On Monday, I planned to take part of my afternoon out and visit Bobby to quiz her about where Miss Townsend liked to do her painting. I could have a look around for her before I went to see Grace. I kept in mind that Cynthia had said Miss Townsend would not be pleased to be interrupted if she was working, but I’d only peek in to reassure myself she was well.
Before I could leave that afternoon, however, Daniel came into the kitchen at a fast pace, the draft of the door gusting cold wind through the scullery.
“Come with us, Kat. Please. I need you.”
Daniel never stormed in, especially not during the day when Elsie, Charlie, and Tess were in the kitchen, Mr. Davis pausing to glare at him. And he never called me Kat in front of the others.
“Good heavens. Whatever is the matter?”
Daniel’s clothes were windblown, his eyes wide with pleading. “I have my brother in a coach, the coachman charged with not letting him out. I told him it would take only a few seconds to bring you. We must go.”
“I haven’t changed my frock.” I wore my gray working dress, my cook’s cap still pinned to my hair.
“No time, I’m afraid. Cover up with your coat—no one will mind. Please come.”
Never had Daniel spoken to me like this, his urgency clear. He moved in impatience while I debated.
“Very well.” I plucked off my cap and apron and snatched my coat from a hook.
I did not insist on an explanation as Daniel dashed up the stairs, me close behind him. I knew he’d never stop to tell me.
The coach was plain and black, likely hired for the occasion. I recognized the coachman—a cabbie called Lewis, who was Daniel’s friend. I wondered if Lewis had changed jobs or whether he drove both hansoms and hired carriages.
Mr. Fielding sat in the backward-facing seat in the coach, scowling as I climbed in. Daniel took the seat next to me, highly improper of him, but there wasn’t much point in perfect manners at the moment.
“Tell me now,” I said as Daniel slammed the door and the coach jerked forward. “Where are we going?”
“The Foundling Hospital.” Daniel sent a stern look to Mr. Fielding. “You are coming along in the hope that you can keep him coolheaded.”
“A vain hope,” Mr. Fielding snapped. “We discovered the reason the ruffian swine of Seven Dials did not want you down that road, Mrs. Holloway. Because if you’d continued, you might have found the bawdy house specializing in children that Luke and his friends help stock. I’m guessing Nell found it too, and that is why she was killed. I’m off to turn the director upside down and shake him by the heels until he spits out answers. That is, if I don’t murder him outright.”
20
Gone was the Mr. Fielding who, no matter how bitter he became, managed to be glib and sardonic. This man was grim and furious, and I did not blame him.
“Did you summon the police?” I demanded. If they hadn’t, I would.
“Yes.” Daniel’s word held finality. “Inspector McGregor and many constables are storming the premises of the bawdy house as we speak. Errol is convinced the Foundling Hospital has been furnishing the house with children, and I decided I’d better go with him to keep him from setting fire to anyone.”
“Daniel believes you will calm me and not let me kill every bastard responsible,” Mr. Fielding said, eyes flashing. “He is wrong.”
“What about the children?” I asked. “If constables are storming the building, what happens to them?”
“I admit, I don’t know,” Daniel said. “They won’t be hurt, Kat. Inspector McGregor will see to that.”
“I’ll see to it,” I said with conviction. “I too want to speak to the director. Mr. Fielding, please leave him alone long enough for me to question him.”
Mr. Fielding barked a laugh, not a nice one. “Do your worst, Mrs. Holloway. Did you bring one of your meat cleavers?”
I did not smile. “I do not believe violence will be necessary.”
“Won’t it?” The highborn tones Mr. Fielding had taken on from his schooling slipped away, and the man of London’s backstreets emerged. “I say we give his arse a right kicking, and then shake him until he spills all his rot.”
“I understand your agitation, but we must question him first.”
Daniel shot me a look and shook his head, but I remained firm. There was something not quite right in all this, something that did not come together precisely. A discussion with the director would be in everyone’s interest.
Mr. Fielding bent a fierce glare on me. “Do you truly understand, Mrs. Holloway? Or Kat, if I may call you so. Do you know what it is to be small and scared, overpowered no matter how much you fight? Knowing you’ll never see your friends again? Locked away so men can put their filthy hands on you whenever they like? And you’re too small to fight ‘em off, as much as you try?” He broke off, his bitterness vast. “The whole lot of them should be strung up by their balls. Even worse are the madams and procuring gents who pander to them.”
“Oh.” I swallowed. “I am sorry, Mr. Fielding. I did not realize.”
“Of course you didn’t. Why would I want you to? Do you know how I was rescued from that life? The piece of excrement with me one night was an enemy of Carter’s. I’d managed to smuggle a knife into the room, and I stabbed the bastard with it, but not hard enough. I was a tiny chap, and he was beating me to nothing when Carter and his bullies broke in and killed him. I laughed. Fell down, I was laughing so hard. Carter had compassion in him—somewhere—and he liked that I was cheering on his lads. Carter took me home with him. At first I assumed I was out of the frying pan and into the fire, but no. Thank God. Daniel was already living with Carter, and was healthy and happy. He explained to me that Carter was a decent chap, not that I believed him at first. But I learned.”
The Lord had certainly been looking out for Mr. Fielding that night, I decided, if in an unusual way.
“I am so sorry,” I repeated. I had no words of comfort. I knew, that again, but for the grace of God and a mother who’d worked her fingers to the bone to keep me fed, I could have ended up like him. So Daniel could have, and if not for my dear friends and my own determination, so might Grace.
“Don’t bleat compassion for any them, Kat,” Mr. Fielding went on. “If I break the director’s neck, do not try to stop me. I admire you, and I don’t want to do you harm.”
I held on to my patient tone. “I agree that if the director had anything to do with the bawdy house, he should be speedily punished. But we must first find out. Beating down an innocent man is not the thing, Mr. Fielding.”
“Not the thing.” Mr. Fielding’s voice was acrid. “Not the thing, is it? Where did you find this woman, Daniel?”
“I brought her along for a reason,” Daniel answered dryly. “She can keep a cool head, even in dire situations.”
I had no idea why he had that notion. I thought myself a most volatile person when upset. When I’d feared Daniel had been blown up on the river in Cornwall, I’d screamed and run straight at the water, a futile thing to do. Another time when I’d thought him deceased, I’d not been able to think, barely to see, until I discovered whether he was well. I knew that if anything happened to Grace, I’d be too hysterical to ever be calm again.
Daniel gave me a look of quiet assurance, believing in me. I hoped I would not disappoint him.
The current director, Lord Russell Hirst, did not live at the Foundling Hospital itself, but in a small house around the corner on Brunswick Square. He was not on the board of governors himself, as I understood, but did what the governors, when they met, suggested.
The footman’s cool look told us Lord Russell would not be happy to be roused from his dinner. From the sounds coming from the dining room, Lord Russell was entertaining. I heard female laughter, and also male, but nothing that suggested anything untoward. The peerage invited people to dine not simply for the p
leasure of it, but to court influence and raise funds for projects.
Mr. Fielding barely waited until the footman said his polite, “I will inquire, sir,” before pushing his way into the house.
Daniel took Mr. Fielding by the arm and shoved him into a drawing room. I followed, after advising the alarmed footman, in tone that required obedience, that he ought to fetch his master at once.
The drawing room was small but pleasant, with plush armchairs and tables covered with objets d’art. Nothing overdone or ostentatious, only photographs in silver frames, pretty boxes, and a small collection of glass paperweights.
I worried Mr. Fielding might pick up the paperweights from their arrangement and smash them to the floor, but he only paced restlessly.
When the door opened to admit two men, one small limbed with a trim brown beard, one rather gangly with gray hair and pince-nez, Mr. Fielding swung on them.
“We found them, damn and blast you,” he said, not bothering to keep his voice down. “What the magistrates do won’t be bad enough for the likes of you.” He addressed the small man, calling him names so foul I’d never repeat them.
Daniel stepped between him and the gentlemen. “Enough.” His voice held command.
Mr. Fielding closed his mouth, but he remained tense, as though ready to spring on the director at any moment. Though Mr. Fielding wore his collar today, he was a less clerical-looking gentleman I’d never seen.
“We might have found them,” I corrected Mr. Fielding. “Or found where they might be. I do believe you had better come clean, your lordship.” I addressed the small, bearded man, assuming him to be Lord Russell. “Is the Foundling Hospital sending children to bawdy houses?”
“What?” Lord Russell’s jaw dropped, and he turned a gaze on me that must have made the serfs of the Russells of old fall to their knees. “What are you talking about, young woman? A bawdy house?” He spat the words with all the disgust of a man having to lift a dead rat.
The other man looked as aghast. “Who the devil are you? And you?” He pinned Daniel with a horrified gaze.
“I am Mrs. Holloway,” I answered, keeping my voice steady. “Mr. McAdam is Mr. Fielding’s brother. They discovered a house near Seven Dials that deals in the vile practice of providing children for the depraved. We believe one of your staff, Nurse Betts, discovered it as well, and was killed for that knowledge. She was looking for the children who have gone missing from the Foundling Hospital. Five of them now.”
“Missing?” Lord Russell spluttered. He glared at Mr. Fielding. “They are not missing. I’ve told you. They were adopted. I gave you the addresses of the people they were adopted to. They went to respectable homes, to be raised and trained to a trade. Not the trade you are speaking about now.” His lip curled.
“The addresses were false,” Mr. Fielding stated before I could speak. “We looked. They aren’t there.” He tried to get around Daniel, who again put himself in the way.
“The children aren’t there?” The gentleman with pince-nez sounded vastly confused. “Russell? What is this?”
“Yes, why don’t you explain?” Mr. Fielding snarled. “Daniel, Mrs. Holloway—this man is Bishop Exley, another of the board of governors. No doubt he would like to know exactly what you’ve done, Hirst.”
“Nothing,” Lord Russell began.
“The buildings aren’t there,” I said. “The addresses do not exist. Who were these people who adopted the children? I assume you interviewed them.”
“I didn’t.” Lord Russell stabbed at his chest with his forefinger. “The rest of the governors did. Or so I should hope. Is that not true, Exley?”
The bishop peered nearsightedly through his pince-nez at me. “This is the first I am hearing of this. Are you certain, young woman?”
“I was given the information and put it into the ledger,” Lord Russell spluttered. “As I do all transactions involving the Hospital. I record it, as does the treasurer.”
Mr. Fielding growled. “I am a governor, and I heard nothing about it.”
“Then there must be some hideous mistake.” Lord Russell’s rather ruddy face lost color. He looked about for a place to sit down, but saw me standing, and clutched the back of a chair. A gentleman did not sit in the presence of a lady.
I pushed past both Daniel and Mr. Fielding and took his arm. “Rest yourself, your lordship. Shall I ring for some tea? Or a brandy?”
“No, thank you.” Lord Russell squared his shoulders, but he did plunk down on the sofa I steered him to. “Who did you say you were?”
“It is not important. Perhaps Mr. Fielding could look at the ledgers, and check what the treasurer has written. It might be as simple as a mistake—the wrong house numbers recorded.”
When I said, “Mr. Fielding,” I of course meant I wanted Daniel to look at them. However, I knew Lord Russell would be more comfortable turning the books over to a governor, and in fact, it might be his duty to give a governor whatever records he asked for.
At my glare, Mr. Fielding sent Lord Russell a curt nod. “Yes, fetch the ledgers for me, old chap.”
Lord Russell, appearing weaker by the moment, sent me an appealing look. “If you will ring, madam . . .”
I’d already moved toward the bellpull in anticipation. I gave it a hearty yank and returned to Lord Russel’s side, Daniel and I forming a protective wall around him. Mr. Fielding stood like a stone, arms folded. Prizefighters stood thus, waiting for their bouts to begin.
The footman who’d admitted us returned in a matter of seconds. Lord Russell instructed him to fetch his secretary, and the lad departed.
We heard footsteps before any of us could speak again, and a reedy man, clean-shaven but with thin sideburns, entered. He must have been one of the dinner guests on the other side of the hall, and looked surprised to see Mr. Fielding. He was Lord Russell’s secretary, apparently, and Lord Russell sent him off for the ledgers.
We waited in silence. Mr. Fielding had turned to the fireplace, obviously not happy with me or Daniel. I was relieved to see he remained far from the paperweights.
Daniel watched Lord Russell. His stance was nonchalant, but I knew Daniel well and realized Lord Russell would not leave this room without Daniel’s permission.
The secretary returned, three large books in his thin arms, staggering a little under their weight. Daniel stepped to assist him, but Mr. Fielding snatched the top ledger of the pile and spread it open on a table. “Show me.”
Lord Russell rose and went to him, turning pages with shaking hands. “There.” He pointed to a scrawl that listed the addresses Mr. Fielding and I had both investigated. “And the governors’ notes.”
A list of numbers and letters filled the rest of the page. Mr. Fielding pushed the ledger impatiently aside. “I can’t make heads or tails of this.”
“Which is why you will take them to study at your leisure,” I said. I closed the book and handed it to Daniel, who’d stood silently by.
“Oh dear,” Bishop Exley began. “We cannot allow you to—”
“Of course you can,” I said firmly. “Mr. Fielding is a governor.”
“I’ll have to advise the other governors of this,” Exley said in disapproval.
“Best that you do,” Mr. Fielding said. “If they have anything to do with this, I’ll have them. You too, Hirst.”
The secretary looked shocked and Lord Russell, resigned. “If you find any evidence of foul dealings, Mr. Fielding, I will be happy to report it.”
“You bloody well will.” Mr. Fielding snatched up the remaining two ledgers and strode from the room. Daniel followed, nodding once at the stunned secretary and the spluttering Exley as he passed them.
I regarded Lord Russell in some pity. “Consider my suggestion of tea, your lordship. You have had a shock. I hope that my friends are wrong, but I believe something untoward has happened here.”
* * *
* * *
Mr. Fielding’s rage had not subsided by the time Daniel assisted me once more into the carriage.
“What good are books?” he snarled at Daniel as the coach pulled away. “I don’t believe Hirst for a moment—a man can look deathly shocked when his sins are found out. Even if he didn’t know, I want to go through the governors one at a time until I find the ringleader. Anyone who had knowledge of this will feel my fists.”
I shared with him his need to punish the offenders, but I thought we ought to be certain where the blame fell first. “These ledgers might tell us exactly what happened.”
“Maybe, but they are beyond me,” Mr. Fielding said. “I say we make the treasurer eat them until he deciphers them for us.”
Daniel gave him a quelling look. “The governors are made up of peers of the realm, bishops, and other notable gentlemen. How they elected you to join them would puzzle me if I didn’t know you. But if you punch a peer in the face, you’ll only get yourself arrested.”
“I am not afraid of toffee-nosed aristos,” Mr. Fielding snarled.
“Ledgers can tell tales,” Daniel said. “I know you can’t read them, and neither can I, but I know a chap who’ll likely be able to.”
“Mr. Thanos,” I said at once.
“Exactly.”
Mr. Fielding opened his mouth, derision on his face, then he nodded. “You’re right. He’s a bloody genius. Even I can see that.”
He settled into silence as we made our way back to Regent Street, too slowly for my comfort. It was Monday, and cold, but all of London seemed to want to be out this afternoon.
Mr. Thanos was in, fortunately, and he began an eager welcome before he caught our expressions.
“What has happened?” he asked.
Murder in the East End Page 20