Chapter 20
Daniel touched the cracked picture on the book’s cover. He traced the line of the shore, the ocean’s blue-green stretching to the horizon.
“It is possible,” he admitted. He didn’t speak animatedly or with any great hope, which meant the book did not bring his childhood memories flooding back.
“Look through it,” I urged.
Daniel opened the book without much eagerness, leafing through the pages. There were black-and-white ink drawings within, with a few colored plates.
The story, which I’d read through when I’d brought it home, was about a mother and father trying to persuade their reluctant child that he would enjoy the seaside.
The pale and spindly boy wished to stay home and read his history books—an unrealistic child, in my opinion—and the parents explained to him all the wonders he’d find at the seaside.
Only when a second child, just returned from the ocean, joins in does the boy relent. The family journeys to the sea, and the boy finds it all they’d described and better. The son ceases reading his moldy tomes and thrives in the fresh air and sunshine.
Daniel gently closed the book. “I might have had such a thing when I was a lad. But it is far too long ago for me to remember.”
“But it could be a connection,” I persisted. “If the book was one your parents gave you, of course you’d hang on to it until it was no longer possible. Perhaps it wasn’t about the seaside at all, but if it was, that could account for your nostalgia about it.”
Daniel raised his brows. “Possibly, but I don’t see how this helps us much.”
“You only become obtuse when we are discussing your past,” I said. “Either your parents took you to the sea, or talked of it, or showed you books like this. You taught yourself to read, you once told me, but perhaps it was your family who instilled interest in books and letters.”
“Obtuse, am I?” Daniel relented. “You are likely right. When I am close to a thing, my judgment is clouded, and I don’t trust it.
Even so, we can’t know if my family purchased a book—or was given it or lent it—thirty-odd years ago.
If they bought it, they did so secondhand.
A book like this would be hideously expensive.
” He brushed his fingertips over the cover again.
“If your father was a duke, he wouldn’t balk at the price,” I said.
“But let us look at logical possibilities. It is likely that yes, your family could only obtain books from secondhand shops or as gifts. Not all families purchase books for their children, secondhand or not, so we can assume yours were indulgent and thought such an extravagance worth the price. Or they had a subscription to a lending library, also believing that worth the small investment.”
“So, all we need to do is discover what families in or near London purchased a book on the seaside from a secondhand shop or borrowed it from a lending library thirty years ago?” Daniel’s smile returned.
“I’m not likely to have time to find Banks’s killer if I go on that hunt.
Or do any deliveries, or anything else, for that matter. ”
“Don’t make difficulties,” I said impatiently.
“This would be a family, or parent, who purchased or borrowed a book on the seaside thirty years ago, and not long later reported their child missing. They must have lived somewhat near Victoria Park so that whoever dropped you at Mrs. Kerr’s would know about the house there and that she took in children. ”
Daniel’s attention grew more keen as I rattled this off. “You still make it sound simpler than it is, but you could be right, Kat. I should narrow things down instead of flailing about.”
“The police must have made note of a family whose child had gone missing. Whatever their drawbacks, I know they keep meticulous records. Some newspapers also might have reported the missing boy, knowing that people in general worry about children.”
Daniel was already shaking his head. “As soon as I penetrated the halls of Scotland Yard, I went to the records, looking for any sort of report of a missing child from around the time I was a few years old. I found nothing. Or, at least, an unfortunate number of reports, but none that matched my description.”
“Oh, dear.” My heart burned for those families. “I hope they were found.”
“Many were,” Daniel said. “Happily. But nothing that I could match to my own circumstances.”
“Yes, but perhaps they didn’t report to Scotland Yard.
Most people would go to their local constable, wouldn’t they?
Someone they already knew, and who would know their child.
Perhaps the record stayed at that station and didn’t get passed on to the Metropolitan Police.
If your family lived within the City, it would stay with the police there.
The two branches don’t always communicate. ”
When I was a girl, the constables who patrolled the City had nothing good to say about those of the Metropolitan. They were separate entities and happy to stay that way.
Daniel took on a bit more animation. “That is true.”
“The City is close to the East End. I know you know that—I am trying to organize my thoughts. It is only a few miles from Aldgate to Victoria Park, a fairly easy walk, no matter what the weather. Also, a visit to more local police stations might provide the record. And one more thing…”
“Yes?” Daniel prompted.
“I don’t like to speak of it, but perhaps you didn’t go missing.
Perhaps something happened to your parents, and one of their servants or friends didn’t know what else to do with you, and so carried you to Mrs. Kerr.
Perhaps there was simply no one else to look after you.
Somerset House might be of use once more, to look for records of deaths at about that time,” I finished gently.
I, more than most, did not like to mention the loss of a parent. I still missed my mum so very much.
Daniel didn’t flinch. “Records of a couple who lived within a five-mile radius of Victoria Park and had a son, born about 1852, before one or both of them passed away.”
He spoke quietly, but I saw him resolve himself to face the truth, even if it was tragic.
“Shall we send Mr. Thanos and Cynthia back to Somerset House to search again, with those guidelines?” I suggested. “It might turn up more precise information. Mr. Thanos is so very thorough, and Cynthia helps him focus.”
“I’d say Mr. Thanos is a bit focused on Lady Cynthia,” Daniel said, softening into a half-smile. “I’m glad to see him happy.”
“I would be glad to see them settled,” I said. “Before Cynthia’s family manages to marry her off to a man who would be entirely unsuitable for her.”
“Thanos is a very honorable gentleman of limited funds, which means he will never believe he has the right to propose.”
“Well,” I said briskly. “We shall have to work on that. It just takes a bit of planning, is all.”
The usual teasing twinkle entered Daniel’s eyes. “My very practical Kat.”
“My dear Daniel, you know as well as I do that living by a kiss and a hope will not help when the gasworks sends their bill.”
Daniel leaned closer to me. “But a kiss and a hope is still a pleasant thing.”
I regarded him with the fondness that now consumed me. I’d vowed not to lose myself in this man, and of course, I’d gone and done that very thing. The heart did not always listen to common sense.
“I confess it is much more pleasant,” I said in a low voice.
Daniel leaned even closer, and we let practicality go to the wind for the next little while.
* * *
The next morning, I pinched off pieces of risen dough and rolled two balls at a time on the table, one with each hand, and pondered what to do next.
I’d not be wise to hurry to Hoxton Square and Mr. Draper’s gaming house to demand to know if he or his friend Mr. Barlow murdered Mr. Banks, if Mr. Draper would even be there.
I was not entirely convinced of Mr. Draper’s guilt, in any case.
It was true that collectors for gaming houses could be brutes, but usually they left the debtor alive so that he could pay back the money.
Mr. Banks hadn’t been given a good drubbing to make him motivated to pay—he’d been murdered outright.
I’d also not be wise to make my way to the docks to see what had been going on at the warehouses near Pudding Dock, either that Mr. Banks might have been a part of or simply stumbled into.
It was a drawback to be a lady in skirts with no business in the docklands. Admittedly, I’d met women who scrounged on the shore of the Thames, who were plenty hard as the men there. They’d not want me elbowing in either.
I did, on the other hand, know plenty of swift messengers who could race among the docks and be mostly ignored. They’d helped me earlier this year in keeping an eye on Daniel when he’d been sequestered on a dangerous job for Scotland Yard.
That morning, I put the word out through our bootboy, Charlie, who knew how to find all the errand boys in the area. I slipped him an extra piece of rhubarb tart for the favor when Mrs. Redfern wasn’t about.
The lad Albie, who seemed to have grown several inches since I’d last employed him, arrived after breakfast. I’d saved him out a soft bun, which he devoured while I explained what I wished of him. We stood on the street, a brisk wind pushing white clouds across a bright sky.
“Right you are, missus,” Albie said cheerily. “I know just the lads to help.”
“Be careful,” I admonished. “The Blackfriars docks are dangerous places, and a man has died already.”
“I’m in and out of there all the time,” Albie said with confidence. “They’re used to me, and anyway, they’ll never catch me.”
So spoke the great confidence of the young. I hoped Albie’s faith in himself and his companions was not misplaced.
“If anyone comes after you, you are to leave at once and not go back,” I said.
“Told ya, they’ll never notice. Sixpence, is it?”
“I will decide on the payment when you bring me information,” I said coolly.