Chapter 24 #2
If Mrs. Bywater did persuade her husband out of London for the shooting season, it would give me quiet time to create and hone recipes for the coming winter and busy spring.
However, if they insisted Cynthia go with them, or to her parents in Hertfordshire, I’d miss her dreadfully.
I was growing tired of the people I loved being taken out of my life.
I continued my baking, letting the warm odor of the apple bread in the oven calm me.
I made more buns—brushed with the leftover melted butter before they went in beside the bread—and rolled out dough for another tart.
I chopped more apples, which I’d layer on the dough, and then dollop a streusel of cinnamon, sugar, flour, and walnuts on top of it.
The work helped me keep from worrying about Daniel, Mr. Fielding, and Mr. Grimes.
I knew they would not simply walk to Blackfriars and ask Mr. Draper’s smugglers what they thought they were doing, but still I fretted.
I’d hoped Daniel’s hazardous investigations would be finished once he resigned from Scotland Yard’s Special Branch, but apparently not.
Albie sought me out as the afternoon wore on. I met him outside with more pennies and a thick slice of the apple bread.
“There’s lots of little piers between Blackfriars Bridge and London Bridge,” he told me as he tore off pieces of the cake-like bread and popped them into his mouth.
“Puddle Dock’s the busiest, but there’s plenty of little lanes coming down from Upper Thames Street.
Same on the south side of the river, but we never go over there.
The little wharf closest to Blackfriars Bridge is called Chatham Dock.
There’s a warehouse there that’s guarded all the time, and when boats come in, some toughs whip crates and things in there, then wave the ships to go.
Looks like smugglers to me. They keep a sharp eye out, so we couldn’t get no closer. ”
Most interesting.
“Thank you, Albie. And what about Mr. Ramsay, the gent from Southwark?” I’d instructed Albie to have a nose about for him as well. “Have you managed to find out anything about him, even though you won’t cross the river?”
He was wise not to. The divide between various areas of the city was great, and those on either side of the Thames could be very territorial.
Albie nodded. “I have a few mates from Southwark who tell me things. Your gent, Ramsay, comes to the north side often enough, and he goes to the gaming place in Hoxton Square. Don’t think he wins much. Always looks angry when he emerges again.”
Even more interesting. Had Ramsay anything to do with the smugglers, or Mr. Banks’s demise? Or both?
I thanked Albie again, and then told him that Daniel had emerged safely from Mr. Naismith’s lair.
“Your information was excellent,” I said, handing him another bit of apple bread. “Mr. Fielding and Mr. Grimes found the place, and Mr. McAdam was able to leave safely.”
Albie looked relieved. “I’m glad about that. McAdam’s not a bad sort, is he? Even if he threw in with the peelers.”
“Only to bring down very bad men, like Mr. Naismith.”
Albie regarded me darkly even as he crammed more cake into his mouth. “He needs to stay far from ’im.” Crumbs scattered as he spoke. “And stay alive. You too, missus.”
“Yes, so I can give you more treats.”
Albie grinned at me, still chewing. Then he gave me a wave and bounded up the stairs, back to roam the streets he called home.
* * *
When Tess came in, exuberant, from her day out, she said that she’d relayed the information that Mr. Naismith had a house in Barnsbury, and Caleb had noted it eagerly. Tess had then spent the latter part of the afternoon in Joanna’s kitchen and had enjoyed it.
“Mrs. Millburn is a lucky lady,” Tess said as she tied on her apron and moved to help me with supper preparations. “To have a man who loves her so much, a fine home, and little ones who adore her, even if they are a handful.”
She looked wistful, as though pondering her future with Caleb.
At any other time, I might lecture her that a woman in this day and age could further her lot in other ways than marriage, but I agreed that Joanna’s life seemed comfortable and happy. Besides, I’d agreed to marry my own sweetheart, and my words would sound feeble.
Daniel, the sweetheart in question, did not return that evening, to my disappointment. He sent word, via James, that he was explaining about the smuggling ring to Inspector McGregor and he wasn’t certain how long he would be.
I hoped he realized he needed Albie’s information to make any sort of raid a success, but I reasoned he’d gather the particulars when he was ready for them. Daniel could seem as though he acted without thought, but in reality, he was a careful planner.
That did not keep me from worrying, however.
The next day, I was happy to leave the cooking to Tess after luncheon and cross the city to Clover Lane. There, I entered the warm and welcoming home Tess had so enjoyed yesterday.
Grace and Joanna helped me bake my pies and hand tarts and get them wrapped up to transport to the market. I had decided to eliminate the scones this time, as I had fewer hours to prepare than on Thursdays.
Another trip on the underground trains, with me clenching my basket tightly on my lap. Perhaps one day I’d make so much money that I could hire a little cart and a pony for this journey, but such a day would be far in the future.
The market was lively today, and as soon as I scooted in with my offerings, a queue formed at my table. Grace and I wrapped the pies and tarts as quickly as we unloaded them, and coins clinked into my palm.
Ladies who were return customers greeted us eagerly and smiled at Grace, who nodded politely to them. They were charmed by Grace, I noted with pride, who had lovely manners but also a winsome and friendly smile.
I bent over to retrieve more pies from my basket, and when I straightened, I found a pair of slim hands in woolen mitts thrust across the table, with a folded piece of paper in them.
“The names, dear,” Mrs. Davies, the woman from the bookshop, told me. “Those who bought the books from me long ago, who might have a connection to your beau.”