Murder in the East End

by Jennifer Ashley

  At that moment—while I did not share her confidence in my skills—I knew that I had made the correct choice to keep Grace with me after she’d been born. My daughter could now sit across from me, daintily chewing bread, never realizing how close she’d come to being one of those children in the gray uniforms she now felt pity for.

  It had never occurred to her that I’d have given her up, that she’d be anything but cared for, sitting in a tiny tea shop on a blustery day with the mother who loved her.

  I reached across the table and clasped her hand. “You are a sweet girl, my Grace.”

  Grace smiled in surprised delight. “I love you too, Mum. Now, let us talk of something more pleasant to cheer you up. How is Lady Cynthia? And Lady Bobby? Do they wear trousers every day?”

  I relaxed and fell into the gossipy chatter I shared with Grace on my day out. I described Cynthia’s beautiful gown at her aunt’s supper ball and Miss Townsend coming down to the kitchen to sketch us.

  “How funny that she wants to paint cooks and maids,” Grace said, as amazed as Tess and I had been at the notion. “But you’ll be beautiful in the picture, Mum.”

  “You are very flattering, my darling. She won’t be painting me, exactly, but domestics in general. I admit I do not understand it myself.”

  “She should paint Lady Cynthia then. She is so very pretty.”

  Grace spoke in all seriousness, and my heart warmed again. I did not know if all mothers were as proud and boastful of their own children, but I certainly was of mine and ever would be.

  * * *

  * * *

  Grace and I returned to the Millburns’, full of tea and bread, but not too full to partake of Joanna’s treat of cakes and scones, and more tea, hot and laced with cream.

  I thoroughly enjoyed the rest of my afternoon, visiting with Joanna and Grace and the children, gossiping, playing games, absorbing the warmth of the stove in the sitting room.

  This was a home, I thought. Outside the day was gray, the wind giving way to a steady rain; inside all was bright and cheerful. The Millburns hadn’t much in the way of money, but they had resourcefulness, and goodness in their hearts.

  I wanted this with all my might. A place to call my own, with a fire and a cup of tea, my daughter within reach. When I’d been a girl, my mother and I hadn’t had much more than a few sticks of furniture in our tiny lodgings and little to eat, but we’d had each other. We’d also had friends who’d drop by for a chat and incidentally bring us a loaf of bread, or the end of a joint from their previous night’s supper. The whole street had made sure Mum and I were all right, especially after my dad had dropped off his perch.

  So much generosity among those who had little to share. I compared this with Mrs. Bywater’s parsimony and her insistence that Cynthia marry so she’d be out from underfoot.

  A large and comfortable mansion was all very well, I decided with some smugness, but I preferred a house like this, warm and filled with friends and my daughter.

  When Mr. Millburn returned home as we finished tea, my mind substituted Daniel breezing in after a hard day chasing criminals, his laughter lighting the room. He’d buss me on the cheek and swing Grace into his arms, asking me what riches I’d cooked them all for supper. James would be there too, the tall young man with a smile like sunshine.

  The vision unnerved me so much it shattered into fragments, leaving Mr. Millburn puzzled that I stared so hard at him.

  Time for me to go. I departed with the greatest reluctance, leaving my daughter and this insular warmth for the cold darkness of everyday life.

  * * *

  * * *

  I had promised to meet Mrs. Compton, so I took an omnibus to Gray’s Inn Road, having had enough of underground trains. I alighted in a pelting rain and made my way to the kitchen door of the Foundling Hospital.

  A delivery van stood before it, Hansen’s Produce emblazoned in red and blue on its black side. I tramped down the short flight of stairs and opened the door, happy to find it still unlocked. Above the noise of the bustling scullery and servants’ hall beyond, I heard the unmistakable and affable laugh of Daniel McAdam.

  I shook rain from my coat as I walked toward the servants’ hall, annoyed with the man. If I’d known Daniel had taken my advice to enter the Hospital with the excuse of making deliveries, it might have saved me some trouble.

  I reached the servants’ hall to find him laughing with Mrs. Shaw, the woman Grace had helped with the darning. Even the sour Bessie gave him a smile.

  Daniel broke off when he saw me peeking in the doorway. “Ah, Mrs. . . . Holloway, is it? I deliver to your kitchen.”

  He sounded proud he remembered me. I gave him a cool nod. “Indeed. Perhaps you should be about your business.”

  “Now, missus, can’t blame a fellow for stopping to pass the time of day when that day is so horrible, can you? Cats and dogs it is out there—cats and dogs. I heard them yowling as they came down.”

  Every person in the room found this hilarious, especially the delighted young women.

  “Mr. . . . McAdam, is it?” I returned. “The man with the impudent tongue.”

  No one paid me any heed. Daniel held sway here, and an interloping cook from a stately household would not change this.

  “She is quite right.” Daniel gave me a wink that set off a new gale of laughter around him. “I have been frivolous long enough. Must deliver the rest of my load so I don’t lose my post. Pleasant to have met you all.”

  He waved like a monarch leaving his populace, amidst cries of, “Good night, Mr. McAdam!” “Come again soon, do!” “Have a care of the cold, man.” This last from a male servant, as charmed by him as were the ladies.

  I backed into the passageway to let him by, and Daniel looked straight at me as he passed. While his smile never wavered, I read in his eyes that he wished to speak to me. He strode along the corridor and out the door with his usual verve, likely expecting me to follow him out.

  Mrs. Compton exited the kitchen just after that, bundled in coat and hat to join me.

  “I’m sorry about the commotion, Mrs. Holloway,” Mrs. Compton said as she led me toward the back door. “The delivery was very late, and the new deliveryman wheedled a cup of tea out of the maids. I’d wanted to slip out without anyone seeing, but it can’t be helped now.”

  “We are both cooks,” I said to soothe her. “Not unusual for cooks to have a chat together.”

  “Well, I hope that is all they see.” Mrs. Compton sounded anxious as she bustled me up the stairs and outside, staying close to me as we went out.

  The sky was dark as we emerged, the sun setting early in February, spring still many weeks away.

  The delivery van had not moved. Daniel lounged at the rear of the vehicle, its back door open. “You ladies are welcome to ride with me,” he said cheerily. “Get you out of the weather.”

  Mrs. Compton halted and gazed at him in disdain. “In a wagon full of potatoes, young man?”

  “It’s nearly empty.” Daniel opened the door wider, releasing the scent of wilting greens and dusty root vegetables. He motioned to a bench that ran the length of the van, a few boxes and bags of produce stacked on the other side. “I’m happy to drive you. Be a boon for me to have two lovely ladies in the back of me wagon.”

  “I hardly want to be seen climbing into and out of a produce van,” Mrs. Compton said huffily. “At my time of life.”

  “Oh, that time’s not so very great, ma’am. And it is raining powerful hard.”

  Daniel did not exaggerate. My coat was already soaked, and my hat would need much drying and reshaping after this deluge.

  Whether Mrs. Compton feared the rain more than someone seeing her in a delivery van, or Daniel had charmed her with his compliments, she at last conceded that sitting inside would be more comfortable than us hurrying through the wet.

  I let
out a breath of relief as Daniel handed me in and I sat down on the rough bench, out of the wind and rain. A lit lantern hung in the van’s corner, its candle flickering through punched tin.

  “Comfortable?” Daniel grinned in at us. “Have to make a few more stops around these parts. Mind?”

  “We hardly have a choice,” I told him coldly. “Thank you for your kindness.”

  “Not at all, missus. I have the window down for air, and if you want to stop, you just sing out. Door’s not locked.”

  He shut it, leaving us in a stuffy, if chilly, enclosure. The light leaking through the tin lantern spangled our faces, the points of light moving wildly as the van jolted forward.

  “Well, this is highly unusual, but I suppose it will have to do,” Mrs. Compton said as the lantern settled down into an easy swing. “You asked about Nurse Betts, Mrs. Holloway.” Before I could answer, she seized my wrist in a sudden and crushing grip, and her voice took on a fierce note. “You tell me everything you know about her, where she is, and why she went. If you’ve kidnapped her or harmed her in any way, it won’t go well for you.”

  6

  I blinked in surprise and jerked my arm free. “You misunderstand, Mrs. Compton,” I said firmly. “I am trying to find Miss Betts. I am concerned about her well-being.”

  The wagon bumped over a hole, jostling us together. Mrs. Compton let out a sigh as she slumped in her seat, her intensity evaporating.

  “Forgive me, Mrs. Holloway, but I’ve been so worried. I’m certain something terrible has happened. It’s not like Nurse Betts to stay long from the Hospital. She’s a responsible girl, good with the children.”

  I kept my tone as gentle as I could. “When did she go?”

  “Tuesday last. She took her afternoon out—she doesn’t often. Doesn’t like to leave the tykes. One is always getting hurt or upset, and she wants to be there for them. But off she goes, and hasn’t come back. Her family lives in Camden Town. We weren’t alarmed when she didn’t return right away, but when the next day came and went, and Mrs. Shaw made inquiries, her mum and dad said she never come home at all.” Mrs. Compton swallowed, eyes glistening with tears.

  “Did her parents think to go to the police?” I asked, my consternation growing.

  Mrs. Compton made a dismissive gesture. “They’re the sort what have no trust of the police. They insist we know where she is, that she simply don’t want to see them, and we’re shielding her. How such a sweet young woman comes from such a family, I don’t know.”

  I wondered. The family might have a history with the police that made them reluctant to summon a constable. And if they were resentful of their daughter working at the Hospital, perhaps they themselves had something to do with her disappearance.

  I was speculating wildly, but at this point, I had few ideas. Nurse Betts’s parents might simply be poor but respectable people who would be embarrassed to have anything to do with the police. Camden was a rather run-down area, but Nurse Betts’s family might be the scrupulous sort who guarded their reputations carefully.

  “Did she have friends?” I asked. “Or a young man—someone with whom she might have decided to remain?”

  “She is a good girl, Mrs. Holloway,” Mrs. Compton said stiffly.

  I reflected that plenty of “good” young women in this world had run off with young men, leaving their friends stunned and shocked, but I kept this to myself. “I am not implying she was otherwise. But if Nurse Betts was not happy at home, she might have preferred to visit another besides her parents. Or perhaps she went to tend someone ill and isn’t able to send word.”

  Mrs. Compton shook her head. “I have thought much on this. Nurse Betts simply isn’t the sort to not tell a soul where she is. She’d find a way. And she don’t have many friends, not outside the Hospital. She loves the lads and lasses, she does, protective of them, like. She’d not stay from them long.”

  We lapsed into silence. I longed to find a benign explanation for her absence, but I very much feared Nurse Betts was in danger. Coupled with the missing children . . . I imagined her trying to find them or going after them to keep them safe, coming to grief at the hands of their abductors.

  “What about the children who have gone?” I asked. “Were they her charges?”

  Mrs. Compton snapped her head around and stared at me as though I’d gone mad. “What do you mean? What children?”

  “Sam Howes, Joshua Tarr, Margaret Penny.”

  Her brows went up. “Someone’s been telling you tales, Mrs. Holloway. They ain’t missing. Adopted, weren’t they?”

  “Adopted?” I asked in surprise.

  “Put into good homes, in any case. Not missing at all.”

  “Oh.” Mr. Fielding had said the director claimed the children had been fostered. Now Mrs. Compton was telling a similar tale. “Never mind then,” I said, reserving judgment. “I must have heard wrong.”

  “You certainly did. Children don’t go missing from our Hospital, Mrs. Holloway,” Mrs. Compton said sternly. “They are well looked after . . . if a little harshly, in my opinion. Not allowed out of the matrons’ or nurses’ sights. They’re trained up and either taken in by a family or are hired out in service. Or they remain and work at the Hospital. Like Bessie.”

  I started. “Bessie? The one who shouted at me several times?”

  “Mustn’t mind her.” Mrs. Compton almost smiled. “Her young man was arrested for theft and is currently banged up in Coldbath Fields. Makes her angry, but it’s what happens when a young woman takes up with a bad man.” Mrs. Compton spoke as though she would never make such a disastrous choice.

  “Not the case with Nurse Betts?” I asked.

  “Gracious, no.” Mrs. Compton looked amazed I’d ever think so. “Nurse Betts warned Bessie—we all did. No, the only young man to catch Nurse Betts’s interest, and that’s been recently, is a highly respectable gent. I’ve never met him, but I’ve seen him walking the grounds with her, and I know he’s taken her for tea. He’s one of the governors—they visit us sometimes. Mrs. Shaw, in fact, is sweet on a governor herself, the daft woman. As though such a highborn fellow will have anything to do with a housekeeper.”

  “Is he the same governor who took Nurse Betts to tea?” I asked.

  “No, no. The fellow Nurse Betts fancies hasn’t been on the board long, a year perhaps. Wears a dog collar—you know what I mean. A parson of some sort.”

  “A parson.” I repeated the word slowly, and the van gave a particularly hard jolt.

  “A clergyman anyway. As I said, I’ve not met him, but I asked her about him. She says he’s at a parish in the East End. Probably a curate too poor to marry the girl, I’m thinking, but a fine-looking bloke. Dark-haired, with a nice beard, lovely smile. If he knew where she was, I have no doubt he’d say.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Daniel made a delivery to a restaurant in King’s Cross Road, then obligingly drove Mrs. Compton back to the Foundling Hospital.

  I alighted there with her, but Daniel, remaining in his breezy persona, offered to take me to the nearest Metropolitan station. Mrs. Compton, with a whispered warning to me to have a care of him and go straight into the station, left us.

  Daniel went sober as I returned from seeing Mrs. Compton inside. “I’ll drive you all the way to Mayfair, Kat. Too nasty a night for you to be running home from the trains.”

  “There is always an omnibus, or a hansom,” I said in a cool tone.

  “Difficult to find a hansom in this mess.” His grin flashed. “Save you the fare.”

  “What about your other deliveries? There is still produce in the back.”

  “Can wait.” His chipper manner did not hide the dark glint in his eyes. “I’d rather see you safely home, and you know this. Then I will go visit my brother.”

  “You heard Mrs. Compton then?” I asked.

  “I
ndeed I did. Another reason I wished to drive you, Kat. To eavesdrop.”

  So I had gathered. “I’d like to visit Mr. Fielding with you,” I said grimly. “He omitted the fact that he and Nurse Betts have been friendly, didn’t he? Monday, I will take my half day and go.”

  “I plan to wring his neck sooner than that. But if he is still alive by Monday, certainly, you may speak to him.”

  Daniel ended the conversation by helping me once more into the back of the van, which, true, would be warmer and drier than sitting up front with him. He settled me in and closed the door against the wind and rain.

  As he drove along Lamb’s Conduit Street to Red Lion and so to High Holborn, I had plenty of time to ruminate over the fact that Mr. Fielding had known Nurse Betts well, indeed was walking out with her. I wanted to question him very much indeed.

  We made our slow way to Mayfair, and Daniel helped me down in front of the Mount Street house.

  “I might come tomorrow night . . . No, make it the next,” Daniel said quietly as he steadied me. “That is, if you’ll see me.”

  He spoke almost deferentially, for Daniel. I was still not happy with him for his reticence concerning Miss Townsend—and anything else he refused to tell me. He and his brother had much in common in that regard. But it was not expedient at the moment to refuse him.

  “I will receive you,” I said, giving him a nod. “If only to discuss this distressing matter.”

  “Excellent.” Daniel smiled and pressed my hands. “Go in and stay warm, Kat.”

  “Good night.” I withdrew quickly from his grasp and turned for the stairs, not trusting myself to say more.

  I knew Daniel watched me descend the stairs. I felt him. Only when I shut the door below did I see the van list as he climbed to the seat, and the patient horse clop slowly away.

  I ducked through the scullery to find the kitchen awhirl with preparations for supper. Tess gave orders like a sergeant, sending Charlie and Elsie running every which way. The relief in Tess’s face when she saw me was stark.