Chapter 18
My mouth popped open for a brief moment before cold shock washed through me.
I’d expected this to be one of the men Mr. Patterson had mentioned—Mr. Draper, perhaps, who’d grown sleek and wealthy from running gaming rooms. Though this man seemed too old for lads who might have been ten or so thirty years ago, a life of dissipation and survival in the East End could leave its mark.
Mr. Naismith. The man Daniel and Mr. Fielding were simultaneously wary of and enraged at. The man who’d murdered Mr. Carter, or at least caused the man’s death and burned his home.
My legs were a bit wobbly, but I refused to shrink away, even as I struggled to breathe.
“I see,” I managed.
Mr. Naismith peered down at me as though he understood more about me than I wished him to. “I truly do want to speak to you, but I have no intention of leaving this coach.”
“Probably wise, as you are far off your patch.” My tart words tumbled out, fear preventing me from guarding my tongue. “I must tell you, sir, that I am acquainted with many policemen, and even call some of them friend.”
Mr. Naismith dismissed this with a wave of his hand. “Tell them anything you like. They already know much about me.”
His voice wasn’t cultured, but it also did not hold the deep accent of the East End or Cockney London, where people could talk to one another without any outsiders understanding a word.
Probably, like me, he’d learned to alter his speech, so as to not betray his origins. Those who heard him would know he wasn’t exactly one of them but wouldn’t know where he came from unless he wished them to.
The confidence with which Naismith spoke about the police knowing of his activities was chilling. He didn’t care, didn’t believe he could be touched. The fact that he was still alive and obviously prosperous made his belief true, at least thus far.
I could turn and march down the stairs, claiming I had no interest in anything he’d impart, but my curiosity would not let me. If he’d come all the way into Mayfair, there must be a reason. I’d forever wonder if I didn’t inquire.
“What do you wish to say to me, Mr. Naismith?” I asked, trying to sound calm.
“That McAdam and Fielding are stumbling into a mire, but they have it wrong. It’s nothing of my doing.”
I forced my expression not to change. “Why are you pleading your innocence with me?”
Did I see a faint smile on his lips? “McAdam listens to you, as does the so-called vicar. I am not one who believes a person a dullard because she is female. Everyone is foolish or wise, sharp or dull-witted, irrespective of their sex. I had nothing to do with the murder in Blackfriars or the enterprise the dead man, McAdam, and Grimes have stumbled over. What I want is for them to stop it.”
I blinked as I took in the information. “What enterprise? Who did kill Mr. Banks?”
Mr. Naismith shook his head ever so slightly.
“The murderer could have been anyone. I do know that Banks was involved in a ring who think they can operate on my patch with impunity. That I’m too old to stop them.
” The hint of smile came again, but soon died.
“The trouble is, the ring reaches close to home, and I don’t know who I can trust. McAdam needs to shut it down. ”
“You are asking me to tell Daniel to help you?” I demanded in amazement. “I doubt very much he will feel any loyalty to you, sir. Not after what happened to Mr. Carter.”
“An event I was not involved in. Carter was a deadly enemy, yes. McAdam doesn’t understand how deadly.”
“You never denied having him killed.” I do not know where this bravery came from, but I made myself continue. “You could have told Daniel the truth long ago.”
The opera cloak twitched as Naismith shrugged. “The clearing out of a rival villain was to my advantage, and the evidence pointing to me only enhanced my reputation. I can’t help that McAdam is stubbornly imperceptive.”
I was not ready to simply believe him. A man did not become a leader in the East End by being angelically truthful.
“I will of course tell Mr. McAdam you paid me a visit,” I said coldly. “I imagine he will not be happy about it. But I cannot promise he will fly to aid you or give credit to anything you say.”
Another shrug. “That will be to his misfortune. If he wants my information, he has leave to come to me, without any danger. He is treading deep waters, with people who will kill him as soon as look at him. That goes for his friends Fielding and Grimes, and you and anyone you are attached to.”
The fiery rage that shot through me held no fear. I advanced on the carriage, making the thin manservant step forward to prevent me.
“Any threats to those I care for will be met fiercely, you can be certain,” I declared.
Mr. Naismith gestured his man to withdraw. “The threat does not come from me. I do not hurt innocent children, or Mayfair ladies, or harmless scholars. Or cooks.” He added the last with the frightening twitch of lips.
But he knew all about them, and all about me.
Now I wanted Grace off in Basingstoke, far, far from this man and the other enemies he’d mentioned. I wanted to rush to Clover Lane, pack her bags, and shove her, Joanna, Sam, and family onto the train at once.
“Please go,” I said stiffly. “A constable walks this beat, and the police don’t take kindly to intruders in these streets.”
“A vast number of people, from those who mean harm to those who intend to do good, pass through these streets every day.” Mr. Naismith gave me a nod, then flicked his fingers at the manservant, who slammed the door. “Good night, Mrs. Holloway.”
I did not return the farewell.
I stood numbly as the carriage rumbled away along Mount Street toward Berkeley Square, the manservant scrambling onto the back of the coach as it passed him.
Cold wind buffeted me and swung my empty basket, but I could not move.
The man Daniel had been warning me against almost since I’d met him had discovered everything about me, including where I lived and about my daughter.
I felt sick and enraged, helpless but wanting to chase after the carriage and finish off Mr. Naismith with a large rock.
I doubted committing murder would help. I’d be hanged, and whoever was second-in-command in Naismith’s gang would simply take over.
Perhaps this was what Naismith feared—that the ones poised to step into his shoes when he was gone were trying to hasten that day.
I stood on the cold, dark, empty street, for how long I did not know, before I woodenly turned and took myself back into the house.
* * *
I lay awake long into the night, ruminating on what Mr. Naismith had told me. He’d terrified me with his hints about my daughter and my friends, because I knew if he decided to strike, I could never stop him.
Tears leaked from my eyes in the freezing darkness before my usual resolve dried them. I would not let him win.
My tiring day sent my body to sleep, though my mind was still spinning, and I woke rather groggily early in the morning.
Downstairs, I began preparations by rote, happy that I had so much experience cooking that I could do it while my mind was elsewhere. Or almost. Tess had to stop me adding so much butter into the flour for scones that they’d be a greasy mess.
I needed to speak to Daniel. I knew the minute I told him about Mr. Naismith’s visit, he’d do something extremely foolish, like rush after the man and try to pound some respect into him. Again, this might only result in his arrest but not stop Mr. Naismith or his gang.
It was infuriating.
Daniel would also want me to have nothing to do with discovering who had killed Mr. Banks, but I still wanted justice for the man. He’d endangered himself for queen and country, had been given a medal for his troubles, and, according to all, had been a mild-mannered and kindhearted man.
I was certain now that Mr. Banks had sought out Daniel because he thought he could do Daniel a good turn. Mr. Naismith had said Mr. Banks was involved in something spurious, but I wasn’t about to believe Mr. Naismith unwittingly.
I had other reasons to speak to Daniel, but I had no scheduled deliveries today, nor did the dratted man invent a reason to visit the house. When I had a free moment, I went upstairs to see if James lurked, but he’d made himself scarce as well.
I took out my frustration on the bread dough, kneading it in a quick frenzy. I wisely gave Tess the scones to finish, because overhandling that dough would ruin them. Yeasty breads were more robust.
When Lady Cynthia came down the back stairs and into the kitchen, searching for a tidbit, I nearly fell upon her.
“Good heavens, Mrs. H., whatever is the matter?” Cynthia asked as I rushed to her. “Are those fresh-baked scones I smell? Couldn’t see your way to tossing me one, could you, Tess?”
She’d dressed in her trousers and coat today, which meant she’d be visiting her friends, Miss Townsend and her friend Lady Roberta, referred to as Bobby, not Mr. Thanos at the Polytechnic.
I dashed back to the oven, snatched a scone from the tray the startled Tess had set on top of the stove, and hastened with it back to Cynthia. I grabbed a napkin from the table as I passed it, so Cynthia wouldn’t burn her fingers—I never felt the heat.
“Cynthia, would you, or Miss Townsend, or Lady Roberta, please take a message to Daniel, at both of his abodes, that I need to speak to him? I doubt I’ll be able to get away long enough to hunt him up. Also to Mr. Fielding, if you can.”
Cynthia’s eyes widened, not only at my request but because I’d left the Lady from her name. That delighted her, I could see, but this was not the moment for discussing her egalitarianism.
“If you’d like,” Cynthia said. “Clearly something is the matter.”
“Everything is the matter, but I can’t explain now. Please. And do take care when you are out. Use a hansom, and do not descend anywhere but Miss Townsend’s front door. Her footmen can run with the messages.”
“Gracious.” Cynthia looked me up and down. “Well, I am agog with curiosity, but I’ll do as you ask. I will make you tell me later.” She took a bite of the scone, briefly closing her eyes to savor it. “I say, this is wonderful. You’ve outdone yourself.”
“Tess put them together,” I said. “The praise is hers. Wait a moment.” I seized a small basket, hurried back to the stove, wrapped six more of the scones in a towel, and carried them to Cynthia. “Take these to your friends. I’ll make more.”
Tess watched in bewilderment, but Cynthia grinned. “You do know how to raise the morale of your troops. Fear not, Mrs. H. We will have McAdam and Fielding informed as swiftly as possible.”
“Thank you.”
Cynthia saluted me with the rest of her scone and skimmed out, the basket firmly on her arm.
“Forgive me, Tess,” I said once Cynthia was gone. “I am most agitated.”
“Anything I can do?” Tess asked, watching me carefully.
“Perhaps.” I’d been contemplating many different avenues since Mr. Naismith had stopped by for his chat. “Can you ask Constable Greene—discreetly, of course—what has happened with the murder of Mr. Banks? And also what is known at Scotland Yard about an East End villain called Naismith?”
Tess’s eyes widened. “Naismith? Even I heard o’ him. You don’t want no truck with him or any of his lads.”
“I might not have a choice, and I still wish to know. No need to rush off to find him—asking him on Sunday will be good enough.”
“Caleb says the police have been at sixes and sevens lately.” Tess returned to the table and began measuring out more flour for another batch of scones.
“He won’t tell me everything, but they’ve been uneasy since the dynamite went off right under their noses.
If not for you and McAdam, things would have been much worse, and they know it.
Then McAdam leaves the Yard, when they need him and his clever brain.
There’s been a lot of arguing in the halls, Caleb says. ”
If they’d treated Daniel better, he’d have happily stayed, I thought with derision. Served them right.
I wondered if more was going on than Caleb knew, or at least would tell Tess.
Daniel had pretty much put Mr. Monaghan in his place before he left them, and I wondered if there would be a shuffling of leaders in departments.
Had Sergeant Scott’s inspector truly taken leave or was Sergeant Scott being put in his place?
And if the police were at odds with themselves, how could they help with a man like Naismith?
“Whatever Caleb can tell me, without risking his post, will be welcome,” I concluded.
“I’ll ask him,” Tess promised.
I left her alone then, so she could get on with making more scones.
As always, I could only put things in motion and then wait for them to bear fruit. I wished I could be a more patient cultivator, but alas, it was not in my nature.
* * *
Cynthia and her friends—or Miss Townsend’s footmen—must have rallied, because late that night, Daniel turned up.
I’d waited for him, making certain Mr. Davis went to bed this time, and I was quite alone by the time he arrived. When the soft knock came at the back door, I was across the floor to open it before I’d drawn two breaths.
“What is it?” Daniel took in my agitation, his bright greeting dying on his lips.
For answer, I closed and bolted the door, then led him to the table, my hand shaking as I dispensed tea I’d already brewed.
“Please sit,” I told him.
Daniel did so, but watched me with misgivings. “Errol and I found Draper,” he said as he took his seat. “Are you going to scold me for that, or would you like to know what we discovered?”