Murder in the East End

by Jennifer Ashley

  “I know.” Mr. Fielding drank deeply of the doctored tea, going silent a time as though debating what to reveal. “The truth, dear lady, is that I did not want to tell Daniel. I was afraid he’d chuck me out and not lift a finger if he thought I asked for assistance on my own behalf. Which I did not. I am very worried about those children. And Nell. I never sought Daniel for selfish reasons, but I knew he’d believe I did. My brother has very little faith in me.”

  His voice held pathos, but I was annoyed he’d concealed the truth from me as well.

  “From what Mr. McAdam has told me, he has reason to not believe in you,” I said.

  Mr. Fielding flushed. “In the past, of course he didn’t. I was a desperate boy trying to survive in the world. I have reformed, as you can see, but Daniel will always view me as the chap who deserted him after the man we regarded as our father was brutally murdered. Daniel believed we should have stuck together, but I lit out on my own. I regret that now, but at the time, I was mad with grief and fear and pushed Daniel away. I had phenomenal luck, I realize, to be found by a man of great kindness. The least I can do to return that kindness is take care of others.”

  It was a nice speech, neatly exonerating him but acknowledging his guilt and shame, blaming the tragic circumstances he’d survived. I wondered how often he’d rehearsed it.

  “You ought to have told me in any case,” I said. “As I say, I can better know where to begin looking for Nurse Betts if I have an idea where she might go. Did she come here to speak to you?”

  “Yes, about three weeks ago. When she was not comfortable about the missing children, she sought me out and asked if I could do anything—go to the police, or find out where they’d gone.”

  Cynthia broke in. “And you, being smitten, agreed.”

  “And I was concerned about the children.” Mr. Fielding acknowledged her perception with a nod. “I looked into the matter at once, as I told you, Mrs. Holloway, visiting the Foundling Hospital the next day and speaking to the director—Lord Russell Hirst, a prominent and respectable gentleman. I was told the children in question had been placed in homes. Lord Russell showed me the record.”

  His fingers tapped the table as he spoke. Not a drumming, but a faint tap, tap, tap, as though he never noticed himself doing it.

  “Did Lord Russell express surprise at your question?” I asked. “Or simply show you the record?”

  “He admitted it had been a swift decision without much discussion—certainly, it hadn’t been brought up to the board. He could understand why Nurse Betts and I might think they’d simply disappeared. He was very reassuring.”

  “Huh.” Cynthia’s fair brows drew together. “I’m sure he would be. Do you trust him?”

  “He is a knight of the realm for his services to philanthropy, and a duke’s son.” Mr. Fielding closed the hand that had been tapping and forced it to rest. “Which means, I don’t know whether I trust him. If I’d been raised differently, I might, but I’ve seen too much of the world. The more praised a fellow, the more likely he’s a rascal.”

  Cynthia gave a laugh. “I agree with you.”

  “Then what happened?” I prompted. “Was Nurse Betts happy with your discovery?”

  “She was relieved at first. But since I spoke to you and Daniel, I decided to visit these homes and find out if the children were there. They were not.”

  “Jove.” Cynthia leaned forward, arms on the table. “They’d never arrived?”

  “I mean the homes did not exist. The addresses did not, anyway. House numbers do not lay on the streets named, and on one of the roads, all the houses have been demolished to put in a large building. I know London very well, but I also consulted a guide to the streets to be certain. The houses were not there.”

  I did not like this. A director of a children’s home lying about what had happened to his charges? Or was the director innocent, also duped into thinking the children had been placed at these addresses?

  “Did you confront Lord Russell about this?”

  Mr. Fielding shook his head. “I decided it was better to let him believe I was satisfied. Nurse Betts had asked questions at the Hospital, but she told me she started to feel frightened. I must wonder whether she also looked up these addresses or discovered Lord Russell lied. I at last made up my mind to hunt up Daniel and consult him—he’s clever at these things.”

  “Did you decide to consult him before or after Nurse Betts went missing herself?”

  Again the hand stretched out, fingers softly tapping. “After. I wanted to ask Nell what she thought of me bringing in my brother, but she didn’t turn up at our meeting. When I inquired at the Hospital, the matron for her ward told me she’d gone for her day out and hadn’t returned. That was a week and a half ago now.”

  Whatever he thought about the situation, or Daniel, or me, I saw genuine distress in his eyes. Even the boys and girl who’d vanished, the record of their leaving a lie, didn’t worry him like the absence of Nurse Betts. He feared for her.

  “How did you meet Nurse Betts?” I asked, gentling my tone. “In the first place, I mean.”

  “At the Foundling Hospital, of course.” The answer was ready. “As a member of the board of governors, I joined them for inspections at the Hospital, meetings with the staff. Nurse Betts was on hand to answer questions. She’s a well-spoken lass, and kind. I noticed her kindness. I was struck by it.” He turned appealing eyes to us. “You must understand that in my lifetime, both before I was respectable and after I became a vicar, I have encountered the most deplorable people. Those who pretend to be kind usually are scheming to take every penny you have and possibly your life. The exception has been Nurse Betts.”

  “Ah,” Lady Cynthia said. “Love ensued?”

  “Not quite.” Mr. Fielding’s laugh was breathless. “I have never allowed myself to trust enough for that. But I liked her, quite a lot. I first asked her if she’d take a walk with me, and as we strolled, we talked. Talked about many things. I saw her again, and again. For about, let me see, four months, we have been ambling through London’s parks and conversing about . . . everything. I’ve never suggested more to her—what do I have to offer? The living here is not much. She makes a better wage at the Hospital, in fact, and she dotes on the lads and lasses and doesn’t wish to leave them. Besides, she is an angel, and I—” Mr. Fielding gave us a self-deprecating smile. “Well, ladies, I am not. The collar notwithstanding.” He touched it as though it pinched his throat.

  Mr. Fielding might deny falling in love, but the tension in his voice, his body, spoke the lie. I could see he cared deeply for Nurse Betts, and that fact made me like him better.

  “You said you feared she has gone searching for the children herself,” I said.

  “Yes.” His answer was quiet. “She is that sort.”

  I subsided. Lord Russell had lied about the fostering, or at least his records did. Why? I knew the perils children could face in London, which was why the Foundling Hospital, as grim as it was, existed. The children were safe within its walls. Lonely and afraid, yes, but bodily safe.

  If it were no longer the haven it should be, and Nurse Betts discovered this, she might be in grave danger, indeed.

  But then, so might Mr. Fielding be. He’d marched into the office of the director and demanded to be told about the missing children. One would have to be terribly unobservant not to notice the connection between Mr. Fielding and Nurse Betts. Mrs. Compton in the kitchen had known, and now feared for her.

  Something was going on in the Foundling Hospital, possibly something terrible. It made me sick to think of.

  Cynthia must have agreed with me, because her eyes had gone quiet. “I’d say we need to find this Nurse Betts,” she said. “The sooner the better.”

  “I agree, dear lady.” Mr. Fielding turned to me, resigned but resolute. “What do you wish me to do?”

  Cynthia als
o looked at me expectantly. It ought to be comical, a vicar and a highborn lady asking a cook to give them orders, but the situation was too dire for amusement.

  “Please keep searching for her, Mr. Fielding,” I said. “Go where she would have gone, to the places she told you were special, anywhere she mentioned, even in idle conversation. Lady Cynthia and I will also look, and question. I have made a friend of one of the cooks, and I plan to try to speak to some of the maids who work in the wards. They might have seen or noticed something without knowing it.”

  “Exactly,” Cynthia said. “Mrs. H. told me of the peculiar practice of people observing the kiddies at tea or dinner or some such. I’ll put on my visit-the-charities gown and go myself. Who knows? Awful people might be using the opportunity to sweep a child away.”

  Mr. Fielding’s expression was far from that of a man of God. I saw rage in his eyes, raw and unyielding.

  “If they have, hell will be too good a place for them. I was one of those children once, ladies, without the good fortune of being taken in by a charity. My mother left me on the street as quite a little fellow, and only by the grace of God did I survive. The man Daniel and I called ‘Father’—Mr. Carter—only let us into his house because we could work, though he turned out to be a decent enough cove, for a villain. That was short-lived. In a few years, he was dead, and we were out again, avoiding filth any way we could, until I was fortunate, several years later, to be taken in by another. It made us who we are, Daniel and me. Trust me when I say I will do my utmost to find these children and bring whoever might have harmed them to justice.”

  His eyes flashed, the rage flaring into incandescence.

  I wondered if he meant justice in a court of law, or his own sort. I’d seen Daniel’s form of justice when he’d gone after bad men.

  I took a last sip of the rather indifferent tea and rose. “I too will do my utmost, I assure you, Mr. Fielding. As will Daniel and Lady Cynthia. I think we can agree that this task is very important.”

  Mr. Fielding had risen to his feet when I did. “It is, my friends. I will leave no stone unturned.”

  “But have a care,” I warned. “They already know of your interest. You might be in danger.”

  “I don’t give a hang for that.” Mr. Fielding’s handsome expression revealed more of the street boy he’d been and far less of the educated vicar he’d become. “Let them do their worst.”

  “I like that.” Lady Cynthia surged from her chair and fetched her hat. “You can get them banged up and then pray for their souls. The best of both worlds.”

  Mr. Fielding sent her an impudent grin, looking much like Daniel in that moment. “I agree, dear lady. I agree.”

  * * *

  * * *

  So he is Daniel McAdam’s brother,” Cynthia said as we settled into another hansom. This cabbie’s temper was a bit better, I was relieved to see. “Or as close as.”

  “Yes. I do not quite know what to make of him.”

  “Handsome devil.” Cynthia adjusted the satchel under the seat and pulled her coat closer against the cold. “Knows it, I wager.”

  “It is the devil part I worry about. Daniel does not trust him—he acknowledged that.”

  “Hmm, well. My sister and I, you know, were blood related and brought up by the same parents, and turned out to be very different people. Our brother too.”

  Cynthia rarely spoke about her brother, who had taken his own life, nor her sister, also deceased. The memories were not comfortable.

  I at least had pried out of Mr. Fielding before we left him the addresses the director had given him. He’d declared they wouldn’t be useful, and he was likely right, but I was curious.

  I felt bold enough to pat Cynthia’s hand. “I appreciate your help.”

  “Not at all.” The words rang with sincerity. She truly was kindhearted.

  “If you go to the Foundling Hospital to observe the children, you ought to take Mr. Thanos,” I said. “It would look more natural for a young woman to go with a young man.”

  Cynthia’s cheeks went bright red. “Thanos? Yes. Yes, I can see that.”

  “I will ask him,” I said.

  “Not necessary—”

  “Yes,” I interrupted. “I will be less likely to stammer and blush, and he will be less likely to turn me down—not because he would not wish to help, but he would be stammering and blushing too, if you asked.”

  “You are blunt today,” Cynthia said with a wan smile. “Is it because I wakened you in the middle of the night?”

  “I am practical, is all. I will ask Mr. Thanos and arrange it. Neither of you need to be nervous.”

  “Very well, then. You shall play go-between, and Mr. Thanos and I will toddle along when you say.” She glanced at the buildings going by, Aldgate Street changing to Leadenhall. “Where to now?”

  “Home,” I said.

  “Not a bit of it.” Cynthia folded her arms. “I’m not going back there. And neither are you.”

  9

  It wasn’t my home, or hers either really, but I gave her a firm look.

  “My things are there,” I said. “I’ll not risk having your aunt chuck them out.” The cookery books alone would set me back a long way.

  “Or even sell them, knowing her,” Cynthia conceded. “But I am not crawling home. Auntie will lock me in my chamber and let me out only when I agree to marry. Even then I’ll be in chains as I’m led down the aisle.”

  I cut through her nonsense. “We’ll go to Bobby’s flat. I know you say there’s no room there, but Bobby and Miss Townsend are your friends, and they will help you find somewhere to stay—with another friend perhaps. I will return to Mount Street, pack my things, and move to my old boardinghouse. If they have a place for me.”

  I faltered at the end. The landlady at my usual boardinghouse was a decent sort, but she could not afford to keep a room open on the off chance I’d need it. I’d have to hope for the best or find another house. The Millburns had no space for another body, I already knew.

  “Very well,” Cynthia said. “Duchess Street, cabbie,” she called. “Off Langham Place.”

  “Yes, missus.” The hansom continued at its sedate pace.

  “We shall see,” Cynthia said. “I very much think Bobby will insist you stay with us. We will all be very cozy.”

  * * *

  * * *

  I’d visited the flat where Lady Roberta Perry dwelled a few times and liked it. The rooms were decorated in a modern style, with furniture in simple lines, a fern-patterned wallpaper, and much greenery about the place. Bobby also had a parlor stove she kept hot and a landlady generous with tea and pastries.

  The flat was on the second floor of a house in a small lane called Duchess Street, not far from the grand Langham Hotel, where the important and wealthy stayed. As Cynthia said, it was quite cozy, and of course, crowded.

  Bobby was in, welcoming us with aplomb. “Of course you can stay, Cyn. Judith isn’t back yet—she’s over sketching your lot.” She grinned at me as she ushered us to seats.

  “Mrs. Bywater allowed Miss Townsend to return?” I asked in surprise.

  “Auntie’s quite taken with her.” Cynthia slung her satchel to a table and herself into a low-backed chair, kicking her legs over one of its arms. “Miss Townsend is from a wealthy and prominent family.”

  “And she wears skirts.” Bobby laughed. “How is your daughter, Mrs. H.? Such an adorable gel. Let her be anything she wants when she grows up, eh?”

  I warmed at Bobby’s praise for Grace. “At the moment, she wants to read and have plenty of bread for tea.”

  I did not like to dwell on what would become of Grace when she grew older. She was clever and sweet, but she’d have to grub for her living as I did, or be married, and marriage was no guarantee she’d be taken care of. Those were perilous waters. I wished Cynthia’s aunt would und
erstand that.

  Bobby set out the tea tray her landlady had brought. Cynthia wordlessly produced her flask from her coat, which Bobby took with thanks. I declined any spirits in my tea, but the young ladies imbibed happily.

  Bobby wore a suit of fine tweed, which draped well on her rectangular body. The suit was tailor-made, as Cynthia’s clothes were. Bobby cropped her hair close, and with her lack of feminine curves—or at least they were well hidden—she easily passed as a gentleman. Cynthia preferred to keep her hair long, and with her flowerlike face, it was more difficult for her to be mistaken for a man. She was less obviously female when she bundled up, as today, but now that she’d unmuffled, she was very evidently a young lady.

  Cynthia related our current problem to Bobby as we drank, and Bobby’s amusement died in shock and anger.

  “Someone’s making off with the little tykes? That’s monstrous.”

  “We don’t know whether they’re making off with them or not,” I said. “But something has happened. I assure you, I will do my utmost to make certain the children are well and unharmed.”

  “Damn and blast. I sit here in this padded flat drinking whisky when little ones might be in trouble,” Bobby growled. “Hungry and cold. I hate to think of it.”

  “It’s why we do charity work,” Cynthia told her. “Auntie does it so people will think well of her, but at least the time she gives does some good. She won’t part with a shilling, but she’ll help sell bunting and other junk at a jumble sale to raise money.”

  “That can’t do much,” Bobby said skeptically. “How does one get on the board of the Foundling Hospital? Sounds more robust.”

  “I have no idea,” I said as Cynthia shrugged. “Mr. Fielding was elected to it, but he is a vicar.”

  “I imagine you have to contribute a great lot of money, or be in the House of Lords, or some such,” Cynthia said.

  “Ridiculous.” Bobby removed a silver case from her pocket and extracted a cigar. “Do you mind, Mrs. H.?”