Chapter 28
“Your daughter?” I repeated, taken aback.
I’d expected him to confess something else, such as he recognized himself in Daniel.
I’d realized that what had bothered me upon meeting Mr. Patterson, my conviction that he seemed somewhat familiar, was that he and Daniel had the same eyes—the same shape, the same color, the same way of assessing and then moving quickly away.
Mr. Patterson raised his head and looked straight at Daniel. “He has her manner, her way of tilting her head a little when she talked. Her smile.” Tears trickled down his face.
“Then Daniel is—”
“Me grandson. He must be.”
Daniel slowly rose to his feet. “Your grandson?”
“Aye, lad. I’m sorry.”
I’d never seen Daniel so still. His face was fixed, his eyes a mystery. The only thing that moved was a bob of his throat.
“Did you know that when I was a babe?” Daniel asked quietly. “Or are you only realizing now? Hoping it’s the truth?”
Mr. Patterson shook his head. “I knew then. ’Twas me what took you to Jess, once they killed me daughter.”
Daniel’s cheeks lost color. “Killed?”
“My dear fellow.” Dr. Boland rose from where he’d watched, open-mouthed, and hurried to the sideboard. “I think you will need something stronger than sherry.”
Soon, the acrid odor of whisky wafted to us, and Dr. Boland returned with a tumbler of whisky for Daniel and one for Mr. Patterson. Mr. Fielding, who’d likewise gaped in amazement, moved to the sideboard and prepared a dollop for himself and also brought one to me.
I held the glass Mr. Fielding handed me and did not drink. “Did your daughter live in Richmond?” I asked gently. “Married to a Mr. Munro?”
Mr. Patterson started, and Daniel stared at me, his astonishment high.
Munro had been the name that had jumped out at me from Mrs. Davies’s second list, the one I’d jotted down for Cynthia to check against the name on theirs.
The Mr. Munro that Miss Townsend had turned up had filed a report of a missing boy in 1854.
The first name of the Munro on Mrs. Davies’s list had been different, as was the house number and street, but both families had lived in Richmond.
Miss Townsend had indicated that in this case, the brother of the deceased father had reported that the boy had disappeared.
“How the devil did you know that?” Mr. Patterson bleated.
“Thorough research,” I said. “And reasoning. Was your daughter Mrs. Munro?”
“She were.” Mr. Patterson relapsed into a scowl. “My sweet Rosie married into that horror of a family, and I never saw her since. I told her what would come of her wedding above her station.”
Daniel sat rapidly on his chair again, the whisky disappearing down his throat. I longed to be next to him, holding him while he heard this possible rendering of his past.
“Perhaps you should tell us the entire story, Mr. Patterson,” I said. “Who was Mr. Munro, and why did your daughter marry him?”
“She were in love, weren’t she?” Mr. Patterson’s face darkened.
“So she said. When Rosie were eighteen, she started working in a shop, all the way over in the Strand. Sold gewgaws and things from across the world. The shop owner’s wife liked her, because she was polite and looked nice, and my Rosie could speak well, could erase the tones of the working class as easy as breathing. ”
As could Daniel. He could sound like he was from anywhere.
“One day, Robert Munro walks into the shop and takes a fancy to her. Next thing I know, she’s showing me a ring, saying she’s marrying and moving up in the world. Leaving her old dad to look after himself. I tried to tell her not to go, but she was headstrong. Wouldn’t listen.”
More and more like Daniel, I mused. Mr. Fielding, absorbing all this, took a gulp of whisky.
“Why stand in her way?” I asked. “If she was happy? Was Mr. Munro a brute?” I hated to ask this in front of Daniel, but we needed to know.
“Naw, nothing like that. I’d have taken him apart if he’d laid a finger on her. But she moved away with him, all the way to that Richmond place, and I never saw her. She shed the dirt of Bethnal Green fast enough.”
I couldn’t blame her, but I kept my silence.
Daniel spoke, his voice hoarse. “What happened to her? How did she die?”
The last word stuck in his throat. I set aside my untasted whisky, rose, and went to him. Propriety could go hang.
I stepped behind Daniel and put my hands on his shoulders, nodding at Dr. Boland and Mr. Fielding to resume their seats, which they’d started to vacate as soon as I left my chair.
Daniel reached up and rested one of his hands on mine, pressing it as we waited.
“Was the fever, wasn’t it?” Mr. Patterson rocked a little in his seat. “Took her off, my sweet Rose. Gone forever. Took her husband as well, and almost took the child too. All the man’s money and fine house couldn’t save her, could it? She should have stayed home where she belonged.”
He pressed his hands to his face again, his grief unchecked even after thirty years.
Daniel’s hand tightened on mine. I leaned down and wrapped my arms around him, resting my head on his shoulder.
“What happened to the boy, Robbie?” Daniel asked. I noted he couldn’t bring himself yet to say, What happened to me?
Mr. Patterson wiped his eyes and shook his head.
“Munro’s brother took you in. He were a brute, I’d heard, and I weren’t going to let him get his hands on my grandson.
One of his maids was the daughter of a mate of mine.
She took you away one night, brought you to her home.
I fetched you from there and gave you to Jess.
Jess were a good woman, and I knew she’d look after you well. ”
I squeezed Daniel once, then straightened to turn a severe eye on Mr. Patterson. “When Mrs. Kerr died, you took Robbie to a workhouse. This one. Left him here with all the other children. Why?”
Mr. Patterson ducked his head in shame. “It weren’t supposed to be forever.
I knew I couldn’t look after him on me own.
My own missus had died long ago, which is why Rosie had always taken care of me.
I didn’t lie when I said I had to work for a living.
I left you there while I earned wages and hunted up a lodging where I could take you in.
I’d moved into a hole when Rosie left me, but it weren’t no fit place for a boy.
I did scare up some decent rooms and a woman to come in during the day to look after you, but when I came to fetch you…
” He dragged in a ragged breath. “You were gone.”
Dr. Boland nodded slowly. “A few months into their stay, the children ran away. No one ever saw them again.”
“You could walk well enough by then,” Mr. Patterson said.
“You were three, still just a babe, though you loved that book you had. You’d scream if someone tried to take it away from you.
But it was left behind when you disappeared.
The others must have dragged you with them.
I searched and searched. Finally I gave up.
” His shoulders sagged. “Please, forgive me.”
The room went silent for a moment, the stillness broken only by Mr. Patterson’s quiet sobs.
Mr. Fielding cleared his throat. “Forgive you?” he demanded. “If you knew what hell the man I call my brother went through, because you abandoned him in a workhouse and never explained to any you were coming back—”
“I did explain.” Mr. Patterson snapped his head up and glared at Mr. Fielding. “I told those who ran the place. The lads and lasses probably didn’t believe me. Why should they? Jess was gone, and they had no one to turn to.”
“It’s all right.” Daniel’s voice was steady. “He did his best. What happened to me on the streets of Southwark wasn’t his fault, and it’s the past now. Besides, we don’t know if I’m truly his grandson. This is all speculation.” He let out a breath, as though he did not want to admit the fact.
“You have his look,” Mr. Patterson argued. “Munro’s. His way of walking, the color of his hair. Plus what you got from my Rosie. You’re theirs all right.” More tears slid from his eyes. “I’m sorry, lad. I am so sorry.”
“Do you still have the book?” I asked softly. It would be wonderful if Daniel had that from his past, and it might trigger memories.
Patterson shook his head. “Don’t know. It were so tattered it was almost in pieces by then. The people here must have chucked it out.”
I hid my disappointment, but it was too much to expect.
“Do the other Munros still live in Richmond?” I asked Mr. Patterson. “Robert Munro’s brother and family?”
Mr. Patterson shrugged. “Don’t know. Never spoke to them again. Me mate’s daughter quit them after a few months and went on to another house.”
“They never suspected she made off with Robbie?” I asked.
“Naw. She were a cool one. Knew if she simply disappeared, the police would be after her, so she went back and cleaned their floors for a time. Never let on.” Mr. Patterson scanned our disapproving faces—all but Daniel’s—and bristled.
“She thought it were for the best. We knew he were safer with Jess than anywhere.”
Mr. Fielding began to object, but Daniel rose, signaling Mr. Fielding to be quiet. He went to Mr. Patterson, who stood shakily to meet him.
Mr. Patterson regarded Daniel in abject fear, as though believing Daniel would put his hands around Mr. Patterson’s throat and strangle him.
Living his life in the slums of Bethnal Green, perhaps that happened much of the time—conflict resolved easily and finally. Men like Mr. Naismith thrived on it.
As the rest of us held our breaths, Daniel grasped Mr. Patterson by the shoulders, and pulled him into an embrace. Mr. Patterson started, then he collapsed onto Daniel, holding the grandson he’d thought lost all those years ago, and wept.
* * *
After an hour of Daniel sitting with Mr. Patterson on a hard settee in the vicar’s room, he rose and declared it time to take his leave.
“I’ll return,” he promised Mr. Patterson. “We have much to talk about.”
Mr. Patterson, who seemed to have aged years during our visit, only nodded.