Murder in the East End

by Jennifer Ashley

  “Think, Mrs. Shaw,” I said. “If he wants good for the children, why take only you into his confidence? Why worry everyone else? Wouldn’t it be better that no one reported the children missing? Which is what happened.”

  Tears trickled down Mrs. Shaw’s cheeks and dropped into the pastry cream on her plate. “He said it would be best no one knew. So he could provide without glorifying himself.”

  “Mrs. Shaw.” I rose, unable to keep still. “Nurse Betts died because she was looking for those children. She searched in the wrong place, alarmed the wrong people, ran the wrong direction. She’d have remained safely at home and be all right if you had simply told her the truth.”

  “Oh, my good God.” Mrs. Shaw also climbed to her feet, but very slowly, as though pulled up by invisible strings. “That can’t be right.”

  “It can. You were proud that this man confided in you, weren’t you? You alone. And you never smelled a rat.” I clenched my fists, understanding how Mr. Fielding had felt in the room at Scotland Yard, wishing he could strike down Luke. “How did you get the children out?”

  Mrs. Shaw began to shake. “I packed up their things and woke ’em early. Took them out through the church gate to a hired coach. And off they went.”

  “And where is this farm?” I asked. “We had better discover whether they are truly there.”

  At last Mrs. Shaw began to see the enormity of it. She fell to her seat, rocking back and forth. “I didn’t mean . . . I thought . . . I’m sorry . . .” Her weeping increased, threatening to become hysteria.

  I swiftly exited the room, making my way to Mr. Davis’s pantry, to which I had the keys. I poured out a glass of brandy and carried it hastily back to the servants’ hall.

  My legs were trembling with both relief and more anxiety. If Mrs. Shaw was right, then the children hadn’t been taken by procurers after all. Perhaps they were safe. But I would make certain of it.

  I made Mrs. Shaw drink the brandy, which quieted her. I gave it to her not out of compassion, but so she wouldn’t bring the maids, footmen, Mrs. Redfern, or Mr. Davis down to inquire what was the matter.

  It did bring Elsie, and I regarded her calmly. “Elsie, will you accompany Mrs. Shaw back to the Foundling Hospital? You will find James there—tell him to run for Mr. McAdam. And Bessie, will you please find out where this farm is, if Mrs. Shaw does not know?”

  Mrs. Shaw continued to weep. She’d been the perfect dupe.

  “I’ll just finish me scone and all this clotted cream,” Bessie said, lifting the half-eaten thing to shove into her mouth. “Haven’t had a treat like this in . . . ooh, never have, I don’t think.”

  “I will wrap up the rest for you,” I said, feeling generous toward the young woman. “Thank you, Bessie. You have been of enormous help.”

  * * *

  * * *

  I sent Mrs. Shaw, Bessie, and Elsie—and a basket packed with tarts, scones, and cakes—off in a hansom to the Foundling Hospital. I knew Elsie would fetch James, who would fetch Daniel, who would be willing to run to the ends of the earth to discover the truth.

  “Well,” Tess said as she helped me clear up. “What a silly old fool.”

  I had to agree. “I daresay this man knew exactly how to flatter Mrs. Shaw. I only hope she hasn’t caused more harm with her thoughtlessness. Poor Nurse Betts.”

  “Why’d Miss Betts run to Whitechapel?” Tess carried plates to the sink, beginning to wash up without being asked. “Why not run back to the Foundling Hospital?”

  “She was looking for Mr. Fielding,” I said, knowing in my heart I was right. “But she wasn’t certain of the direction of his church. She wanted to tell him what she’d found, and that she’d feared the children had been sold to the bawdy house. She and Mr. Fielding had become friends, perhaps more than that, and he was one of the governors himself. He’d know what to do.”

  My heart ached for her and Mr. Fielding both. The lady might have been good for him, softening what was hard in him. I wondered if Mr. Fielding would ever let himself care so much again.

  As I began to take out pots to begin the next meal, Mr. Davis arrived. “They’re asking for you above stairs,” he said. “You are much in demand, Mrs. H.” He said it good-naturedly, and not in surprise.

  I sighed and untied my apron. “Nothing for it, I suppose.”

  I walked upstairs with Mr. Davis, who returned to supervise the serving, steeling myself to face a crowd. At least Cynthia and Mr. Thanos would be there, and I could take comfort in their presence through the scrutiny.

  When Mr. Davis opened the drawing room door, I stopped in astonishment. Miss Townsend sat resplendent near the window, given the best chair in the room.

  She rose gracefully. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Holloway. Once again, I bow to your prowess. You do have a divine cook, Mrs. Bywater.”

  Mrs. Bywater, flattered, simpered. “She does well. Follows instructions quite nicely.”

  I held my tongue and curtsied, as was polite, but my knees had gone weak in relief at the sight of Miss Townsend. I’d feared the worst for her, worried she’d gone to investigate as Nurse Betts had done and come to the same fate.

  “She’s been painting like fury,” Cynthia said, with an admonishing look at her. “Never letting her friends know she’d shut herself up, living on bread and water, working away like a demon.”

  Miss Townsend gave me her beautiful smile. “I forget the passing days when I paint. Bread and water is a bit of exaggeration though, Cynthia. I do take a moment for a cup of tea.”

  Mrs. Bywater’s friends laughed, finding Miss Townsend incredibly witty. Cynthia joined them.

  Mr. Thanos, who’d risen politely at my entrance, gave me a nod. “It really is a splendid tea, Mrs. Holloway. You have outdone yourself.”

  I gave him another curtsy, pleased. “Only a bit of plain cooking, sir. As I do every day.”

  Mr. Thanos began a protest, but I managed to retreat. No one had offered me a coin this time either, but today, I really didn’t mind.

  * * *

  * * *

  The next morning was my full day out, and I rose early, anxious to begin it. I hadn’t heard a word from Daniel, but Elsie, upon her return last night, assured me that she’d given the message to James to find him.

  When Bessie, in Elsie’s hearing, had demanded Mrs. Shaw make inquiries about the location of the farm, James had declared before that lady could answer—“Oh, I know where it is,” and raced away, presumably in search of Daniel

  I had no doubt James knew exactly where the farm lay, though he might not have understood the significance of this knowledge. He was good at ferreting out things with no one being the wiser, which was precisely why Daniel had put him in place at the Hospital. I hadn’t approved, fearing danger to James, but I had to admit Daniel had been wise to let him nose about.

  Tess and I prepared breakfast, and then I changed my frock, putting on my brown dress and hat I’d managed to repair. I wanted to look my best for Grace. Today would be hers.

  When I reached the top of the outside stairs, I found Daniel, in his working clothes, lounging against the railing. His face lit with his smile when he saw me.

  “I’ve come to steal you away, Kat. A jaunt to Shadwell, and then I’ll take you to Grace. I thought you’d like to look in on the children Errol took in.”

  I did wish to, and had planned to later this afternoon. But Daniel had provided a coach once more, as I found when he walked me around the corner to South Audley Street, the faithful Lewis to drive it. I decided not to turn down the opportunity for a comfortable ride.

  Daniel handed me in and sat beside me as the carriage bumped slowly through traffic toward Oxford Street.

  “I found them, Kat,” he said.

  I exhaled. “I hadn’t wanted to ask. Too afraid of the answer.”

  “James knew exactly where the farm la
y—I have not asked him how he found out, because I’m certain it’s best not to know. I rounded up several men from the board, including Bishop Exley, and off we went. They were reluctant at first, but Lord Russell is horrified by this affair and insisted. All five children are safe and sound. The farm is a place—one of several—where they take babies who are gravely ill when their mothers leave them at the Hospital’s gates. They are fostered there until they can be nursed back to health. It’s a safe place, and would not be suspicious if the older children were found there. Two of the children couldn’t wait to return to London, but the other three begged to be allowed to stay at the farm. They enjoyed working with the animals and having fresh air, as cold as it was.” Daniel put his hand on mine. “So . . . All’s well that ends well.”

  “What about Bishop Exley?” I asked, my heart warm with relief. “He instigated this plot. I hope it won’t end well for him.”

  “Lord Russell has raked him over the coals already. Exley will have to give over the amount he managed to gain from rather gullible donors and be reprimanded and shamed. If he has already spent the money on luxuries for himself—well, that is his misfortune. He’ll have to come up with the sum in any case. He’s clergy, and has connections in the aristocracy, so he might not be arrested and prosecuted for fraud, but he’ll never be trusted again. And he’ll be retired from running a parish, Lord Russell vows, as well as dismissed from the Foundling Hospital board.”

  “A pity.” I frowned. “It seems too easy for him. He ought to answer for Nurse Betts’s death. As should Luke.”

  “I made certain Exley knew what happened to her and why. He was guilt-stricken, I am happy to say, and I hope it haunts him. Inspector McGregor was not kind to him, but as I say, an arrest won’t stick. Though he’ll be watched.”

  I sank back. “I am glad the children are all right. More than glad. I was sick at heart for them.” I closed my eyes, basking in the realization that all was truly well. When the coach rounded the corner and started for High Holborn, I opened my eyes again. “Miss Townsend is safe too, I am pleased to relate.”

  “Yes, Thanos told me. I brought him in to explain to Lord Russell and McGregor about the swindle. Thanos said Miss Townsend had returned home and he is eager to see what she’s painted. He also went on and on about the tea he’d been invited to yesterday with Mrs. Bywater. He’s quite taken with your cooking.”

  “Hardly surprising. The poor man does not eat well.” I slid my hand from Daniel’s. Hardly proper for him to hold it.

  “There is more,” Daniel went on. “Inspector McGregor’s faith in the police of Bethnal Green was not misplaced. They did find the men who struck the blows that killed Nurse Betts. They’re well known in the area as great brutes, and McGregor made certain they were taken in. Those arrests will certainly stick.”

  I sat up. “I am glad. Though it won’t help Nurse Betts. Or your brother.”

  “Justice will be meted,” Daniel said, going quiet. “According to the men brought in, Naismith knew exactly who Nurse Betts was—that is, he knew she was connected with Errol, and dear to him. Which means he knows who Errol is and his connection with Carter.”

  “Oh.” I went cold. Mr. Naismith, Daniel had told me before, had wanted to murder everyone connected with Mr. Carter. He’d not realized, apparently, that Daniel had survived, or even who Daniel was. But if he’d discovered Mr. Fielding’s identity, he might know about Daniel.

  “Exactly,” Daniel said grimly. “He was sending a message to Errol, a warning. Not that my brother will heed that warning.”

  “Do you think Mr. Naismith knows who you are?”

  Daniel rubbed his forehead. “I have no idea, Kat. I’ve tried to evade him for years, at first fearing he’d recognize me as one of Carter’s associates, and then wanting to remain in the shadows while I plotted my revenge.” He let out a breath. “That may be all for nothing now.”

  “Have a care, please.” I reached for his hand again, propriety vanishing with my worry. “I would not like this dangerous man to decide to come after you.”

  “Nor would I.” Daniel squeezed my fingers. “Or send me a message by harming you. Promise me you’ll stay indoors as much as you can, Kat.”

  “I can hardly bring home the comestibles I need by hiding in my kitchen. Nor will I give up my days out with Grace.”

  “True, but you can send someone for ingredients or take along a burly footman to protect you when you go to the market. Likewise you can remain at the Millburns the entirety of your day and half out. It’s cold these days. I’m certain it’s cozy.”

  I gave him a disparaging look. “The simple solution is to tell Inspector McGregor what a bad man Mr. Naismith is, and have him arrested.”

  “I have told him. McGregor is eager to go after him, but it is not easy. There must be evidence that he ordered Nurse Betts to be killed, not simply a thug’s word.” Daniel gave me a quiet nod. “But McGregor is thorough. He will push for the harshest conviction for her killers. Naismith will receive the message that he is not untouchable.”

  “Good.” I was not bloodthirsty by nature, but Nurse Betts had been innocent, a good woman.

  We lapsed into silence as the coach made its slow way through the City and out to Whitechapel and then Shadwell. Bells were chiming the hour when we arrived at All Saints, sweet and clear, out of place in the darkness of the slums.

  The first thing we heard upon knocking at the vicarage door was Mr. Fielding’s housekeeper, Mrs. Hodder, shouting. The door was wrenched open, but instead of the housekeeper, the tall young man, the oldest of the children rescued from the bawdy house, glared out at us.

  “Yeah? What you want?” His belligerence subsided when he realized who we were. “Oh. You again.”

  “Devil take it.” Mr. Fielding’s growl sounded behind him. The boy rolled his eyes but moved off, and Mr. Fielding appeared in his place. “Ah. It’s you,” he echoed the lad. “You’d better come in.”

  Mr. Fielding was in shirtsleeves, and his collar hung by one button on the back of his neck. “Go after that little wretch Michael,” he called to the retreating youth. “He’s nearly up the chimney again.”

  The young man made an exasperated noise and dived into the dining room.

  Mr. Fielding led us into a sitting room, now littered with piles of clothes, blankets, and pillows. He moved a stack of blankets from a chair and waved me to it.

  “I’m going through the poor boxes to salvage clothing for the tykes. And extra bedding. I have rooms enough for them, yes, but not sheets.” Mr. Fielding’s hair was mussed, his look distracted. “I cannot imagine why men long for fatherhood. They have to be mad.”

  “They have wives and servants to look after the children,” I informed him, “and so aren’t bothered by them. I quite admire you for taking them in.”

  “Of course you do. I was trying to be admirable.” Mr. Fielding softened his tone. “And the devil I’d let them go to a workhouse.”

  While he was harried, I could see Mr. Fielding was less grief-stricken, more pulled into the present than lingering in the past. Nurse Betts, I imagined, would approve.

  Daniel moved another box and took a seat. Mrs. Hodder appeared, eyes wide, but Mr. Fielding waved her off. “We don’t require refreshment,” Mr. Fielding told her. “I have put upon you enough as it is.”

  She apparently agreed, as she moved out of sight with barely a nod.

  “She’ll give notice with all this chaos,” Mr. Fielding said mournfully. “She’s a wonderful housekeeper, but I have asked too much, I think.”

  “I am pleased to hear the children are lively,” I said. “It means they are not broken.”

  Mr. Fielding sobered. “They are up and down. Like normal children one moment—that is to say, hellions—the next, they take fright and will barely speak. Will be like that for a while, I wager. Their lives will never be the same, but perhaps t
hey won’t be lost entirely.”

  “You managed.” I gestured at the comfortable room. “Here you are.”

  Mr. Fielding sent me a wry look. “Only because I became a ferocious little devil. Fought like hell for everything.” He paused. “But yes, here I am.”

  Daniel waited until we were finished. “We came with news,” he said lightly. “Do you want to hear it?”

  “Don’t be heartless, old cock,” Mr. Fielding said in a hard voice. “Of course I want to hear it.”

  Daniel proceeded to tell him that the foundling children were safe and well, and of the culprit on the board of governors. When he mentioned the name Bishop Exley, Mr. Fielding stared in incredulity, then exploded with laughter.

  “That sanctimonious old weasel. A confidence man, is he?” Mr. Fielding’s laughter ended in a cough. “Well, well. This means a place for a suffragan bishop might be dangling for the taking. Hmm.”

  A suffragan was an assistant, if I remembered aright. “Do you believe you could have a chance at it?” I asked.

  “Of course, dear lady.” Mr. Fielding gave me a sly wink. “Where do you think Exley’s demesne lay?” He spread his hands. “The East End.”

  He chuckled again, then caught sight of Daniel’s quiet eye on him, and his laughter died. “You have more to say.”

  Daniel nodded and related the tale of McGregor arresting the villains who’d killed Nurse Betts. Mr. Fielding listened stoically, and when Daniel finished, he collapsed back into his chair.

  “Damn the bastards,” he muttered. “Damn them straight to hell. If they’re not hanged until they’re black in the face, I hope every evil man they’re banged up with tears them apart. If they don’t, I will.”