I’m beginning to feel quite naïve for wanting to go at all. I promise to keep my purse hidden and I won’t wear any jewellery.’
‘If that’s all you’re worried about, then you are naïve, whatever that means. A well set up lady like yourself will find worse villains in that quarter than the odd pickpocket. Anyway, I wouldn’t mind seeing that Abel again.’
‘You’ve met him?’ Flora examined Sally’s face for clues but the maid kept her head down.
‘He was at Miss Lydia’s place fixing some pipes when I took that note round last week.’ Sally picked at the paint on the door frame. ‘He lives with his mam, and makes cabinets and whatnots out of wood.’
‘I’m pleased to hear he looks after his mother. What’s he like?’
‘You’ll see for yerself.’ Sally concealed a smile behind her hand, just as a high-pitched shriek came from the depths of the servants’ hall.
‘Sally!’ the voice called. ‘Have yer brought Miss Flora’s linens down yet? I want them in this tub or they’ll have to wait till Wednesday.’
Sally rolled her eyes and turned away, leaving Flora smiling to herself.
*
‘Since when did you take up charity work?’ Bunny asked when they adjourned to the sitting room with their coffee after dinner. ‘Have you joined some committee that runs ladies’ bridge parties and tombolas?’
‘I might have.’ Flora picked at the silk bookmark on a copy of Sense and Sensibility on the table at her elbow. ‘Would that be so surprising?’
‘Not at all. Immersing yourself in good works is an admirable way for a married woman to spend her time. And my—’
‘—Mother would approve,’ Flora finished for him. The very reason she had resisted such activities thus far was because Beatrice Harrington liked to pontificate on how Flora ought to spend her time. The last thing she wanted was to give her the satisfaction her advice had been taken. ‘I decided to put my spare time to good use.’
‘Really, Flora, how long are you going to keep up this charade?’ Bunny’s glance flicked up at her as he added milk to his coffee. ‘This is connected with Miss Finch at St Philomena’s isn’t it? Did you go to Martell’s this afternoon in the hope of meeting her there?’
‘I thought you’d forgotten.’ Flora pretended to study a hangnail.
‘No, but I was hoping you had.’ Leather creaked as he adjusted his position in the wing-backed chair beside hers. ‘Are you still convinced she might be your long-lost mother?’
‘Forget I ever mentioned that,’ Flora waved him away. ‘She’s a charming woman and we got on so well, we might have known each other for years. Does that never happen to you?’
‘I had the same instinct about my dentist.’ Bunny took a mouthful of coffee, swallowing rapidly. ‘Amiable chap. We could have been separated at birth.’
‘Now you’re mocking me.’ Her eyes narrowed, she set down her cup without taking a sip.
&
nbsp; ‘Teasing perhaps, but I would never mock.’ His tone softened. ‘I was simply pointing out that it’s possible to feel connected to a stranger without being related to them. And why do you keep fidgeting? You’ve picked up your coffee cup twice but not drunk any of it. Is something bothering you?’
‘Possibly.’ She clasped her hands on her lap and took a deep breath before continuing, ‘Alice and I decided the police were wrong about how and why Lizzie Prentice died. That it might not have been a fleeing burglar or as the result of a fall.’
‘Have the police changed their minds about how it happened?’ Bunny searched her features for some seconds. Then realization dawned and he sighed. ‘Oh, Flora you aren’t trying to change it for them?’
‘Why not? There might have been a very good reason why someone might have killed Lizzie.’ Before he could interrupt, she launched into a censored version of her conversation with Miss Finch that afternoon, finishing with details of the missing children. To his credit, Bunny listened intently, with not a sigh or rolling of eyes to betray his real feelings. She liked to think the mention of the children had altered his attitude. Since the birth of their son his perspective had changed as much as her own.
‘What is this work she’s asked you to do?’ he asked when she had finished. ‘And how is it connected to Lizzie Prentice and these missing children?’
‘We’re going to distribute food parcels in Bermondsey tomorrow and see if we can find out anything.’
‘I see, and you thought I might forbid you to go?’ His expression remained serious, though his lips twitched. ‘Is that why you’ve been as nervous as a cat all evening?’
‘I would have mentioned it before, but, if you recall, the telephone rang just after you arrived home and Stokes announced dinner. I didn’t want to spoil your appetite, so—’ His narrowed eyes halted her prattle. ‘And I needed to approach the subject diplomatically.’ Flora was about to regale him on the fact he had thus far in their marriage not forbidden her to do anything, and it wouldn’t get him far now, but decided not to chance it.
‘I hope you’re taking Sally with you on this excursion of yours?’ His voice lowered into lecture mode. ‘You know how I feel about you wandering the London streets alone.’
‘You make it sound reprehensible. And of course, I’ll take her. Lydia is also coming and bringing someone called Abel.’ She moved a dish of biscuits into his reach.
‘I was about to suggest taking a policeman, but he’s more than adequate.’ Bunny took one of the wafer thin biscuits dusted with cinnamon and bit into it. ‘I doubt even you could get into too much trouble delivering food.’ He chewed thoughtfully. ‘However, where Miss Finch is concerned, I don’t want you to be distraught when you discover she’s been married to a banker for twenty-five years and has six children.’
‘I won’t be, distraught that is, and she’s never married, nor has she any family to speak of.’
‘My, you have been busy.’ His eyes clouded behind his glasses. ‘Is being my wife and Arthur’s mother not enough that you feel the need to keep looking for Lily Maguire?’
‘How could you think that?’ The pain in his face brought her out of her chair and to his side. ‘I haven’t been looking for her. Only seeing Alice Finch at the hospital brought all these unresolved feelings back. You know I like a mystery and now I have two to keep me interested.’ She stood behind his chair, locked her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek to his. ‘I love being married to you. In fact, I am entirely spoiled, as I have little to do here when the staff run this house and care for our son perfectly well without me. Besides, I’m not the type to sit and embroider all day, or leave cards all over town on morning calls.’
‘If you’re feeling undervalued, my love, I could always discharge Mrs Cope?’
‘Definitely not.’ She hugged him tighter, the prospect of losing their housekeeper unthinkable. ‘You know I enjoy solving puzzles. I promise to avoid anything that looks dangerous.’
‘I wouldn’t call murder investigations “puzzles”.’ He lifted her hand where it lay on his collarbone and planted a kiss on her palm. ‘What else did you and Miss Finch discuss apart from children who don’t keep appointments and nurses who die in mysterious circumstances?’
‘That was about all, really. Anyway, there might be a perfectly reasonable explanation for the children not being at their homes. And Lizzie Prentice’s death could have been an accident. In which case, there’s no reason for my involvement, so Miss Finch and I will simply spend a congenial hour together.’
‘You’re going to see her again?’
‘I’ve arranged to visit her at the hospital tomorrow afternoon to give her a report on our charitable expedition into Bermondsey.’
‘From most people that would sound a perfectly harmless suggestion, but not where my wife is concerned.’ Bunny snapped open the copy of the Evening Standard the butler had left for him. ‘All I ask is that you take care.’
‘Of course, I will.’ She planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘And thank you for understanding.’ She straightened as something he had said came back to her. ‘What did you say just now about Abel Cain? Do you know him?’ Was she the only one in her own household who had never heard of this man?
‘We enjoy a passing acquaintance.’
‘What’s he like?’
‘You’ll find out,’ Bunny murmured, immediately captured by whatever was on the page in front of him.
‘Why does everyone keep saying that?’ Miffed, she retrieved her copy of Lady Rose’s Daughter and settled to read in a room silent apart from the tick of the mantle clock and the rustle of Bunny’s paper.
After the first page, Bunny’s joke about Alice being married with six children returned, rendering her unable to take in another word of her novel. Suppose he was right, and Alice Finch was just what she purported to be? What if there was no convenient answer to what had happened to her mother all those years ago? Was she tilting at windmills, as Riordan Maguire liked to say? The room seemed a little darker and cooler than a moment before. She released a sigh and rose. ‘I think I’ll go to bed.’
‘Is your novel not interesting?’ Bunny asked without looking up. ‘I thought Augusta Ward was a great success in America. What’s it about?’
‘I cannot concentrate right now, although I’m enjoying it. It’s about a woman called Julie, the daughter of a couple who left England in order to be together. Her mother was married to someone else, thus they cannot marry, hence putting Julie at a disadvantage. I’ve reached the part where she takes a position with an aristocrat who hates her.’
‘Echoes of your own life perhaps?’ His gaze lifted to hers and held.
‘Hardly, and I certainly don’t have a cruel employer.’
‘I wondered if you had cast my mother in that role.’ Bunny smirked.
‘Your words, not mine.’ Flora tapped his shoulder with the book as she passed his chair on her way to the door, whispering, ‘I wouldn’t dare.’
Chapter 10
‘Abel Cain, meet Mrs Flora Harrington.’ Lydia’s eyes sparkled as she made the introduction on Flora’s doorstep the next morning.
A young man in his twenties, with wide, expressive brown eyes and a slightly flattened nose snatched off a brown cap to reveal toffee-coloured hair brushed back from a square brow. ‘Pleased to meet you, missus,’ he said in a voice softer than Flora expected.
‘And I you, Mr Cain.’ Flora exhaled a slow breath, though it wasn’t his face which made Flora stare, rather the fact he stood over six feet, with shoulders as wide as a door so she had to crane her neck to meet his gaze. A brown and mustard tweed jacket strained over his muscled chest, while hands as big as shovels rested on the stone pillar. In comparison, even Charles Rolls could have been described as being of average size.
‘I doubt anyone will give us any trouble with him present,’ Flora said out of the corner of her mouth.
‘Which was precisely the reason I asked him to accompany us.’ Lydia beamed.<
br />
Sally bustled forward, ostensibly to help Stokes manoeuvre the cumbersome food basket through the gate, her cheeks bright pink as she stammered a greeting to the young man. No wonder she had been so keen to come.
Flora followed Lydia into the cab that waited on the road, glad she had requested Stokes summon a four-wheeled ‘growler’ with two horses and room for four passengers, instead of a one-horse hansom.
Having stowed the basket beside the driver’s feet, Abel eased his rear end backwards into the seat opposite, forcing Sally into the corner, her hunched shoulders pressed up against the window. A minute into the journey, Flora was about to enquire if she was quite comfortable but changed her mind, as from the sideways looks Sally shot at Abel from beneath her lashes her concern was unwarranted.
‘I suggest we begin at Wild’s Rents,’ Lydia read from Alice’s list. ‘I doubt the driver will take us to the door, so we’ll get him to drop us off in the Old Kent Road and work our way from there.’
Flora swallowed, suddenly nervous that even a London cabby might be reluctant to enter a place she intended to go on foot.
Her trepidation increased once they were the other side of Westminster Bridge and crossed beneath the railway line into Borough High Street where the buildings became muted to various shades of brown and grey overlaid with a layer of soot. The pavements were crowded with grim-faced figures who trudged rather than walked, shoulders hunched and their eyes cast to the ground.
‘I ’ope you knows what you’re doing bringing these ladies here,’ the driver leant down from his seat and addressed Abel, but made no attempt to climb from his perch and open the door.
Abel had not uttered a word on the half-hour journey, and handed the man their far with a ‘what can you do’ shrug. He placed the basket on the pavement before helping Flora and Lydia onto a road filled with horse-drawn carts, handcarts and trams that rattled along, their whistles blowing to warn pedestrians to get out of the way.
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