Chapter 16
“What workhouse?” Mr. Fielding asked quietly.
Mr. Patterson shrank into himself. He must be in his seventies at the very least, and he seemed to age under our gazes.
“Run by the church around the corner,” he answered.
“I couldn’t keep ’em, could I? Didn’t have no money and had to work for a living.
What little I’d managed to keep, I gave to Jess to run her house, and it beggared me.
Anyway, most of ’em, like Barlow and Draper, were awful.
I worried for Jess when they were around. ”
My hand shook as I wrote the information. “What did you tell Mrs. Kerr?” I asked. “I assume she wished to know what had become of her charges.”
Another shrug. “Told her they’d be looked after.” He balled his fists in exasperation. “It were the truth. She didn’t live long after that. She never knew.”
“Of course.” Mr. Fielding’s voice was hard. “That makes it all well and good. Did you happen to look in on the children at any time, or did you simply abandon them once Mrs. Kerr was gone?”
“I did.” Mr. Patterson eyed him defiantly.
“Told those what ran the place I’d be back, because I was feeling a bit anxious about them and all.
Weren’t able to go until a couple months after Jess died.
I had a living to make, didn’t I? By then most of them had legged it, the ungrateful sods.
A few of the girls were there, all prim and proper and learning a trade.
But the others were gone. No, I don’t know where.
I only ever heard of Draper and Barlow again. ”
“Even little Robbie?” I asked.
Mr. Patterson looked away. “Told you, I don’t recall him. But he’d have been gone too. The workhouse guvnor said the littlest ones had gone with some of the other lads and were nowhere to be found.”
The room went quiet.
We had no evidence at all, I reminded myself, that little Robbie of the blue eyes and Daniel were the same person.
Regardless, the idea of a two- or three-year-old boy living rough on the streets with only slightly older children to protect him was appalling.
He’d either have quickly perished or ended up like Daniel had, alone and desperate until rescued by a gang leader of those streets.
Daniel moved from where he’d taken root near Mr. Thanos’s cluttered desk to stare out the long window. The rest of us remained in place, our silence making Mr. Patterson more and more prickly.
“It’s what the workhouses are for, innit?” he snapped. “They should have been there by rights in the first place. Jess never could see sense.”
“Possibly because she wanted the kiddies to have hearts and souls,” Mr. Fielding said mildly. “Instead of being pressed into a mold and then beaten if they were anything but quiet automatons.”
“Well, it were more than thirty year ago.” Mr. Patterson lapsed into mumbling once more. “Ain’t nothing to be done about it now.”
“No, indeed,” Mr. Fielding said. “You’ve lived your entire life with a clear conscience, haven’t you? Probably never gave the lads and lasses another thought.”
“Jess died,” Mr. Patterson flashed. “She were an angel, and I grieved a long time. I didn’t know what I was doing.”
From the broken veins in his large nose and the wateriness of his eyes, I’d suspect he buried that sorrow in drink. It was likely he’d forgotten the existence of the children very quickly.
Mr. Grimes broke in. “No wonder you’re afraid of the two what you mention. These Barlow and Draper fellows. They might be a bit resentful of you for shoving them into a workhouse.”
Mr. Patterson blenched. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you nothing. Now you’re going to drop me in it.”
“They would not do that,” Mr. Thanos said quickly. “Anything you say here is in confidence, sir.”
Mr. Fielding did not appear to agree with this statement, but he did not argue. Daniel, who continued to gaze out the window, said nothing at all.
“Would Barlow or Draper be angry enough about it all to kill Mr. Banks?” Mr. Grimes asked as though merely curious. “Maybe one of them didn’t want Danny knowing about Mrs. Kerr and where they all came from.”
Mr. Patterson shook his head. “Don’t know why they would.
But they’re dangerous men. Could have been angry at Banks for another reason, or they might have nothing to do with it.
It’s been a long time since Jess was alive.
Maybe Banks met someone in the army who didn’t like him. Or someone since then.”
While I noted this in my book, I had to admit he had a point.
Anyone could have murdered Mr. Banks, for reasons that had nothing to do with Mrs. Kerr.
Perhaps someone, knowing that Daniel was dangerous in his own way, had feared Mr. Banks speaking to Daniel at all.
They might have worried that Mr. Banks would reveal something to Daniel that person would rather have kept quiet.
Mr. Patterson finished his scone as I wrote and dusted off his fingers on his coat.
“I’ll be off now that I’ve said my piece,” he announced. “Unless you’re going to keep me here. Never trust toffs, I always say.”
“I agree,” Cynthia said before Mr. Thanos could begin an indignant reply. “I grew up with toffs, so I ought to know. You are of course free to leave whenever you wish, Mr. Patterson.”
Mr. Patterson now looked in no hurry to go. “I was promised five shillings.”
“Cor,” Mr. Grimes said, eyes widening. “As much as that?”
“I did tell him so,” Mr. Fielding explained. “Not that I feel he deserves it.”
Daniel swung from the window. “Pay him. He gave us useful information, even if we don’t like what he confessed.”
Mr. Fielding rose, dipping into his pocket with the air of one washing his hands of the matter. “Five shillings, sir.” He held the coins between his fingers and dropped them one by one into Mr. Patterson’s outstretched palm.
I noted that Mr. Patterson sequestered them inside his coat as quickly as possible as he climbed to his feet.
“No need to see me out.” He lumbered to the door, and no one stepped in his way.
“There is need,” Mr. Fielding said wearily. “We need to get you back safely to where we found you. After that, you do as you please. Coming, Grimes?”
Mr. Grimes had taken the opportunity to procure another scone from the plate.
“Thank ye kindly, Mrs. Holloway,” he said.
“These scones is heaven. You’re a genius, no doubt.
” He nodded at me, he the only person in the room who’d remained sunny-natured.
“Your ladyship. Sir.” Mr. Grimes bobbed a bow at Cynthia and Mr. Thanos, then followed Mr. Fielding and Mr. Patterson out the door.
Daniel resumed his stance at the window, while Mr. Thanos and Cynthia sat down and helped themselves to two of the remaining scones.
I joined Daniel at the window in time to see Mr. Patterson, Mr. Fielding, and Mr. Grimes emerge below and trudge north toward Oxford Street. Daniel said nothing, his gaze locked onto Mr. Patterson, who’d resumed his cap.
I closed my hand around Daniel’s arm and gave it a little squeeze. “Are you well?” I asked him softly.
“Tolerably.” Daniel gave me the ghost of his usual smile. “I am sorry you had to hear all that. An unhappy tale.”
“I am made of stern stuff, Mr. McAdam,” I said gently. “I am sorry for the children, and Mrs. Kerr, and also Mr. Patterson. What else could he have done?”
“Sought help, at least, instead of simply shoveling however many children were left into a parish workhouse. You did everything you could to keep from leaving Grace in one, as I did with James.”
“True, but I had friends and only one child. I am not condoning him, believe me, but I understand his dilemma. There is only so much one can do with no money and no prospects. However, I agree with you. He ought to have explored more possibilities. Obviously he cared for Mrs. Kerr, but not her strays.”
Daniel nodded. “Whether or not the boy Mrs. Forbes mentioned was me, I don’t blame him for running off.” His tone became wistful. “He sounds like me. I’m not one to stay long where I’m miserable.”
I could flatter myself that he’d remained a deliveryman in this part of London all these years for my sake, but I doubted that was the case. He’d found work with the police that had fulfilled him, he had a fine son, and he’d learned how to live comfortably here.
“Do you recall Mr. Patterson at all?” I asked.
Daniel shook his head. “Nor do I recognize the names of the two boys he mentioned—men, they’d be now.
They haven’t come to the attention of the police, that I know of, so they must either be very careful, have reformed, or work for a powerful master.
” His jaw hardened, and I guessed the powerful master he meant was Mr. Naismith.
I leaned against him. “Well, we must decide if you truly were this Robbie who was fond of a tattered picture book, and then fill in the gap between the time you left the workhouse and your first memories of wandering about Southwark, before Mr. Compton took you.”
“I might have been trying to reach the seaside.”
I started and gazed up at Daniel in surprise. His eyes had gone remote, as though he saw something in the rain that had begun to come down, darkening the stones of Regent Street.
A glance at Lady Cynthia and Mr. Thanos told me they hadn’t heard. They were eating scones, their heads together, chuckling over some private joke.
“The seaside?” I asked. “Whatever do you mean?”
Daniel shrugged. “I’ve always had this vague longing—or a memory, I’m not certain—for the seaside. If I truly were this Robbie, maybe I was running south, trying to get there. Brighton or Hastings or somewhere.” His lips twitched. “I made it as far as South London, at least.”
My interest surged. “Perhaps your parents took you to a seaside town once, and you recall that. Perhaps we should go to the seaside, see if it triggers any memories.”
Daniel sent me a patient look. “Kat, there are any number of seaside towns in England. An entire country’s worth of them, this being an island.”