Murder in the East End

by Jennifer Ashley

  “Not at all,” I said politely.

  “My brother gets them straight from Havana. Soothes my nerves.” Bobby handed a cheroot to Cynthia, and soon both ladies were puffing in a practiced way. The room filled with a sweet, pungent, and heavy scent.

  A gentle cough interrupted. I had dozed off, as I had done before in Bobby’s flat—her chairs were quite comfortable.

  Miss Townsend stood in the doorway, clad in a green and gray walking dress with a fetching hat that I itched to examine. She carried a portfolio under one arm, and waved at the smoke-filled room with a gloved hand.

  “I thought we agreed no cigars in the sitting room,” she said, closing the door and sending Bobby an admonishing look.

  Bobby tamped out her cigar, jumped up, and flung open a window, letting in a cold wave of wind. “Didn’t realize you’d be back so soon. It will clear out in a trice.”

  Miss Townsend did not look convinced, but she said nothing more about it as she set down her portfolio and unpinned her hat.

  “Cyn and Mrs. H. are staying the night,” Bobby announced. “Mrs. H. has been chucked out, and Cynthia has said to hell with it.”

  “No, they are not.” Miss Townsend spoke in a quiet, matter-of-fact way, and we all stared at her.

  “I don’t mind,” Bobby said. “We’ll tuck ’em in somewhere.”

  Miss Townsend patted her hair into place and carefully set her hat on the table. It was a green plush affair, enhanced with a darker green ribbon, small-brimmed with a modestly high crown, and trimmed only with a few gray feathers. Perfect for this weather, and it matched her walking dress precisely.

  “No need.” Miss Townsend turned to us. “Mrs. Bywater admits she was a bit hasty in dismissing Mrs. Holloway. She will offer her apology upon your return.”

  While I blinked at her, Cynthia, who’d risen from her chair to put out her cigar, openly gaped, the cigar hanging from stiff fingers. “Auntie said that?”

  “She did. And she has no idea you have left home, Cyn, so nothing will be said when you go back. She will simply believe you were out for the afternoon.”

  “But I’m not going back.” Cynthia stubbed out the cigar and dropped it into a bowl. A wisp of bluish smoke rose from the end that was not quite extinguished. “To be paraded like a prize racehorse, one a bit long in the tooth, before eligible gents? To pretend to be grateful I have suitors, even those poor specimens?”

  Miss Townsend sent Cynthia a patient look. “I have persuaded Mrs. Bywater that she should cease the invitations for a time. Let things settle.”

  Cynthia’s eyes widened. “Good Lord. Have you run mad, or has she? Or perhaps it’s me who’s mad.”

  “I saw the distress Mrs. Holloway’s departure caused the rest of the staff.” Miss Townsend addressed me directly, her brown eyes full of sympathy. “I related to Mrs. Bywater a few anecdotes of the turmoil I’d witnessed in my own family’s house when a good cook gave notice or retired. How very difficult it was to replace said cook, and the horrors we suffered until a decent one could be found. It gave her pause, I think.” Her small smile told me she’d amused herself with Mrs. Bywater.

  “That was kind of you,” I said, my heart warming. The stiff unhappiness I’d been wrapped in since last night relaxed.

  “Not at all. We will pretend I was simply annoyed she’d deprived me of a subject to paint. I have not finished with my sketches of you.”

  I nodded, though I wasn’t certain which was the truth—was she an artist worried about her work, or a young woman who’d seen my anguish and Tess’s, and decided to help?

  “You worked your charm on Auntie on my behalf as well, didn’t you?” Cynthia accused her.

  Miss Townsend shrugged. “I might have told her more tales, this time of poorly conceived matches—how a gentleman who professes to be wealthy is revealed to be penniless, after he’s married the niece and comes knocking on the well-meaning relative’s door. How young ladies pushed too hard at respectable gentlemen often flee with unrespectable ones. A great scandal so easily avoided.”

  Cynthia began to grin. “You touched her with the right words. Decent of you to stick your neck out.”

  “You are Bobby’s greatest friend.” Miss Townsend turned to a decanter of brandy near the window, poured herself a small goblet, and took a ladylike sip. “Naturally, I do not wish to see you unhappy. I can do this small thing and feel benevolent.”

  She spoke offhandedly, but to me, it had been no small thing, likewise to Cynthia.

  “Thank you,” I said, gushing a little in my relief. Because of her intervention, I could remain at the Mount Street house, sleep in my solitary bed in the attics, cook what I pleased, and not have to leave Tess and Mr. Davis and dear Elsie. Miss Townsend was a kind young woman, indeed.

  Miss Townsend took another sip of brandy. “Not at all. You must admit, Cynthia, it would be a bit crowded here with four.”

  “I intended to look for lodgings of my own,” Cynthia said. “Something modest, obviously.”

  “Not too many such places for a young lady living alone,” Miss Townsend answered with a wry smile. “Dreary boardinghouses, perhaps, and it would be frocks all the time for you, I’m afraid, my dear. No visitors after eight in the evening, and no male visitors at all. Oh, the horror.”

  She lifted Cynthia’s not-quite-spent cheroot and took a pull, the end glowing orange. She stubbed it out more completely as she exhaled smoke.

  Cynthia shivered and rubbed her arms. “You’re a wise woman, Judith, but blast you, you’ve brought all my ideas tumbling down. You couldn’t see your way to convincing Rankin to bestow a large trust on me, for my sister’s sake, so I can set up my own household, could you? I’ll bring Mrs. H. to cook for me and be utterly respectable all the time. So long as I can do what I damn well please.”

  Miss Townsend shook her head. “I wish I could advise you. Having a quantity of money would solve many of your problems, but there is the question of finding the quantity of money.”

  “We’ll work on that,” Bobby said, her tone sincere. “Meanwhile, I’m going to try to find the poor kids missing from the Foundling Hospital.”

  “Are you?” Miss Townsend gave Bobby a look of surprise. “Excellent. Do let me help.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Cynthia and I returned to Mount Street in another hansom. When I entered the kitchen, my step much lighter than when I’d gone out, Tess flung herself at me, sobbing.

  “There now.” I patted her as she clung. “I’ll not leave you, Tess.”

  “Never.” Tess hugged me more tightly then pulled herself away, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I can’t do without you, Mrs. Holloway, and that’s the truth of it.”

  “I’m going nowhere for now.” I gave her shoulders a squeeze. “One day you’ll do so fine without me, you’ll be happy to see the back of me.”

  “Not blooming likely,” Tess muttered.

  I told her to return to preparing the evening meal while I went upstairs, changed into my gray work frock, and moved back to the kitchen to tie on my apron.

  Tess had made a start on some capons in white sauce, an easy enough meal to prepare without help. The carrots were cut in a neat dice, for which I praised her.

  “Elsie peeled them.” Tess could be generous about sharing approval. “She’s getting to be a dab hand.”

  “Thank you, Elsie,” I called out to her, and Elsie ducked her head, pleased.

  I moved to the larder, surprised how happy I was to see it again. I’d arranged the shelves to my convenience, and knew exactly where to put my hands on ingredients I’d need to make anything I wished.

  I filled a basket with fragrant greens and the last of the lemons and returned to the kitchen.

  “I’ll do a salad. A bit of lemon will go into the dressing, and the rest will do for a lemon tart. The fruit is
not pretty enough to display in a bowl but will make good eating. Shriveled, but still sweet.”

  “Like me granny,” Tess said with a grin. “If I had one, that is. You know these things, Mrs. H. I was too scared to make anything more than a chicken with some cream.”

  “Which you have done very well. I’ve said time and again that simple cooking is best. Tasty and flavorful without being exotic and strange. People want to know what they’re eating.”

  “I do, anyway.” Tess, her sunny outlook restored, threw the lettuce into a bowl of water and shook it hard to remove any dirt. She did this with so much gusto water slopped over onto the table, rushing toward a fresh-baked loaf. I stopped the flow with a towel and gave her an admonishing look. Tess only grinned at me.

  “Mrs. Holloway?” The soft voice of Elsie cut through. “Did you find out what’s become of the children?”

  “Not yet, dear.” I didn’t want to tell her all that Mr. Fielding had told me until I knew more, not wishing to upset her. “I will continue looking.”

  “Elsie told me all about it,” Tess said. “Dreadful wicked what people do, innit?”

  “Tuesday’s me half day out,” Elsie said. “I’ll go ’round and speak to Mabel. She might have seen something.”

  “Please do not alarm her,” I said quickly. “We do not need the entire Hospital panicked if there is a simple explanation.”

  Elsie shook her head. “I’ll just mention it, like. And about Nurse Betts.”

  “Do not anger anyone, and do not talk too freely. But I would welcome whatever you learn.”

  Elsie gave me a nod, happy, and returned to her sink.

  “I could go with her,” Tess began.

  “No,” I said quickly. Tess was a good soul, but I did not want her running about the Foundling Hospital, questioning the staff in her frank way. She’d lately formed a friendship with the constable who patrolled this street, and was beginning to enjoy interrogating people a little too well.

  “I need you here,” I extemporized. “I will want plenty of help if I am to remain in Mrs. Bywater’s good graces.”

  “I’m happy she changed her mind,” Tess said, retuning to washing and tearing the lettuce. “But I don’t know why she did.”

  “Snobbery.” This last from Mr. Davis as he strode in and plunked a bottle of wine onto the table. “That Miss Townsend took tea with her today—Mrs. Bywater insisted I serve. Butter wouldn’t melt in the mistress’s mouth. She learned all about Miss Townsend’s family and was quite impressed. From the conversation, she no doubt believes Miss Townsend the perfect companion for our Lady Cynthia. Will introduce her to the right young gentlemen and all.”

  Miss Townsend, I was coming to understand, was talented at getting people to do whatever she wished, all without issuing a harsh command. She’d told me to go home, and I’d done it. Even Cynthia and Bobby had obeyed her without question. I had to admire her skill.

  “She is a kind lady, is Miss Townsend,” I said. “She may sit in my kitchen and sketch to her heart’s content.”

  “That’s how she knew about the row,” Tess said. “When she came in this morning to do her art, she asked about you, and I told her. She had me spilling all of it. She was most put out. Upstairs she went, and next thing I know, Mrs. Bywater is telling me we have to do a special tea, and she’ll have it with Miss Townsend. I’m afraid they et your walnut tart, Mrs. H.”

  “I made it for eating,” I said, my heart light. “No harm done.”

  Miss Townsend had worked magic, wrapping Mrs. Bywater around her finger. She was welcome to my walnut tart for the good she’d done me.

  Why had she? I wondered again. I wanted to know more about Miss Townsend.

  “I’m pleased Mrs. Bywater sent for you to come home,” Mr. Davis said to me. “I’d miss our chats over the newspaper. As well as your cooking, of course.”

  Fine words from Mr. Davis. He took up his bottle and marched away, coattails swinging.

  “Bet he’s sweet on you,” Tess said with a grin.

  I remembered what our previous housekeeper had hinted about Mr. Davis and doubted it. But I was happy he considered me a friend.

  Tess and I finished the meal—I added dried dill to the chicken to give it a bit heartier flavor. We sent it up and were rewarded with plates scraped clean when they came back down, as well as a message from Mr. Bywater, via Mr. Davis, that the meal had been excellent.

  I wondered, as we finished up, whether Mrs. Bywater had dared tell her husband she’d tried to sack me.

  I sent Tess to bed early, taking over the preparations for the morrow. She’d worked very hard today, entirely my fault for sailing out in a bad temper, and I could help her as she’d aided me.

  * * *

  * * *

  The next morning was a busy one, but every morning is so for a cook in a large house. I shopped at the markets and prepared the meals, testing out a new recipe for a soubise—an onion sauce. I served it with pork for luncheon, when Mr. Bywater returned from working half a day in the City, and again the praise came downstairs with Mr. Davis.

  Tess had left early for her day out, giving me a kiss on the cheek and a grin as she went, perhaps off to find her constable. I’d met Caleb—he was a perfectly nice lad, and I didn’t mind Tess seeing him, as long as there were no goings-on.

  I let work take my mind off my worries, though while I labored, I went through all I had learned from Mr. Fielding and Mrs. Compton, trying to lay the pieces of information in neat rows like the beans I sorted.

  I took time to send a note to Mr. Thanos, outlining the problem and my idea of him and Lady Cynthia going to the Foundling Hospital to see what sort of people watched the children. I sent it by way of James, who often visited, looking for an opportunity to earn coins. He knew where Mr. Thanos lived and raced off to deliver the message.

  Tess returned in time for supper, happy and breezy. She chattered about seeing her brother, and also Caleb.

  Once everyone had gone upstairs for bed, I returned to the now-quiet kitchen.

  The knock on the back door came a bit earlier than I expected. He’d told me he’d come, but I was never certain exactly what he would do.

  It was no cheerful Daniel I admitted through the empty scullery, however, no teasing, no hoping to restore himself to my good graces. His eyes held bleakness, his mouth a grim line.

  “What has happened?” I asked as I closed the door against the night.

  He responded just as quietly. “I found Nurse Betts.”

  “Good.” I peered at him more closely, and then my heart constricted. “Where?”

  “The morgue at Scotland Yard. Someone has beaten her to death.”

  10

  My hand dropped at Daniel’s words, falling slackly to my side. “Dear heavens. Are you certain?”

  I knew he was, but the words came out before I could stop them. Hope, or perhaps shock, made me blurt the question.

  I’d never met Nurse Betts, never spoken to her. I’d only heard what Mrs. Compton the cook, Elsie, and Mr. Fielding had said about her. A kind young woman, a caring one. Both Elsie and Mrs. Compton had told me she doted on the children, and they’d loved her.

  Now she was dead, a body cold and gray in a room in which I’d once feared Daniel lay.

  “What happened?” I could barely form the question.

  Daniel closed and bolted the door and led me by the hand to the silent kitchen. He sat me down then moved to the kettle on the stove where water perpetually heated. Deftly, he filled the teapot and added tea from the caddy on the dresser, then carried the pot and two cups to the table.

  He drew out a pocket watch, one far too grand for a scruffy deliveryman to carry, and set it next to the teapot, to time the steeping. Then he sat next to me and laid a hand on mine, no hesitation or fear I’d jerk away from him.

  “To answer,
I don’t know precisely,” Daniel said. “I tried to confront my brother about Nurse Betts the night before last, after I left you here. I began to question him, but he used evensong to evade me and then disappeared after the service. I hunted him down again today, only to find that you had gone to interrogate him yesterday morning.”

  “Lady Cynthia and I did.” I hesitated. “He was very fond of Nurse Betts.”

  Daniel’s frown held high skepticism. “I will remind you again that Errol is a raconteur and a liar. He might indeed have had a tendre for Nurse Betts . . . or he might have been using her for some scheme that would benefit him. He was ever the trickster.”

  “Mr. Fielding is a vicar now,” I pointed out. “Sent to school by his benevolent guardian, and given a living to oversee a parish, tend a flock. Wouldn’t he have left his villainous days behind him? Or is the benevolent gentleman all an invention?”

  “No—I’ve met him. Lord Alois Symington, a marquess’s son, who I gather is a philanthropist, well-known in high circles. But never believe Errol is reformed because he’s become one of the clergy. I’m willing to wager he took the collar as part of a long confidence game. My brother might oversee a flock, as you call his parishioners, but he will certainly view them as sheep to be fleeced.” He finished with a wry twist of lips.

  I shook my head. “You did not see him when he spoke about Nurse Betts.”

  Daniel clicked his watch closed and poured me a cup of dark tea. “To me, he tried very hard not to speak about her.”

  For a moment, I listened to the soothing sound of tea trickling into my cup. “Does he know she’s dead?” I asked when Daniel righted the teapot again.

  “Not yet . . .” Daniel started to say more, then shook his head and poured tea for himself.

  “If you are worried he killed her, I believe you wrong.” I sipped tea, letting the familiar beverage warm my mouth. “Mr. Fielding showed genuine caring when he spoke of her, a great fondness, as I said. He seemed surprised by how much he cared, as though he’d never intended to fall in love.”