Chapter 4
I struggled furiously with Mr. Grimes, but he was immovable. “Turn me loose,” I hissed.
“I won’t. If you run back there, you’ll be nicked with him.”
“Daniel didn’t do this. They won’t arrest him.”
I tried once again to release myself from his grip, but Mr. Grimes hung on more relentlessly than a barnacle.
“They will,” Mr. Grimes said grimly. “They’re doing it now.”
I managed to peek around the corner. Three of the constables were indeed leading Daniel away; all the while he spoke earnestly with them. I could not see whether his hands were cuffed, but he was tightly surrounded.
Two constables remained behind, gazing at the corpse and the scene around them, one making notes in a little book.
“Let us run after them,” I begged Mr. Grimes. “We both know Daniel didn’t kill that man. Tell them.”
Mr. Grimes shook his head. “I’m a known villain, ain’t I? One you found over Banks’s dead body. Best I keep hidden, and you as well. Our Danny can talk sense into the magistrate. Probably will turn out to be mates with whoever they drag him before.”
He was likely right—Daniel had worked closely with Scotland Yard for years and had sent criminals to the magistrates himself.
But that had been before Daniel had declared he wanted nothing more to do with the branch of the Yard he’d been assigned to. He’d given up any power his position had afforded him.
Still, Inspector McGregor would never believe Daniel had anything to do with this crime. Would he?
Mr. Grimes was also correct that he’d risk being blamed for the murder himself if he intervened.
He’d brought Mr. Banks to Daniel’s attention in the first place, and we’d come upon him standing over him, when no one else was near.
I also noted that Mr. Grimes had blood smeared on his coat, probably that of Mr. Banks.
“Very well, let us leave this place,” I said softly.
Mr. Grimes, clearly relieved I was finally talking sense, towed me along the space between the walls.
It was nasty back here, the passageway full of stones, weeds, mud, and discarded bits of rusty metal too far gone even for the scavengers to take. Rats roamed the edges of the walls, and I hiked up my skirts a long way as I followed Mr. Grimes through the muck.
We emerged, after twisting and turning through this maze, on another lane, but I was no longer certain exactly where I was. Mr. Grimes continued along until we were once more in Upper Thames Street, which seemed a haven of respectability after the mire of the warehouses.
Rain began as we made our way back to Cannon Street. I did not want to return to the pub in case the constables started asking questions there, and I hoped James would understand the danger and make himself scarce.
I now took the lead and guided Mr. Grimes to a tiny courtyard behind St. Mary Aldermary Church on the south side of Watling Street, across from the end of Bow Lane. This was the neighborhood of my childhood—Joanna and I had found a refuge in this courtyard on many an occasion.
A bench in the corner of the thick walls sheltered us somewhat from the rain. The stone seat’s cold seeped through both my coat and frock when I sat on it, but at least we could keep dry for a time.
“I would have to wear my new gown to tramp through mud and rain,” I grumbled. “Now, Mr. Grimes, please tell me what happened.”
“I don’t know, do I?” Mr. Grimes shrugged his big shoulders.
“I followed Banks when he left his digs in Southwark and made his way over the bridge to Blackfriars. Danny asked me to, in case he tried to slip away or maybe bring some toughs with him. But he set off alone. There was a crowd at the north end of the bridge, and I lost him in the crush. He’s a bearded gent dressed like every other bearded gent in London. ” Mr. Grimes scowled in frustration.
“You can’t blame yourself for that,” I said. “I mistook another bearded man for him as well.”
“Finally caught sight of him ducking down another lane near the bridge,” Mr. Grimes continued.
“Don’t know why he was going that way. The place was crowded, as a barge on the river was just unloading.
I searched for what must have been twenty or thirty minutes, and finally found him stretched out behind that warehouse off Puddle Lane.
I whistled our signal, in case Danny were nearby.
If he weren’t, I’d have come to the pub and fetched him, but then you caught up to me. ”
I understood now why Daniel had come alert, possibly hearing Mr. Grimes’s whistle, though I’d noticed nothing.
“You didn’t see anyone else?” I asked. “No one following him?”
“Or stabbing the poor gent to death?” Mr. Grimes shook his head. “No. Banks must have come across a desperate man or one ready to kill for what few coins he had in his pocket.”
“Was he robbed?”
Another shrug. “Didn’t have time to look, did I? You came upon me almost at once. Maybe I scared the killer away before he had time to go through the gent’s pockets.”
I’d had only a fleeting glance at the body, but the coat had looked stiff, as though the blood had already started to dry.
“Do you know what time it was when you lost sight of him?” I asked. “I know you probably weren’t paying attention—”
“A quarter till eleven,” Mr. Grimes answered promptly. “The church towers were just striking three-quarters past ten.”
In London, one never needed to look at a clock to know what the time was. The multitude of churches, plus the cathedral a short distance from us, signaled every quarter, with a cacophony of bells filling the air at the top of each hour.
Sometime between a quarter to eleven and eleven thirty, when Daniel and I had turned down Puddle Lane, a person had come upon Mr. Banks and stabbed him until he was dead. I assumed stabbing from the blood on his chest.
I drew a sharp breath as the memory of a cold blade on my neck tumbled at me. I recalled too vividly how the brick wall had grated into my face, the man behind me pinning me with appalling strength, and the sickening realization that I’d been about to die a violent death.
Mr. Grimes’s heavy hand on mine pulled me back from the brink, and I sucked in a breath.
“It’s a long time before it fades.” His voice was gentle with understanding. “Remember what I told you—feel your feet on the ground and breathe in the air.”
The air I dragged in was smoky, as the cold wind and rain had people stoking their fires inside. Still, I drew a long lungful, dispersing the tingling sensation of remembered fear.
“Thank you,” I told Mr. Grimes. “You are a good man.”
He flashed a grin. “No, I ain’t. It’s why I can’t go to the nick, not even to save Danny.”
“I will go.” I rose, admonishing my legs for being a bit unsteady. “I will leave your name out of my report, but I will tell Inspector McGregor what happened. He believes in Daniel even if others won’t.”
By others I meant Mr. Monaghan, who might continue to cause trouble for Daniel if given the opportunity.
Mr. Grimes hefted himself up beside me. “You should leave it for Danny to sort out. He can talk his way out of anything, the cheeky cove.”
I agreed that he could, but I still worried that any enemies Daniel had made within Scotland Yard might decide this was a wonderful chance to fit him up.
“Thank you, Mr. Grimes.” I reached a hand toward him, and he stared at it, mystified.
When he realized I was offering it to shake, he engulfed my fingers in his giant hand and gave my arm a hard pump.
“Will you take a message to Mrs. Millburn and my daughter?” I continued when he released me, my fingers a bit sore now.
“Tell them I’m off to Scotland Yard, but I will return as soon as I am able, and we’ll have tea. ”
Mr. Grimes gazed at me in more bafflement. “Have tea, will you? After you wrest Danny free from the confines of Newgate?”
“Of course. He’ll want tea by then. Also, keep an eye out for James. He was in the pub, but who knows if he followed us or saw his father taken by the constables. I don’t want him to rush in and endanger himself trying to get Daniel free.”
“While it’s all right if you do?” Mr. Grimes heaved a sigh. “You’re a brave lass, Mrs. H., but not always a wise one.”
“I can’t not act,” I said adamantly. “It will do no one any good if I sit and agonize in Joanna’s house all afternoon.”
Grimes shook his head again, this time in some amusement. “You be off, then. I’ll look after James and get word to your little girl, don’t you worry none.”
“Thank you, Mr. Grimes.”
I hadn’t exaggerated when I called him a good man. Though he’d acknowledged he was a villain the police would arrest on the spot, I knew I was right. Mr. Grimes’s past was his business, I decided, as I said my farewells and left the quiet of the courtyard for the bustling city streets.
* * *
Whenever I visited Scotland Yard, tucked away in its lane off Whitehall, I had to cajole the desk sergeant to allow me to speak to whoever it was I’d come to see.
Today, the sergeant, a surly young man with a thin mustache, almost brightened when I approached his counter.
“Mrs. Holloway, you got here quick.”
I blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“You’re being asked for.” He turned and shouted over his shoulder. “Constable! Take Mrs. Holloway to CID. Sharpish, now.”