I chewed on the pasty and remained miserable.
The next morning, Anne was released. I clung to her hand when she said good-bye, knowing hers might be the last kind face I ever saw. I begged her to look for a man called Daniel McAdam and tell him what had become of me. She promised to do her best.
Anne went out, and I cried. I wept hard into my skirt and huddled like everyone else. I was thirsty, exhausted, and worried for my fate.
Later that day, the door to the common room opened, and the bailiff bellowed, “Mrs. Holloway!”
I scrambled to my feet, my heart beating wildly, my limbs cramped from sitting on the cold stone floor. I had no idea what was happening—was it time for my trial already? Or perhaps the magistrate simply wanted me back so he could make a few more jokes at my expense.
I found, to my astonishment, that the person the bailiff took me to in the jailer’s room was James, the lad who worked for Daniel. Still more astonished when James said, “I’m to take you home, Mrs. Holloway. You won’t stay here another minute.”
I had no words, not to thank James, not to ask questions. As I stood like a mute fool, James took my hand and pulled me from the jailer’s room, through the courtyard, and out the formidable gate into the light of day. Or at least a rainy afternoon.
The area around Newgate was a busy one. James had to walk me through the bustle a long way before he pushed me into a hansom cab in Ludgate Hill.
I finally found my tongue to ask questions, but James did not enter the cab with me. He only slammed the door and signaled the cabby to go. I craned my head to call out to him as the cab jerked forward, but James gave me a cheerful wave and faded into the crowd.
Had Daniel rescued me? I wondered. If so, where was he? And why wasn’t James coming with me?
James had said he’d been sent to take me home. What did he mean by home? Sir Lionel’s house would go to whoever inherited the baronetcy—a younger brother, nephew, cousin. If his heir did not want a cook who’d been arrested for murdering the previous master, then I had no home to go to.
The cab took me, however, directly to Portman Square, and Sir Lionel’s house.
Chapter 5
Daniel waited for me on the stairs that led down to the scullery. He ran up them with his usual verve to assist me from the hansom, then he paid the cabby and took me down into the kitchens.
I was shaking with hunger, worry, and exhaustion. I was grimy and dirty, my clothes filthy. A long bath, a hearty meal, and a good sleep would help me considerably, but I had not the patience for any of those.
I broke from Daniel and faced him, hands on hips. “Explain yourself, Mr. McAdam.”
In spite of my bravado, my voice shook, my weakened knees bent, and I swayed dangerously.
Daniel caught me and steered me to the stool where I’d sat sharpening my knives the night Sir Lionel had come down. As I caught my breath, Daniel found the kettle, filled it with water, and set it on the stove, which had already been lit.
“Nothing to explain.” Daniel moved smoothly about, collecting cups and plates from the cupboards, and rummaged in the pantry for leftover seed cake and a crock of butter. He knew his way around a kitchen, that was certain. “James told me you were in trouble, and I went along to see what I could do.”
“But I was released,” I said, trying to understand. “No one is released from Newgate. No one like me, anyway.”
“Ah, well, the magistrates were made to see that they had no reason to keep you. The fellow who examined you is a fool, and the charge of murder has been dismissed.”
I stared at him in astonishment. Daniel poured water, now boiling, into a teapot. He brought the pot to the table, and when the tea had steeped a few minutes, poured out a cup and shoved it and a plate of buttered seed cake at me.
“Get that inside you. You’ll feel better.”
Indeed, yes. I fell upon the feast and made short work of it. Soon I was no longer hungry and thirsty, but I remained half-asleep and filthy.
“What did you do?” I asked. “I sent Anne to find you, but I thought perhaps you’d do no more than see I had a solicitor, if that.”
Daniel finished off his tea and poured himself another cup. “If you mean Anne the actress, yes, she did find James—James is a friend of her son’s. But James had already seen you being arrested from here. He followed you to Bow Street and realized you were being taken off to Newgate. After that, he legged it to me and told me all. I regret you had to stay the night in that place, but I could not put things in motion sooner. I am sorry.”
I listened in amazement. “You mystify me more and more. Why should you apologize, let alone rush to my rescue? How did you rush to my rescue? I’m only a cook, not a duchess, with no one to speak for me.”
Daniel lifted his dark brows. “Are you saying a cook should be tried and condemned for a murder she did not commit, because she is only a cook?”
I was too tired to argue with him or even to understand what he was saying. “How do you know I didn’t murder Sir Lionel? It was my knife in his back.”
“Which someone other than you took from this kitchen and used. Someone evil enough to push the blame onto to you.” Daniel sat down, comfortably pouring himself a cup of tea. He pulled a flask from his pocket, tipped a drop of whiskey into it, then a drop into mine, if you please.
He went on. “If you had killed Sir Lionel, why would you leave the knife in him instead of cleaning it up or getting rid of it? Why would you go happily back to bed to wait for the constables to arrive instead of running away? It was you who raised the alarm and sent for the police, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” I had done all that. It seemed so long ago now.
Daniel sipped his tea, and I took another drink of mine. Whatever spirits he’d poured into the tea danced on my tongue and warmed my gullet.
Daniel watched me over his cup. “Tell me about these people who came to dinner with Sir Lionel last evening.”
I could barely remember. “Mrs. Watkins would know better than I about his guests. She served at table, because Copley was a mess.”
“Mrs. Watkins doesn’t seem to be here. In fact, the staff have deserted the house. Does Mrs. Watkins have another address?”
I clattered my teacup to its saucer, my hands shaking. “Mrs. Watkins has a sister in Pimlico—Sally, the scullery maid, told me she’d gone there, if I remember aright. However, if you imagine I can give you the particulars of all the people who worked here and where they might be, along with the names and address of the friends who visited Sir Lionel last night ...” I broke off, no longer certain where the sentence had been taking me. “You clearly have never been up before a magistrate and thrown into a common cell at Newgate for a night. It clouds the memory.”
“Oh, haven’t I?” Daniel’s dark eyes twinkled. “But that’s a tale for another day. Come along, Kat. You have a good rest, and we’ll talk when you wake.”
I found myself on my feet, again supported by Daniel. “I’m wretched dirty. I need a wash.”
“I have plenty of hot water going on the stove. Off we go.”
He steered me to my little bedroom and then went back out to carry in steaming water and pour it into my basin. Daniel left me to it, saying a cheerful good-night.
I was so exhausted I simply stripped off every layer of clothing I wore and dumped them on the floor. I washed the best I could, then crawled into bed, still damp, in my skin.
Some believe it is very wicked to sleep without clothes, but I’d already been a sinner, and I couldn’t see that God would care very much whether or not I pulled on a nightgown. I was asleep as soon as my head touched my pillow, in any case.
When I woke, it was bright daylight. I spent some time trying to convince myself that everything that had happened to me had been a bad dream, and that I’d rise as usual and go out into my kitchen to cook. I had an idea for tea cakes with caraway and rosemary that I wanted to try.
I threw back the covers to find myself unclothed, which re
minded me of my quick bath, after which I’d been too tired to don a nightdress. This told me my adventures had been real enough—I was usually quite modest and would never risk being caught without any sort of clothing on my body.
The events of the night before notwithstanding, I rose and did my toilette, put on a clean frock and apron, pinned up my unruly hair, and set my cook’s cap on my head. The familiar routine comforted me, and besides, I had no idea what else to do.
When I opened the door, the sharp smell of frying bacon came to me. I moved out to the kitchen to find Daniel at the stove, cooking. The urchin, James, a bit cleaner than he usually was, sat at the kitchen table.
When I looked at James this morning, I noticed something I had been too distracted to note in the past—he and Daniel had the same eyes. But then, I hadn’t seen the two together when James’s face hadn’t been covered with dirt. Now I saw that the shape of James’s jaw, the jut of chin, the manner in which he sat sipping a mug of tea, mirrored Daniel’s almost exactly.
“You’re his son,” I exclaimed to James. I had no idea whether this fact was a secret, but I was too bewildered and tired to guard my tongue.
James gave me his good-natured look, and Daniel glanced over his shoulder at me. “Ah, Kat,” Daniel said. “Awake at last. You slept the day away, and a night.”
I rocked on my feet, disoriented. “Did I?”
“Indeed. I didn’t have the heart to wake you yesterday, but I knew you’d be hungry this morning. Sit down—these eggs are almost finished.”
“You have changed the subject,” I said. “As usual when you do not wish to answer. Why did you not tell me James was your son? Why did you not tell me?” I shot at James.
James shrugged. “Embarrassing, innit? For me, I mean. T’ have to admit he sired me?”
“I don’t see why,” I said. “You could do much worse than Mr. McAdam.”
James grinned. “Suppose.”
Daniel shot him a weary look, which made James more amused. I realized they must banter like this all the time. It reminded me of the jokes I shared with my daughter, and my heart squeezed.
By habit, I brought out my bin of flour and the sponge starter I kept on a shelf beside the icebox. I stopped after lugging the flour bin to the middle of the table. Who was I baking for? Did I still even have employment? And why were Daniel and James here, when no one else seemed to be?
“Where is everyone?” I asked. “Did Mrs. Watkins return? Copley? Sally?”
James answered, Daniel still at the stove. “The house be empty. Dangerous, that. Anyone could come in and make off with the silver.”
“Have they?” I asked. “Was Sir Lionel robbed? And that’s why he was killed?”
My hands measured the flour and bubbly starter into a bowl, and I took up a wooden spoon to mix it all together. The familiar feel of my muscles working as the dough grew stiffer calmed me somewhat. If there’d only be three of us today, I wouldn’t need more than one loaf.
I stirred in the flour along with a dash of water and a smidgen of salt, then scraped the dough onto my table and began to knead. Neither Daniel nor James admonished me to stop. I’d refuse anyway—the vigorous kneading helped my agitation. I dumped the ball of dough into a clean bowl, covered it with a plate, and set it aside to rise.
As I wiped my floury hands, Daniel shoved a large helping of bacon and eggs at me. “Eat all that. Then we’ll talk.”
“Talk.” I picked up the fork he’d laid beside the plate, suddenly hungry. James, likewise, was digging into the repast. “I think I never want to talk again. Perhaps I’ll retire to the country. Grow runner beans and pumpkins, and bake pies the rest of my life.”
“I’d eat ’em,” James said. “She’s a bloody fine cook, Dad.”
“Watch your language around a lady, lad.” Daniel scraped back a chair, sat down, and watched us both eat. He wasn’t partaking and didn’t say why, but I was beyond curiosity at this point.
Once I was scooping the last rom my plate and finishing off my second cup of tea, Daniel said, “Kat, I want you to tell me about the meal you served to Sir Lionel. Every detail. Leave nothing out.”
“Why?” I came alert, able to now that I had a bit more inside me.
Daniel laid his hands on the table, giving me a kindly look, but I saw something watchful behind the compassion. “Just tell me.”
It was the same gaze I often found myself giving him. Wanting to trust him, but knowing so little about him I was not certain I could.
“There was nothing wrong with my meal,” I said firmly. “Was there?”
James frowned across at his father. “What are you getting at, Dad? You’re upsetting her.”
“Sir Lionel didn’t die from the knife thrust,” Daniel said, far too calm for the dire words he spoke. “That wound was inflicted post mortem. Sir Lionel had already been dead, though not for long, of arsenical poisoning. His guests, Mr. and Mrs. Fuller, also suffered from poisoning. Mr. Fuller died in the night. Mrs. Fuller, her doctor says, has a chance at recovery, but he can’t say for certain whether she will live.”
Chapter 6
I sat staring for a full minute, perhaps two, my mouth hanging open. James looked no less astonished than I did. James had helped me with that meal, not only cleaning the fish and fowl but laying out ingredients for me, learning to chop mushrooms, and stirring up dough.
“No arsenic could have been in my supper,” I said, when my tongue worked again. “They must have come by the poison elsewhere.”
Daniel shook his head. “The coroner who examined the body said that the poison had entered the stomach at the same time as your meal. I’m sorry, Kat. You must take me through every dish. Please.”
“Well, it could not have been in my food, could it?” I said in rising worry. “You brought me most of the ingredients that night, and I taste everything. If arsenic had been slipped into the sauces in my kitchen, it would have killed me too. And all the staff. I always hold a portion back to serve with our supper.”
“Tell me,” Daniel said gently.
I heaved a sigh. I could barely remember my name let alone everything I’d made that fatal evening, but I closed my eyes in recall.
“A cream of leek soup. Whitefish with a velouté—a thickened broth and wine sauce. A salad of greens with a lime dressing and tart apples, asparagus with boiled eggs, roasted squab stuffed with peppercorns with a red wine sauce. A fricassee of mushrooms. There wasn’t time for rolls with all this, so I made savory scones instead. For pudding, a thin chocolate soup to start, then custard tart with whatever berries I could find and a burnt sugar sauce. Copley chose the wine for me—perhaps he put poison in the wine, for whatever twisted reason he had. He’s a villain; I’ve always said so.”
Daniel shook his head. “There was nothing in the glasses, or the bottles. The coroner worked all night, testing everything he could.”
“How do you know all this? Was there an inquest?”
Daniel shrugged. “He told me. He’s a friend of mine.”
Daniel McAdam, friends with a coroner. Why was I not surprised? “But how did he find the wine glasses?” I asked. “And the wine? Sally scrubbed everything and put it away.”
“Not the wine glasses. She’d left them. The wine was still open in the butler’s pantry. The police took all this away while you were ... detained.”
The prison came back to me with a rush. I pinched my fingers to my nose, willing it away. When I opened my eyes, I found Daniel looking at me with such sympathy mixed with self-chastisement that it made me a bit dizzy.
I drew a breath, continuing the argument to stop the wild thoughts in my head. “The poison could not have been in the food,” I said. “I told you, I taste everything before I allow it to go up, and every person downstairs had a helping of what every person upstairs ate. And we’re all hale—well, I am, and James here appears to be.”
“We’re looking for the other staff,” Daniel said. “We’ll know soon enough.”
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p; I fixed him with a stern look. “If the coroner believes the cook poisoned the entire dinner party then why am I not still in Newgate?”
“Because of James,” Daniel said, unworried. “If you had poured a box of arsenic into any of your dishes, James would have seen. You could, I suppose, have built yourself an immunity to arsenic so it wouldn’t hurt you, but I know James did not. And he’s not sick at all.”
No, James was very healthy indeed, and listening with interest. He asked the question that was next in my mouth. “Why do you want to know all about the food, then, Dad? If you already know she didn’t do it?”
Daniel opened his hands on the table. “To decide which dish might best conceal it, and how it was served. The wine and peppercorn sauce, the mushrooms, and the burned sugar on the pudding interest me most. They could have disguised the taste.”
I only watched him, bewildered. “But who would have introduced this poison? I place the dishes in the lift myself. Are you saying you believe someone very small was hiding in the dumbwaiter with a vial of poison? Or something as nonsensical? Or do you believe Mrs. Watkins did it, or John, as they served the meal? Sally went nowhere near the food at all—she was busy washing up all my pots and pans.”
“I can rule out none of them,” Daniel said.
I blew out my breath. “I cannot imagine why on earth Mrs. Watkins, John, or Sally would do such a thing. None of them are mad, I don’t think.”
“They are not here either,” Daniel pointed out. “Once you were taken away, John disappeared, as did your scullery maid, as well as your butler and several choice bottles of wine.”
“Of course,” I said in exasperation. “Copley took the wine to sell, no doubt—he refuses to drink the stuff himself. I imagine the others didn’t return because they thought they had no place here anymore. Sally was terrified and fled before I was even arrested.”
“Perhaps,” was all Daniel would say. “Would it be too much for you, Kat, to cook the same meal, as you did that night? So I can see exactly how it was prepared?”
Past Crimes: A Compendium of Historical Mysteries Page 4