Lewis waited with the coach, the man leaning on the wheel and chatting with one of the constables. The horse slumped on one back hoof, eyes closed. When Lewis saw Daniel, he waved a farewell to the constable and sprang up onto the seat, unlooping the reins and holding the now-awake horse steady.
Daniel helped me into the carriage. Mr. Fielding hung back, speaking swiftly and quietly to Daniel. I couldn’t make out all he said, but I heard the name “Naismith.”
I half climbed down again. “You cannot rush out to find him by yourself, Mr. Fielding. I understand how you feel, but you’d come to grief.”
Mr. Fielding’s eyes blazed with emotion. “Do you understand, Mrs. Holloway? I’ve just learned that the man who took away the only person who was good to me in my childhood has now taken away the only woman I ever grew fond of. How can you ask me to be sensible about it?”
“He might have ordered the men to Mr. Carter; his toughs might have waylaid Nurse Betts. You are not to know. If Inspector McGregor says there are good men in that area who will find out, I believe him.”
A year ago, I would not have had such confidence in the inspector. But having observed him for this space of time, I had come to understand he truly was an excellent policeman.
“I am to go tamely home, am I?” Mr. Fielding demanded. “Instead of running down murderers and locating the foundling children?”
“Not tamely, but you do need to return home, Mr. Fielding. Remember that the lads and lasses from Ma Aster’s house will be there. They need looking after. You must be there when they arrive, or they might believe you’ve deserted them too.”
Mr. Fielding glared at me, a hard rage in a hard man. He might have taken on the dress and mannerisms of a clergyman, but they could not hide the villain he’d once been and likely still was.
Then he deflated. Mr. Fielding pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes, but he did not completely break down as he had in Covent Garden. In a moment, he straightened again, drawing a breath of resignation.
“Damn and blast you, Mrs. H. You know how to ferret out a man’s greatest weakness, and then hit him over the head with it.” His gaze flicked to Daniel. “How are you enamored of this woman?”
Daniel’s smile warmed his face. “If you must ask, you will never understand. Lewis.” He called up to the coachman. “Take Mrs. Holloway wherever she wishes. I’ll get Errol home in a hansom. Holding him every inch of the way so he doesn’t bolt.”
While Mr. Fielding glowered at him, Daniel assisted me back into the coach, his hands gentle through rough gloves.
“Bless you, Kat,” he whispered, then he slammed the door, and waved Lewis on.
I noticed he took a firm hold of Mr. Fielding’s arm as he steered his brother away.
* * *
* * *
Lewis opened a little hatch in the top of the coach and asked where I wished to go. I told him.
Not long later, I alighted in Cheapside, the coach too large to fit comfortably in the narrow lane where the Millburns’ home lay. I ran on alone, my legs trembling, and knocked on the door.
Grace herself flung open the door. “Mum?” she asked in concern. “Where’ve you been? I was worried.”
“I’m here now, my darling.” I swept Grace into a long embrace, the wind pushing the door closed behind me.
I breathed the scent of her hair, the wool of her frock, the sweetness of her. I thought of the mite who’d been saved from the bawdy house, young and frail, the two sisters clinging to each other, hardly daring to hope.
Grace hugged me in return, as though sensing I needed this comfort. I took solace in my child, and let my tears come.
23
As much as I hated parting from my daughter, it was refreshing to return to my own kitchen that evening, smell the good things burbling on the stove, and hear Tess sing out her greeting. Mr. Davis sat at the table, chortling over something in the newspaper. Mrs. Redfern swept in, giving me an approving nod, and swept out again, ever efficient in her duties. This was an easy place, I realized, comfortable and without strife, one I’d made my own.
Tess had started a fairly simple supper, as the Bywaters and Cynthia were dining alone tonight. I finished the sauce for the pork roast and potatoes, and Tess had already made a nice salad and peas pudding—mashed boiled peas beaten with butter and eggs, and wrapped in a pudding bag for more boiling. The last of the apple tarts went up for dessert.
After Tess had gone to bed, I sat at the table to make my notes, the kitchen quiet for the night. Daniel did not come, though I hadn’t much expected him to.
I’d spent a farthing on another small notebook not long ago, and in it I wrote not about my recipes and menus, but about the puzzles we were solving. I started a new page now, trying to render what we’d discovered into efficient lists.
Nurse Betts: Luke claims to have chased to Whitechapel, but he ran away, fearing Naismith’s men, and did not witness her murder.
I tapped my pencil to my lips and added an addendum. Or so he says.
I went on.
Mr. Naismith: Who is he in truth? Perhaps speak to Inspector McGregor for clear picture. Did his ruffians kill Nurse Betts? Did he kill Mr. Carter?
I left space for any answers and continued.
Who is skimming money from funds for the Foundling Hospital? All of the board? Or only one or two? Why did Mr. Fielding not know of this?
And the most important question of all.
Where are the children?
I underlined the last three times, then wrote, Speak again to Bessie.
I put away the notebook and went wearily to bed. Before I climbed under the covers, I said a prayer for Grace, as I did every night, adding more for the children I’d met today in addition to the missing foundlings. I prayed for Mr. Fielding, that he might find comfort, and asked God to look after Nurse Betts. Then, exhausted, I snuffed out my candle and crawled into bed.
In the morning, I made buttered muffins and plenty of bacon for breakfast. Before Elsie left for her half day after luncheon, I asked her to find Bessie and tell her I wanted a word. Elsie looked surprised I’d want to speak to Bessie, but she promised to deliver the message.
Today, I would remain in my kitchen and cook. No dashing among the rookeries after villains, no breaking my heart over those London swallowed. I let my thoughts be absorbed in each dish, shutting out the horrors of the world by focusing on my tasks of cookery.
Miss Townsend had called me an artist. I supposed I was, painting with raspberry puree and lemon curd, sculpting with dough and marzipan.
And what the devil had become of Miss Townsend? I was growing quite concerned.
I decided that afternoon to teach Tess how to make tarts called maids of honor. I had prepared a puff pastry dough in the morning, a long hour of rolling and folding, placing butter between the folds, rolling again.
Tess and I cut the finished dough to fill small tart pans, and I added a good helping of raspberry jam to each. We filled the rest with a mixture of butter, almond flour, and curd cheese, with a dusting of mace. More tart dough covered the tops, and in they went to the oven, fueled by Charlie.
Thinking of the children yesterday, I gave the boy an impulsive hug, promising he’d always have a home here. Charlie gave me the puckered frown of a ten-year-old not understanding what an adult was on about, but tolerated the hug. He knew I did daft things from time to time.
Tess ran a finger through the empty filling bowl, scooping up the remnants of cheesy custard and popping them into her mouth. I pretended I didn’t see her but assigned her the washing up, as Elsie was out.
I kept several of the tarts back for us when I sent up the evening meal. Elsie returned after the February night had fallen, and I lit the lamps.
“She wants to see you, Mrs. Holloway,” Elsie said as she tied on her apron to make a start on the supper dishes. “Bessie,
I mean. She’s worried about something but wouldn’t talk to me.”
“Thank you,” I said to Elsie. “I will arrange something. Any more word on the children?”
“No.” Elsie pumped water into a tub and carried it to the stove to heat. “But no one seems alarmed. It’s very strange.”
“It is indeed.”
I would simply have to speak to Bessie, and soon, though I could invent only so many excuses for wandering about London. I pondered what to do the brief time I lay in bed before I fell into deep slumber, and the next morning, I decided to recruit help.
Mrs. Bywater had sent down instructions with Mrs. Redfern that I was to prepare a special tea for her gathering of female friends this afternoon. Mrs. Bywater had enjoyed the maids of honor at supper last night, and wanted more of those, plus petits fours, scones, sandwiches, and the like. It was a long list. I’d be preparing the feast all day.
I dropped word with Sara, the upstairs maid, to ask Lady Cynthia to step down to the kitchen whenever she had a moment. Not a quarter of an hour later, Cynthia strode into the kitchen in all eagerness.
“What is it, Mrs. H.?” she asked. “Thanos told me all sorts, and so did McAdam when he stopped at the pub on Bedford Square yesterday.” The pub had an upstairs room where writers and scholars, many of whom studied at the nearby British Museum and library, gathered to talk about art, history, poetry, and novels. Bluestockings were welcome, and Cynthia could meet Mr. Thanos there without courting scandal.
“I wondered if you’d be willing to go to the Foundling Hospital today,” I said as I continued rolling my new batch of puff pastry for the maids of honor. “Bessie wishes to speak to me—I thought perhaps you could bring her back here. Oh, and a housekeeper called Mrs. Shaw. She might know things without realizing.”
“Right ho.” Cynthia grinned. “I’ll dress up and play Lady Bountiful. Maybe take Thanos with me to lend credence. Perhaps the matrons will believe we want to reward the two ladies for services to the Hospital.”
“Don’t embellish too much.” I patted more butter into the dough and carefully folded it. “Let Bessie know she’s coming to see me, and she’ll likely find a way to leave. She’s clever.”
Cynthia’s eyes twinkled. “Never worry, Mrs. H. I’ll be a model of discretion.”
“You are kind to do this,” I said with sincerity. “I would not ask if there was another way.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m interested in this too, and happy to help.”
Before she could race away, I asked her, “Do you know what’s become of Miss Townsend?”
Cynthia’s cheerful mood evaporated. “No, indeed. We’re growing rather worried. She usually sends word.”
I hoped, I sincerely hoped, she’d not come to harm because of her assistance to us. Miss Townsend was a resourceful young woman, but danger did not always care. Nurse Betts had been resourceful as well.
“Let us keep a lookout for her,” I said.
Cynthia gave me a nod and skimmed out as quickly as she’d come in.
Tess and I continued preparations for the tea. To keep myself from fretting during the wait, I mixed and baked a large cake and covered it with buttercream and glacé fruit. It was a complicated endeavor, and the hours passed quickly. By the time I sent up all the tea things, arranged daintily on porcelain plates, Cynthia returned.
Behind her came Bessie, a scowl on her face, and Mrs. Shaw. I saw Mr. Thanos’s boots above, but he disappeared from view.
“Thanos was invited in to the ladies’ tea,” Cynthia said, an impish look on her face. “Auntie is taken with him now that he has a sponsor. I suppose I’d better go up and make certain he isn’t overwhelmed by Auntie’s dithering friends.”
Cynthia looked very pretty this afternoon in a tea gown of deep blue trimmed with pink. She’d put a fur cape over this for her trip to the Foundling Hospital, and looked every inch the Lady Bountiful she’d purported to be.
Mrs. Shaw and Bessie both greeted Elsie warmly, but Mrs. Shaw did not look best pleased to learn we were to have our tea below stairs. “I thought when her ladyship invited us out, we’d be sitting upstairs in the parlor. Not shunted off to the servants’ hall.”
“It’s nice here,” Bessie told her defiantly. “Warm. Cozy even.”
I gave Bessie a grateful nod. “Thank you both for coming. I do have a nice meal ready for us.”
I’d made extra plates of the scones and sandwiches, tarts and petits fours. While I’d sent the whole cake upstairs to sit on the sideboard, I’d used part of the cake batter and buttercream to make miniature versions, each with a slice of glazed fruit on top.
I carried the tray into the servants’ hall, and Tess, told beforehand what I was about, agreed to serve us. She dived too much into the role, however, asking in what she thought was a posh voice, if I, “moodam,” wanted more sugar in my tea.
Once Mrs. Shaw, softened by the beautiful treats before her, began to tuck in, Tess went quiet. She would not leave the room, too interested in the problem at hand, but she did close the door, shutting us in, as I’d instructed.
“Now then, Bessie,” I said. “Can you tell me what has been worrying you?”
Bessie cast an uncertain glance at Mrs. Shaw, then shrugged. “Don’t matter if I get the sack. I’m right sick of a place that loses children. What’s worrying me is her.”
She pointed a finger, dusted with icing sugar, at Mrs. Shaw.
Mrs. Shaw coughed. She gulped down the large bite of tart and quickly wiped jam from her mouth.
“What do you mean, girl?” Mrs. Shaw demanded. “I came with you today to keep an eye on you. With your young man banged up, you’re not to be trusted.”
I raised my hands to restore peace. “Please. Let us discuss things calmly. Bessie, what do you mean? No, Mrs. Shaw—let her speak.”
Mrs. Shaw went quite red but subsided at my stern look.
Bessie scowled. “She knows where those kids have gone, I’m sure. I heard her a-whispering with another maid, and I think she said she’d nab some more.”
“I did no such thing!” Mrs. Shaw gaped in shock. “You are a wicked, wicked young woman.”
She raised her hand as though to deliver Bessie a blow, and I caught it. Tess darted forward and rescued the three-tiered serving tray before it was knocked to the floor.
“Mrs. Shaw.” I cut through her rage. “I think you had better tell me. All of it. You know the governor who is doing this, don’t you? And you know exactly where he is taking the children.”
24
In fact, I knew no such thing. I was guessing.
Mrs. Compton had told me that Mrs. Shaw was “sweet” on one of the governors, who would be far above her in station. Not that misalliances did not happen, but I doubted a governor of the Foundling Hospital, who would be a rather lofty gentleman, would risk a dalliance with a housekeeper.
But if Mrs. Shaw had been seen conversing with the governor, glancing about furtively, her actions might be taken as a woman who was having, or wanted to have, an affaire de coeur. They could also be the actions of a woman colluding with one of the governors to remove the children in order to ask for more funding, as Mr. Thanos said had been done.
Mrs. Shaw drew a sharp breath. “I were only looking out for the Hospital. No one wants the poor creatures, but it costs so much to care for them. If pretending they’re fostered out or adopted away by kind people makes the crown or private donors give us more money, where’s the harm?”
She spoke in all sincerity and innocence. Perhaps she was innocent. Perhaps the governor presented it to her as a scheme to provide more for the children—Mrs. Shaw did seem to like them. I remembered how kind she’d been to Grace, but I now shivered.
“Where’s the ’arm?” Bessie demanded in a near shout. “Ye get poor tykes kidnapped and put God knows where, and you say where’s the ’arm? They trust ya�
��they ain’t got no choice. And ye spirits them away. Where to, eh?”
“A good question,” I said severely. “Let us have it, Mrs. Shaw. Who did you give the children to, and how can we find them?”
Mrs. Shaw gazed at our unyielding faces. Tess had set down the tray, but she remained solidly by me, no mercy in her.
“What are you all imagining?” Mrs. Shaw asked in astonishment. “I’d never hurt our lads and lasses, not a hair on their heads.”
“Then where are they?” Bessie asked before I could.
“In the country.” Mrs. Shaw’s defiance began to turn to nervousness. “There’s a nice big farm where some of the boys and girls are apprenticed. They’re there, enjoying the outdoors and not being cooped up in the Hospital.”
“It’s a bit cold this time of year,” I said. “Like as not, they’re working hard, and in the rain.”
“No, no.” Mrs. Shaw gave me a pleading look. “He said it was all for the best.”
“Who did?” I leaned to her. “Which of the governors has wrapped you around his finger? Or are all of them in on it?”
Mrs. Shaw stared at me a long moment, then she dissolved into sudden tears. “You’re wrong. He’s a kind man. Only wants more money for the Hospital, for more teachers and warm blankets.”
“No, he is skimming the extra money for his own use,” I said in a hard voice. “I have seen the account books.” I hadn’t understood a line of the account books, in truth, but I trusted Mr. Thanos.
Mrs. Shaw looked up in stunned disbelief. “What you mean? Not His Grace. He’d never do that.”
My hands tightened to fists, my patience at an end. “A duke has done this? Which?” Several were on the board, Mr. Fielding had said. In theory, great men and generous benefactors.
“Duke?” Mrs. Shaw looked confused again. “No, I mean Bishop Exley. He’s a kindly gentleman. Said it was the only way to convince others to pay more attention to the Hospital.”
“Bishop Exley?” I remembered the gray-haired gentleman with spectacles balanced on his nose who had been with Lord Russell the day we’d fetched the ledgers. He’d seemed puzzled and confused by our accusations, but of course he’d pretend to be so. He’d not stopped Daniel taking away the ledgers, but he couldn’t very well prevent him without arousing our suspicions. Exley must have believed we’d never decipher them, but he did not know Mr. Thanos, a genius with numbers.
Murder in the East End Page 23