Murder in the East End

by Jennifer Ashley

  Mr. Thanos had been watching this exchange with a puzzled expression. “Aren’t you a vicar, sir?” he asked.

  Mr. Fielding turned the derisiveness on Mr. Thanos. “Do not worry. None of my flock will be harmed by my machinations.”

  “How do you know?” Mr. Thanos asked.

  Mr. Fielding flushed. He started to answer, then spluttered and jumped to his feet. “Lord help me, I’m surrounded by namby-pamby fools. McAdam, if you are not too timorous to join me in Seven Dials, I will hie there myself. I’d prefer not to have to hire fists, as such men can turn on one, but I will if I have to. Of course, I’m used to blokes turning on me.”

  The bitterness in his words was remarkable. Mr. Fielding had changed from the silver-tongued but good-natured reprobate I’d first met to a hard and vitriolic man.

  I rose and put myself in front of him. “Mr. Fielding, I know you are grieving,” I said as gently as I could. “But do not let Nurse Betts’s trust in you be for nothing. I do believe those in heaven see our actions or know of them somehow. Make her proud of you.”

  Mr. Fielding regarded me with eyes that held anger—a deep, terrible anger whose short reprieve had been snatched away. Nothing of the vicar was in the man who looked at me now.

  “I understand why Daniel is so fascinated by you, Mrs. Holloway.” His voice was chillingly quiet. “You reach into a person and tear things forth he doesn’t wish to acknowledge.” Mr. Fielding stepped closer to me, perhaps a threatening step, but I held my ground. “Nell did not know me. She knew a lie, and that lie is very likely why she died. So you cannot placate me by invoking her name.”

  I studied him a long moment, believing I knew what was inside him. I had no wish to tear it away, whatever he claimed.

  “I am sorry,” I said softly.

  Mr. Fielding made a noise like a growl. He came at me, but it was only to pass me on the way to the door. “For God’s sake, McAdam, where did you find this woman? And why the devil did you push her at me?”

  Mr. Fielding threw open the door and banged his way into the stairwell, not bothering to slam the door behind him.

  Daniel fetched his cap as well as the one Mr. Fielding had left behind. “I’d better go after him. In this mood, he’ll pick a fight with a stevedore or a prizefighter and end up on a surgeon’s table.”

  “I agree,” I said. “He needs looking after.”

  Daniel paused to press a kiss to my cheek. “Bless you, Kat.”

  He was past me and out the door, heading to the stairs. I followed, leaning on the carved newel post at the top of the staircase. “Daniel.”

  Halfway down the flight, Daniel looked back at me in inquiry.

  “Miss Townsend told me about Paris.”

  “Ah.” Daniel’s face went through several transformations before he answered. “That both relieves and alarms me. Once I find my brother and nail him somewhere, I will speak to you.”

  “I will have the kettle on,” I promised.

  This earned me a grin, then Daniel bolted down the stairs and was gone.

  “Good heavens.” Mr. Thanos had joined me in the hall. “A cup of tea does sound jolly. I’ll have my landlady bring us a pot, then I think you and I should sit very quietly for a time. Daniel and his brother are not easy on the nerves.”

  “Quite.” I steered him inside. “You sit comfortably. I’ll fetch the tea, and then we’ll have a friendly chat.”

  I’d tell him about everything Lady Cynthia had said and done since he’d last seen her, which might assuage some of the moroseness I read in him.

  * * *

  * * *

  Miss Townsend did not return the next day for more sketching. I scarcely noticed she wasn’t there—she always sat so quietly—until I turned to ask her a question and saw she’d not arrived.

  Tess noticed when I did. “I wonder if she’s done with her drawing,” she pondered. “Or if she’s found something more interesting to sketch. Why’d someone want to look at a picture of a kitchen, anyway?”

  “Perhaps the very wealthy don’t know what a kitchen looks like,” I offered, only half in jest.

  Tess chuckled and returned to beating egg whites for a rhubarb mousse I wanted to try.

  The morning wore on uneventfully except that the rhubarb had turned bad and so I made an apple charlotte instead of the mousse. The bowls came down from luncheon quite clean, which I took to mean everyone had liked it.

  Mrs. Redfern entered the kitchen to inform me of how many were expected for dinner. “Five,” she said. “Lady Cynthia will dine in today, as well as Mr. Bywater’s friend, Mr. Thanos, and a vicar called Mr. Fielding.”

  I dropped the pencil I used to make notes, which fell to the floor and rolled into a crack between the slates.

  “Mr. Fielding?” I repeated, trying to hide my agitation.

  “Yes, the vicar who called on you,” Mrs. Redfern said, as though trying to be helpful. “With the charitable society, wasn’t he? I suppose Mrs. Bywater took to him. Or else he is yet another potential match for Lady Cynthia.”

  She sounded disapproving. Though she thought it high time Cynthia wed, she did not like the way Mrs. Bywater was going about things, and she considered that none but an aristocrat would do for an aristocrat’s daughter.

  Mr. Fielding had not been in the best of moods last night, and I could not believe he’d suddenly turn agreeable this evening. While I believed Cynthia probably could keep him in order, I worried very much.

  “What about Miss Townsend?” I asked. “Was she invited?”

  Mrs. Redfern looked surprised. “Not that I know of. Why?”

  “It would even the number,” I said quickly. “Three ladies, three gentlemen.”

  “I will suggest it.” Mrs. Redfern sounded doubtful. “I will let you know if you need to add one more serving.”

  “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Redfern eyed me as though she thought I might run mad at any moment, but she glided away.

  I dug my pencil out of the crack and wrote hasty notes about what I should cook, but I could not settle my mind.

  What was Mr. Fielding up to? He’d finagled the invitation, I was certain, but why? And why had Mr. Thanos been invited? Mr. Bywater liked him—there was that explanation. But I’d overheard Mrs. Bywater declare he was too poor for Cynthia, no matter how affable Mr. Bywater considered him.

  Nonetheless, I put together sole with anchovy sauce for the first course, which would be followed by roast beef and pigeon in a thick gravy, followed by an herb salad and almond custard. The remainder of the apples would go into more tartlets.

  With Tess’s help, as well as Elsie to assist with apple peeling, we had it finished. I continually moved to the high windows that looked out at the street, waiting to see the arrival of Mr. Thanos and Mr. Fielding.

  They came separately, and I wondered if Mr. Fielding was aware Mr. Thanos would also be attending.

  As the courses went up, I could not stop my worrying. I wished I could send for Daniel, who might find a reason to take Mr. Fielding away, but I did not know how to find him. James, my trusty go-between, was at the Foundling Hospital.

  Nothing for it. After I sent up the roast, I babbled an excuse to Tess and quietly skimmed up the stairs into the main house, making my way soundlessly to the dining room. The double door was closed, but I carefully pried it open a crack and peered inside.

  “Extraordinary,” I heard Mr. Fielding say. He sounded cheerful, but I detected the sharp irony in his voice. “Do go on, Mr. Thanos. All this mathematics is most riveting.”

  19

  Mr. Thanos flushed. Mr. Fielding was baiting him, and he knew it. Cynthia lifted her goblet of clear wine, the one glass she was allowed at dinner.

  “It is riveting to me,” Cynthia said. “Amazing how numbers can come together and make the world run.”

  “That is
true,” Mr. Thanos said. I could see him in my sliver of doorway, and he turned to Cynthia eagerly. “Mr. Maxwell’s laws on electromagnetism and thermodynamics really are all we need to know. Equations that are beautiful, elegant, and simple.”

  “If they are simple, why don’t the rest of us understand them?” Mr. Fielding asked in amusement. “I think these fellows invent things simply in order to keep their positions.”

  “Mathematics can be learned by anyone,” Mr. Thanos said in earnestness. “If they take the trouble.”

  “I concede not all of us are brilliant at it,” Cynthia broke in. “But to imply they invent it to stay employed is going a bit far, Mr. Fielding. Mr. Thanos will be a lecturer at the new Polytechnic, Uncle, did you know? Sir Arthur Maddox is his patron now.”

  “Is he?” Mrs. Bywater chirped, brightening. “I’ve been to gatherings with Sir Arthur. He is highly thought of.”

  “He is indeed,” Mr. Thanos said. “Quite generous.”

  “Congratulations, old chap,” Mr. Fielding said, suddenly effusive.

  “Excellent news,” Mr. Bywater said. “You must give us a tour when the school opens. Now, Mr. Fielding, I can tell you, as a City man, that mathematics is terribly important—we can’t count money without it.”

  “Ah,” Mr. Fielding said. “You have a point.”

  Polite laughter went around the table, and I relaxed a bit. Cynthia would not let Mr. Fielding dominate, as much as Mrs. Bywater seemed to be taken with him.

  Mr. Davis blocked my field of vision by leaning to pour more wine into Mr. Fielding’s glass. He moved to the other side of the table to pour for Mr. Thanos. When Mr. Davis straightened, his gaze went straight to mine.

  He said nothing, did not betray me by any movement of his body. But he looked at me, his disapproval vast.

  I withdrew and returned to the kitchen, easier in my mind. Mr. Fielding, a chameleon indeed, had chosen to mind his manners tonight, for whatever reason.

  The next morning, after breakfast had been served, Cynthia strolled into the kitchen. It was Tess’s day out, she already gone, so I had a stretch of hard work ahead of me. As I rolled out crusts for meat pies I’d make of yesterday’s roast, Cynthia sat down at my table and smiled at me.

  “I think last night went well,” she announced.

  “Oh?” I pretended to know nothing about it. “The gentlemen behaved themselves?”

  “Not really. At least, Thanos did, but he can’t help himself. Mr. Fielding, on the other hand, decided to twist my aunt around his finger.”

  “Why do you say that?” I asked in some concern.

  “Mr. Fielding has Auntie convinced he has the patronage of a wealthy man. Which he does, I suppose. He told the story of being taken in and raised by this august personage, Lord Alois Symington, the son of a marquess.” Cynthia looked pained. “Auntie is ever one to admire a title.”

  Mr. Bywater’s sister, Cynthia’s mother, had married an earl. I wondered sometimes if that wasn’t what had made Mr. Bywater attractive to Mrs. Bywater. She seemed rather uninterested in him in day-to-day life, and they had no children, implying no intimate connection.

  “I do believe Auntie has the notion that Mr. Fielding will propose to me,” Cynthia said.

  I ceased rolling, stretched nearly the entire width of the table. “You will not let him.”

  Cynthia’s eyes danced with merriment. “Hardly. Imagine me, a vicar’s wife in the East End. I don’t mind helping the downtrodden, but I would mind having to be the upright, straitlaced lady pandering to stuffy matrons so they might give a few bob to the said downtrodden. If ever I put on a pair of trousers, the entire parish would be disgraced.”

  I straightened up and continued rolling the pastry. “I believe your aunt concludes that when you are married, you will be content to leave off the trousers.”

  “Yes, when I have a husband and children to look after, I’ll forget about my silliness. That is the notion. Why on earth would I want the freedoms of a man if I could stay home and devote all my time to one instead?”

  “A good marriage, to a good gentleman, would not be so bad,” I said.

  Her eyes held cynicism. “Good gentlemen are few and far between, from what I can perceive.” Cynthia sat back, but instead of turning morose, she retained a lively glint in her eyes.

  “What have you been up to?” I asked, suspicions rising.

  “Not much.” Cynthia clamped down on her spreading smile but couldn’t quite contain it.

  “Very well, keep your secrets,” I said, as though I did not care one way or the other.

  “Not so much secrets as . . . plans. But nothing I can say at the moment. Thanos tells me you visited him, and Fielding and McAdam nearly came to blows.”

  “Nothing so dramatic.” I cut the dough into fourths, folded them, and laid them into pans, telling her what had transpired as I worked.

  “Interesting,” Cynthia said when I’d finished. “My sister and I were rivals of a sort. Nothing nearly as volatile as those two, but she was always the darling, while I was the awkward older Shires girl—what was to be done with me? Em made a good marriage while I was the hanger-on. I loved my sister to pieces, but it was frustrating at the same time.”

  I remembered the tension between the two, and Cynthia’s restless unhappiness.

  “I am not sure how much love exists between Daniel and Mr. Fielding.” I pricked the crusts with a fork. “Certainly, there is no trust.”

  “Can’t really blame them. Probably raised to not trust each other. They lived pretty desperately from what I gather.”

  “Indeed.” Daniel tended to only briefly touch upon his hard times as a child. I wondered if there had been more between Daniel and Mr. Fielding than boys vying for the attention of Mr. Carter. Or whether Mr. Carter had pitted them against each other to see which would prevail.

  Daniel spoke of Mr. Carter as kindhearted, but admitted the man had been a criminal, bringing Daniel and Mr. Fielding to live with him so he could train them to also be criminals. Mr. Fielding had later found a true benefactor in Lord Alois Symington, or so he said, and had he lorded that over Daniel? This Symington hadn’t been bothered to take Daniel in, and I wondered why not. Did Mr. Fielding simply not mention to Symington that he had a brother in need of help?

  I changed the subject. “What has become of Miss Townsend? She has not been here to sketch these last two days. Is she finished?”

  Cynthia shrugged. “Haven’t seen her. Bobby says she sometimes goes off to paint, and woe betide the person foolish enough to disturb her. Judith travels where she pleases, does what she pleases. How lovely that must be.” She trailed off wistfully.

  I laid down the fork and began to crimp the crusts. “She is quite efficient, isn’t she? Always turning up at the strategic moment, with the right thing to say to make people like her. Sending me the herbs was a master stroke. I’ll forgive her anything for that.”

  Cynthia toyed with the handle of the fork I’d set on the table. “She is what Auntie wishes me to be, a beautiful and accomplished woman with a natural generosity. If Miss Townsend were the marrying sort, she’d be perfect in Auntie’s eyes.”

  “But even she is dependent on her family’s goodwill,” I said.

  “More or less. She has a wise head on her shoulders, does Judith. I have no doubt she’s put money by so she’ll have her own income if her family gave her the elbow.”

  “How long have you known her?” My curiosity about this woman had stirred the moment I met her, and I could not seem to satisfy it.

  “I haven’t— She and Bobby grew up together. Or at least near each other. Judith is a little older than me and ran in slightly different circles.” She flicked her finger over the end of the fork’s handle, making the fork jump. “Lucky her.”

  “Perhaps you could be an artist,” I suggested, wanting to soothe her. “Then you
could run in her circles and find a patron.”

  Cynthia wrinkled her forehead, then she began to laugh. “One has to actually be able to draw or paint to make a living at it. Or sculpt, or write, or compose music, or anything of that nature. I’m rather washed-up, myself.”

  Any other day, she might say this gloomily, but she continued to be in fine spirits. Spending the evening with Mr. Thanos had agreed with her.

  Cynthia sprang up, finished with the conversation. “If I encounter Miss Townsend, I’ll tell her you’re worried about her. But I suspect she’s going at it with brush and oils. I’m meeting Thanos in Bedford Square today. We’re going to visit the museum and talk about what to do next to find the kiddies. They can’t have vanished into smoke.”

  But they could have, I knew, my heart heavy. Children of the streets so easily sickened and died. If they survived it was by becoming harder than the men and women around them, which was exactly what Daniel and Mr. Fielding had done.

  Bessie’s assertion that the children’s things had been packed and vanished with them both confused and worried me. This spoke not of an opportunistic snatching of children as they strayed, but of something cold-bloodedly planned.

  I did not like it at all.

  I could do nothing about the search today, however. I’d have to leave it to Cynthia and Mr. Thanos, Daniel and Mr. Fielding, Bessie and James. Tess was out, so I had to do double the work, which I did without grudging, as Tess worked hard to let me have my day and a half out every week.

  Tess returned later that evening, her good spirits in place. Her brother was doing well, she was happy to report, and this week she’d saved a few extra pence to give him. Tess’s wages were meager, but she was a generous young woman, happy to share them.

  The next day was Sunday, and we were run off our feet cooking a large meal for Mrs. Bywater and her guests. Lady Cynthia slipped out after luncheon and returned late. She’d spent the day with Bobby, she told me, but there’d been no sign of Mis Townsend. Even Bobby was growing worried.

  I tucked these facts into the back of my mind, as I continued to work and went wearily to bed, dropping off as soon as I pulled up the covers.