* * *
* * *
Elsie returned to the house as Tess and I were readying the evening meal for the table. The scullery sink was full again, as Tess and I had used plenty of bowls and pots to prepare the meal.
Elsie generally had a bright disposition, prone to singing or humming as she worked, but this evening her expression was troubled.
“I’m glad I went home today, Mrs. Holloway,” she said as I stacked more crockery on the table next to the sink. “Home” to her meant the Foundling Hospital. “I spoke to Mabel—had a good old chat with her. The maid Bessie has been worse than ever, snarling and grumbling one minute, paying no attention to anything the next. Nearly dropped a basin of water all over a matron, and didn’t that get her screeched at?”
“Hmm.” I wondered why Bessie was so out of sorts. It could be any reason, but I was growing interested in this surly maid.
“Mrs. Compton is very worried, Mrs. Holloway,” Elsie went on. “She sought me out when she learned I’d come for a visit. She’s afraid that other children have gone missing now, and asks if you’ll come talk to her about it.”
14
She is afraid they have?” I repeated, my heart growing heavy at the news. “Does she not know for certain?”
Elsie vigorously scrubbed a patch of sticky oil from a pan. “I asked Mabel. She thinks the two—a boy and a girl—were taken in by a kind family. But that’s what they thought about the others.” She poured more water she’d heated on the stove into the sink. “It’s terrible, Mrs. H. What if something happens to Mabel?” She turned eyes brimming with tears to me.
“Now, don’t take on so.” I wanted to reassure her, but wasn’t certain I could. “I will find out what is happening, I promise you. How old are these children?”
“Eight and nine, Mabel says. Mabel was being sister to the little girl.” Elsie wiped her eyes and returned to scrubbing. “She hopes you’ll find the villains and kick them in the balls. Exactly what she said.”
I had kicked a villain in his bits, or tried to, Monday evening, when I’d fought off the laboring men. It had been satisfying.
“I will,” I said stoutly.
Elsie summoned a smile, and I went back to the kitchen. I could promise many things, I realized, but whether I could deliver the goods remained to be seen.
* * *
* * *
I could not slip out and make my way to the Foundling Hospital anytime I wished, however. I had work to do. I knew, the next day, as I basted the roast and caught the drippings for the Yorkshire pudding for the midday meal, that I would need to recruit help.
I found it in the form of Miss Townsend. I’d contemplated sending for Lady Cynthia, but worried to test Mrs. Bywater’s patience if she caught Cynthia continually descending the stairs to visit with me.
Miss Townsend had appeared with her sketchbook this morning and started in, as unobtrusive as ever. Once I’d sent up luncheon to Mrs. Bywater and the friends she’d invited to take it with her, I went to Miss Townsend and told her what Elsie had related to me.
“Perhaps you could speak to Mrs. Compton,” I suggested. “I do not know if I will be able to leave the house today.”
Miss Townsend glanced about the quiet kitchen, at Tess across the hall taking her meal, at my work table scrubbed clean in anticipation of preparing the evening meal.
She closed her sketchbook. “I will tell Mrs. Bywater I am stealing you for a time,” she said. “To show me the markets. I might paint those too.”
I considered, hardly daring to hope Mrs. Bywater would let me go so easily. “I do need fresh herbs,” I said. “Though the best will have already gone.”
“Excellent. Meet me outside in twenty minutes.”
When I reached the street in my coat and hat, basket over my arm, I gained an understanding of why Daniel had been happy to work with Miss Townsend during their mission in Paris. Miss Townsend arrived at the scullery steps exactly twenty minutes to the second in a closed landau driven by a coachman with a feather in his hat.
“I borrow him from my brother from time to time,” Miss Townsend said as I climbed into the opulent vehicle. “Dunstan is happy to drive me about, and he’s nicely discreet.”
“I should not be riding inside,” I said in hesitation, even as the coach jerked forward.
“Please do not distress yourself.” The corners of Miss Townsend’s mouth creased. “I am a young lady alone—I need a chaperone.”
This landau was even finer than the vehicles Lord Rankin had left for Cynthia’s family’s use. I sank into a plush seat, carpeting soft under my plain boots. Golden wood inlaid with darker flowers and leaves twined along the walls, which had been polished to a sheen.
Miss Townsend looked amused at my discomfort. I decided to enjoy the treat—the landau kept the wind out, and a coal box heated our feet.
“Will you try to speak to the director?” I asked as we rolled along. “While I talk to the cook?”
“Not a bit of it.” Miss Townsend studied the passing shops of Oxford Street. “Dunstan will let you off at the Foundling Hospital, and I will proceed to the markets to do my sketching. What sort of herbs do you need?”
While I appreciated Miss Townsend’s help, I drew the line at her shopping for produce for me. That took a knack.
“I did not make a list,” I explained. “At this time of day, I browse the market and decide what I will cook depending on what I can find that is fresh and appealing. One never knows what special thing a vendor is holding back.”
Miss Townsend gave me a conceding nod. “I do that myself, choosing colors or deciding on the composition depending on what I have to hand. Inspiration needs to be allowed to strike. You are an artist yourself, Mrs. Holloway.”
“Not at all,” I said in surprise. “I can’t draw a stroke.”
“I’ve eaten your meals, you know. What you do is high art, nothing less than what any celebrated chef can concoct.”
My face warmed, though I was secretly pleased. “Nonsense. It’s nothing but a bit of plain cooking.”
Miss Townsend laughed at me, and then we journeyed the rest of the way in silence.
Dunstan let me off around the corner from the Foundling Hospital, near the lane that led to the back door. The landau rumbled quietly off, and I went down the stairs and admitted myself to the kitchens.
The halls were as busy as they had been on my last visit. I pressed my basket to my chest to keep from bashing it into the hurrying maids.
I spied Bessie, though she did not see me. She was currently shrieking at another maid, who apparently had made her drop a pile of laundry.
“It’s ruined, innit? If I have to wash it all over again, you’re doing it, don’t no matter what.”
The other maid dashed away as Bessie began gathering up the linens. I stooped to help.
“Leave it,” Bessie growled.
I got a good look at her face as she snarled at me and saw that her eyes were red-lined and puffy. She’d been weeping.
“What is it, Bessie?” I asked as gently as I could.
For my pains, I received a belligerent glare. “I said, leave off.” Bessie snatched up the sheets, balling them in her arms, and scuttled down the corridor.
I watched her go, wondering very much. A maid who could go anywhere in the building would be well-placed to assist anyone wanting to spirit children out of the Hospital.
Mrs. Compton stood at her stove when I reached the kitchen, her face red and sweating as she alternately stirred a pot of potatoes and added pinches of salt to a pan of frying meat.
I rescued a box of mushrooms a kitchen maid had nearly dumped on the floor and carried it to Mrs. Compton. “A scattering of these with the pork will flavor it nicely.”
“Oh, Mrs. Holloway.” Mrs. Compton pressed a greasy hand to her bosom. “I’m glad you’ve come.”
“Elsie told me you were upset.” I did not want to mention the missing children here in the midst of the chaos.
Mrs. Compton poked at the searing meat and then the potatoes with the same spoon and beckoned one of her assistants. “Do not let that burn,” she instructed, pointing at the sauté pan. “I’ll be back in a tick. Put some of these mushrooms in with the pork,” she added, taking the box from me and thrusting it at the assistant. “Have someone chop ’em for you.”
Mrs. Compton wiped her hands on her apron, leaving dark streaks alongside those already there, and ushered me out of the kitchen.
I caught sight of Mrs. Shaw—the woman who’d entertained Grace while I’d spoken to Mrs. Compton. She looked puzzled when she spied me, but turned to say something to another maid, her voice lost in the din, and seemed to forget about me.
Mrs. Compton led me outside into the cold, not stopping for her coat. We moved into a narrow passageway between buildings, the wind driving straight down it to whip our skirts and the loose tendrils of Mrs. Compton’s gray hair.
“I’m very worried, Mrs. Holloway. About the children, as Elsie told you.”
“Can you be certain they are gone?” I asked. “Gone in a sinister way, I mean.”
“No.” Mrs. Compton wrapped her hands in her soiled apron. “I just know the matron said there’d be two less for dinner for the time being. I have to be so careful with my portions, you understand.”
I did, indeed. A cook had to measure out and account for every spoonful. If the exact amount of food purchased did not reach the master’s dining room table, she could be accused of stealing the difference either to sell or eat herself.
The budget at the Foundling Hospital would be vigilantly controlled. I imagined the extra two helpings would not be distributed among the other children, but the amount of food purchased would simply be cut, until the next children filled the gap.
“Have you asked what happened to them?” I asked.
“I’ve tried but it ain’t easy. I think that Bessie knows something. She’s been jumpy all week, especially when the police were here.” Mrs. Compton wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. “The police came to tell us about poor Nurse Betts. A wicked world it is, Mrs. Holloway.”
“I agree.” I thought of poor Nurse Betts, dying with strangers, and wondered if her family, from whom she was estranged, regretted that estrangement now. Inspector McGregor likely went to speak to them himself. I hoped he’d broken the news kindly. “Did the police have any idea who killed her?” I asked.
“They say not. Nurse Betts had gone to a dreadful area, from what they said. Could have been any villain. It’s such a sad thing. She was so fond of the children.” Unashamed tears trickled down Mrs. Compton’s cheeks.
I put a comforting hand on the woman’s arm. “I know. I am so sorry.”
“I can’t tell you, Mrs. Holloway, that it’s a fine thing to have someone believe me that something is going wrong in this place. If you have any powerful friends, make them find those poor tykes, and bring down the villains what did for Nurse Betts.”
“I will do my best,” I promised her.
The killer might have been any ruffian in the East End who objected to Nurse Betts walking past him or not answering him, or whatever reason he’d decided to be angry with her. London had too many of those toughs, as I’d discovered myself. Then again, I knew that her disappearing and turning up dead could not be a coincidence.
A door banged. Mrs. Compton and I jumped then flattened ourselves against the wall as Bessie herself charged past us, wrapped tightly in a woolen shawl.
“Bessie?” Mrs. Compton called after her. “Where are you off to?”
Bessie threw an angry glance over her shoulder. “It’s me day out, innit?” She swung away and kept marching.
“She’s got a foul temper, does that one,” Mrs. Compton muttered. “In any case, Mrs. Holloway, if you can help, I’d be so grateful.”
“I’ll do my best, Mrs. Compton.” I bid her a hasty good afternoon and started down the passageway after Bessie. I decided to be very curious as to where Bessie was going and didn’t want to lose sight of her.
I heard Mrs. Compton retreat, the door thudding as she returned to the warmth of the kitchen. I quickened my pace, listening for Bessie’s footfalls, but they’d already faded into the distance.
The passage ended at a gate that led to the burial ground, a peaceful stretch of green in the middle of the noisy metropolis. A gate rested in the wall on the other side, the only exit Bessie could have taken.
I hastened down the path across the green and out through the gate. A church sat opposite, but I saw a flash of Bessie’s faded brown shawl to my right.
I followed her to the main thoroughfare, Gray’s Inn Road. She turned south here, moving quickly through the carts and people, past the great edifice of the Royal Free Hospital and darting down another street.
I believed I knew where she headed. The road she’d turned to, Lower Calthorpe Street, led to the prison of Coldbath Fields, also known as the Steel. Her young man was there, Mrs. Compton had told me, banged up for theft.
However, I did not see Bessie as I neared the high walls that surrounded the prison. A gate stood not far from me, guarded by four men, but Bessie was nowhere in sight.
As I continued along Lower Calthorpe Street, skirting the prison, I heard rapid footsteps behind me. Before I could turn, I was slammed forward, straight into the prison’s high wall.
“What you doing?” Bessie asked me fiercely, as the rough stone scraped my cheek and tore into my gloves. “Spying on me?”
I wrenched myself from Bessie’s hold and spun around, putting my back to the wall and my rigid basket between us. “My dear girl, I am only heading for the train.” I kept my voice steady, trying not to let on she’d badly frightened me. “There’s a station in Farringdon Road.” I pointed to the end of the next street.
“You’ve been at the Hospital, asking questions, poking your nose in. I heard you mention the police.”
She glared at me, backing off and holding her shawl closed with one hand. Her other hand was hidden in the shawl’s folds, and I wondered if she had a weapon in it.
“Mrs. Compton was telling me the police had been there about Nurse Betts,” I said. “She’s been killed.”
Bessie’s eyes flickered. “I know, and I’m right sorry, but it’s nothing to do with you.”
I glanced at the wall beside me. Behind it lay a prison that, if what I’d read was true, was filled with dreariness. The men were made to march on a treadmill that turned a great wheel all the day long, and to do so in utter silence.
“Your young man is here?” I asked. “Are you allowed to visit him?”
Bessie’s eyes filled with sudden and abject terror. She came at me, but in panic, not rage.
“You leave him be,” she shouted. “Never you mind about him. He’s nothing to do with you. Go on. Run for your train.”
The words tumbled out rapidly, becoming incoherent as she yelled them at me. She clearly wanted me away from there, and quickly.
As I opened my mouth to ask her why, a large boom! tore through the waning afternoon. A huge cloud of dust and rubble burst upward behind the wall, rising into the wind as Bessie and I gaped. The cloud spread as the bits and pieces of stone reached their apex and then began to pour down on us.
I grabbed Bessie and shoved her into the wall, positioning myself over her as bricks, pebbles, and pieces of mortar rained around us.
Before my eyes, a bottom portion of the prison wall collapsed in a morass of bricks and dust, leaving a hole about three feet in diameter. Behind the opening lay the bodies of men, both guards and convicts, who’d been felled by the explosion, and behind them were desperate-eyed prisoners who rushed at the newly formed exit.
Bessie shrieked as the top of the broken wall, too wea
k to remain in place, toppled forward, burying the prisoners unfortunate enough to have nearly reached freedom.
15
Shouting erupted from guards, convicts, passersby. I heard my own voice join the cries as I rushed into the fray, grabbing for the rocks that covered pathetic limbs. Bessie was screaming, but her hands worked alongside mine, pulling away bricks to reveal bodies of men moaning and struggling for breath. Stones were wrenched away from the other side of the wall as guards and prisoners alike worked to unbury those beneath.
“Jack!” Bessie sobbed. “Jackie!”
She tugged at an arm belonging to a bloody young man, his face coated in gray dust. He was pinned beneath a pile of bricks, unmoving.
I yanked aside the stones on top of him, using my basket to scrape away rubble. Bessie helped me, still crying.
The young man stirred and opened his eyes, which rounded when he saw me and then Bessie.
“Afternoon, love,” he said to Bessie, his voice a croak. “The fings you’ll do to visit me.” His grin broke through the dirt on his face.
I dug away the last of the bricks from him. “Are you all right, young man? Anything broken, do you think? Lie still—don’t rise too quickly.”
Jack brushed himself off with care, pressing fingers on his arms then legs. “Seem to be whole. Now, Bessie, me dear, don’t take on so.”
Bessie openly wept in relief and anguish. She and I helped Jack to his feet, and Bessie clung to him. “Thank you, missus,” she said to me, her voice hoarse.
“Mrs. Holloway,” I answered her. “Now, what has happened?”
“Dunno,” Jack said, sounding cheerful. “There I was, heading out to do me shift on the tread, when the wall goes down. Tries to take me with it. Bessie, love, no need for the waterworks, there’s a good girl. Others is still down.”
Murder in the East End Page 15