Chapter 22
I seized Albie by the shoulder and pulled him inside, shutting out the cold night. He did not resist, his eyes round in his small face.
“Are you certain?” I knew Albie must be, but I couldn’t stop the question.
Albie nodded as I released him. “Had it from Pete, who’s me best mate.
He’s not bright, is Pete, but honest. He described exactly what happened—two blokes came to either side of McAdam and half dragged, half pushed him to a fine carriage.
Pete knew exactly whose carriage it was.
He hid in the hedge and watched. McAdam climbed in, the carriage sat for a time, then it pulled off. ”
“Does he know where it went?”
Another nod. “Pete rounded up some other chaps and they followed it all the way north, to Islington, they said. Place called Barnsbury Square. Some big houses there. Constables patrolling, though, so most of the lads ran for it.”
I was not familiar with Barnsbury Square, but I’d heard of it, an affluent corner of Islington favored by writers, poets, and the respectable middle class.
I wondered if Mr. Naismith had taken an abode in the innocuous part of town to avoid the attentions both of the police and of the criminal gangs that swarmed the East End. Those in Barnsbury Square were well-to-do, but not in the ostentatious way of those who could afford a mansion in Park Lane.
“Mr. Naismith took Daniel there?” I asked.
“Looks like it, missus. I’m sorry. He might never come out again.”
Albie’s dire predictions were not helping the cold fears racing through me.
Mr. Naismith had told me he wanted Daniel’s help, had instructed me to send Daniel to him. I wondered if Daniel had decided to beard the lion in its den and either arrange to meet him in Victoria Park or wander about there until Naismith sent his ruffians to grab him.
I doubted Daniel would let only two men haul him into a carriage and then sit quietly in it while that carriage took him to Naismith’s lair. No, Daniel had gone willingly; I was certain of it.
These thoughts did not entirely calm my fears. Daniel might have gone into the house without coercion, but if he refused to do whatever Mr. Naismith asked, he might be held there until he agreed, or as Albie predicted, not let out at all.
Surely Mr. Naismith would not outright murder Daniel in the midst of a quiet, leafy neighborhood of North London. Would he?
“Albie,” I said swiftly. “Can you take a message to Shadwell? To Mr. Fielding? The vicar of All Saints there?”
“I know who he is,” Albie said with the impatience of youth. “What’cha want me to tell him?”
“What you’ve told me. But not to do a thing until we know what’s what. We must not endanger Daniel more than he already is.”
By Albie’s expression, he did not understand why I wasn’t summoning half of London to go extract Daniel by force, but there were reasons I did not.
First, I needed to give Daniel a chance to work whatever scheme he’d begun, and second, if I and a legion of street toughs descended on the house of Mr. Naismith, the first in that battle to die would surely be Daniel.
Also I was a bit worried about what Daniel might do to Mr. Naismith. It would never do for me to burst in with a rescue party to find him standing over Mr. Naismith’s dead body, knife in hand.
No, I had to go at this carefully.
“Please also send word to Mr. Grimes, if you can run him to ground,” I continued. “But neither he nor Mr. Fielding must act until I’ve a chance to assess the situation.”
Albie still clearly thought I was foolish, but he only nodded again. “Another sixpence?”
“Of course. If your mates can keep an eye on the house, that would be handy. Though they mustn’t endanger themselves, either from Mr. Naismith or the police.”
Albie shrugged. “They know how to look after themselves.”
I did not doubt that. “Thank you, Albie. Stand there, and I’ll bring you a scone.”
“Won’t refuse, missus.”
I scuttled into the kitchen and returned with two scones wrapped in a worn napkin, and then pressed pennies into his hand. “After you send your messages, you go home, keep warm, and sleep. You deserve the rest.”
Albie scoffed at my maternal instructions. “I sleep plenty. Can’t earn a coin when I’m lying abed, can I?”
I did not argue, though I wanted to remind him he was just a child.
I’d never asked about his parents, assuming they were either negligent or too busy working themselves to bother about him. In Albie’s world, he was plenty old enough to work to keep himself fed.
“Off you go, then,” I said.
Albie clutched the scones as though they were treasure and raced back up the stairs.
I shivered as I closed and bolted the door, and not only from cold.
* * *
I reasoned that I could do no good to Daniel if I paced the floor all night, wondering if he was alive, or lying, injured, in Mr. Naismith’s cellar. Daniel might have even concluded his business and hurried off home, soon to be tucked up in his bed in Southampton Street.
If the latter, I would hope that he’d send word, or visit himself, but he did neither. I made myself go to bed, performing my usual rituals for undressing, washing my face, and crawling under the covers.
The night was long, and I wept a little, but I did at last sleep.
In the morning, I was nervous and out of sorts, waiting for word from all those I’d sent messages to through Albie.
I did hope that Albie and his friends kept themselves from harm, though I reasoned that the lads who roamed the streets had learned how to do just that.
Tess helped with breakfast, an eagerness in her this morning. She would walk out with Caleb today and then go to Joanna’s to prepare for my market stall goods.
I wasn’t certain I’d reach the market stall at all tomorrow, but one should always be prepared for whatever contingency.
After Tess donned her coat and hat, I pulled her aside.
“Tess, I’d like you to tell Caleb that I know where Mr. Naismith’s abode is. Or where I think it is,” I amended. He could be using the home of a colleague, or he might have coerced the house’s owners into lending it to him.
Tess’s eyes widened. “Ye know where Naismith lives? Crikey. Tell me, so I’ll stay well away.”
“Barnsbury Square,” I answered. “In Islington. I’m not sure which house, but I’m certain Caleb could discover it. If he wants to move up in CID, this might be good information to present to his guvnors.”
“Except I don’t want my Caleb charging into a house with Naismith and all his nasty criminals in it,” Tess said adamantly. “That would end his life right quick.”
“Good heavens, I do not mean Caleb should rush in and try to arrest him,” I explained. “But he could have a butcher’s, couldn’t he? Organize a team to watch and catch Naismith in the act of something. In any case, I should like the police to know where such a dangerous spider sits.”
“True, be good information for them to have, if they don’t know it already.
I’ll also ask him about what’s happened with the murder, as you asked me to.
I haven’t had a chance to see him afore this.
” Tess buttoned her coat and took up the basket with supplies for her preparations.
“I’ll do as much as I can this afternoon at Mrs. Millburn’s, don’t you worry none. ”
“Thank you, Tess. You are good to me.”
Tess’s worry lessened enough for her to give me a teasing look. “It’s your coins I’m good to. I like the extra cash.”
I laughed, if weakly, and sent her off.
I tried to turn to the daily baking, but after measuring the wrong amount of flour for bread and pouring in sugar in place of salt, I set aside my bowls and sat down to think.
The family had actually gone to chapel today, taking some of the maids and footmen with them, so it was very quiet. I opened my notebooks and went through all we’d learned about Mr. Banks, his connection to Mrs. Kerr, and the one to Mr. Draper and perhaps others who’d been taken in by Mrs. Kerr.
I also went over what Mr. Naismith had told me. What was this “enterprise” Naismith claimed Mr. Banks and Daniel had stumbled into? Something going on in Blackfriars, obviously, which was why I’d sent Albie and his mates to look into it for me.
Mr. Naismith had also said that Daniel could come to him without harm, as long as Daniel shut down this ring, or whatever it was, for him.
He is treading deep waters, with people who will kill him as soon as look at him, Naismith had said.
Did this mean Daniel was safer with Mr. Naismith at the moment? Possibly, for as long as Naismith thought it expedient. Once Daniel did as he asked—if Daniel could—would Mr. Naismith then simply kill him?
All scenarios led to Daniel’s demise, and this had me both numb and so agitated I could do very little in the way of my job.
Fortunately, I kept plenty of leftovers in the larder, so that I could reheat a chop and a panful of vegetables for the family’s lunch when they returned from Grosvenor Chapel.
Only the bread needed to be fresh, but there were rolls leftover from breakfast, and Tess had baked another batch of scones before she’d departed.
I removed my apron and walked down the hall to the butler’s pantry.
“Mr. Davis,” I said after he barked a terse Come to my knock. “I must go out for a time. Will you make certain you or Elsie put the lunch, which is warm on the stove, into the dumbwaiter to go up in time? I will be back as soon as I’m able.”
Mr. Davis, in shirtsleeves, had been decanting wines for the week. He looked up at me from where he bent over his table, his eyes narrowing.
“Has this to do with McAdam?” he asked.
While Mr. Davis had softened slightly since his conversation with Daniel, he was still not yet comfortable with my new state.
I decided it would do me no good to lie. “It does.”
Mr. Davis straightened up in alarm. “Good Lord, you’re not eloping with him, are you?”
“Of course not,” I answered. “Though it is tempting, with the day I am having, to hie with him to France, or wherever it is people go when they are eloping, no. I need to assist him on something, that is all.”
Mr. Davis’s relief was palpable. “Thank heavens you still seem a sensible woman. Go, then. I’ll make certain luncheon is served if you do not return before then.”
“Thank you, Mr. Davis,” I said in true gratitude. “I will return the favor anytime you wish.”
“I will hold you to it, Mrs. Holloway.”
I nodded at him. “I am aware of that, Mr. Davis.”
* * *
The advantage of Mr. Naismith holing up in a respectable neighborhood was that a woman in a work dress and coat, a basket on her arm, could stroll in without attracting much attention.
It took me some time to reach Barnsbury Square.
I had to go all the way to Regent’s Park, where I caught an omnibus to take me along Euston Road, past St. Pancras and King’s Cross Stations, to where the street curved to become Pentonville Road.
Here I turned north and made my way by foot to Barnsbury Square.
The square had quite a lovely garden in the middle, well tended, its flower beds now bare for autumn. The trees within were turning lovely shades of gold and red, and walkways wound among this beauty.
One end of the square held a row of town houses that were typical of most parts of London—three stories of brick or whitewashed stone with dormer windows and black shutters.
The other three roads around the square were lined with individual houses, a few sharing common walls, but most built with a bit of space in between.
Some of the houses were quite lovely, with bow windows and stately facades, a short flight of stairs leading to front doors, and little courtyards that housed plants in private gardens.
It was a quiet area, a refuge from the bustling city and cramped lanes I’d traveled through to reach it. A person could walk here and admire the garden in relative solitude.
I tramped around the square, my feet already aching, and tried to decide which house would contain Mr. Naismith. I dismissed the more modest abodes—though if I were a grand villain, I’d take a small, unassuming house so that no one would suspect me of gaining wealth from crime.
I found a little offshoot of the square called Mountfort Terrace, and there I believed I had my man.
The house was several stories tall, of whitewashed brick and stone, set back a bit from the street.
Plain but elegant moldings lined the roof and also the tops of the grand windows.
On the right side of the house, large bow windows, one on each floor, gracefully curved from the facade.
The view over the park from within must be fine.
Of course, so many large windows would let the inhabitants see me as well.
I stepped into the shadows of the trees lining the park and assessed the house, which seemed as quiet as those on the rest of the street.
“Have you got a ha’penny, missus?” A small boy stepped beside me, his hand palm up. “Sweep the street for ya?”
“You haven’t got a broom,” I pointed out.
“It’s back here, along the railings. I’ll show ya.”
A person would be foolish to follow even so small a boy into a less public area. He might not only pick my pocket, but lead me to a group of his mates who could relieve me of all my belongings, including my coat, and leave me shivering in the mud.
However, I recognized the thick brown hair and chipped tooth of a lad Mr. Fielding regularly employed.
The boy took me along one side of the square and halted before another house. This one was narrower and slightly less adorned than the one I’d gazed at, but no less grand.
The boy darted away as soon as I reached the foot of this house’s front stairs, but the door opened, and Mr. Fielding himself beckoned me inside.