Chapter 25
I took the paper, my fingers trembling.
It will come to nothing, I admonished myself. The odds of any of the names on this piece of paper being Daniel’s parents were very steep.
“Thank you, Mrs. Davies.” I slid the page into my pocket, making myself not stop everything and peruse it immediately. That would be rude to the customers waiting in line. “It was very kind of you to take the trouble.”
“Not at all. I do enjoy pondering a little problem.” Mrs. Davies smiled at me, then slid her gaze to my daughter. “You must be Grace, are you not? Your mum nattered on at length about you, bless her.”
I flushed as Grace stared at me in dismay. “This is indeed Grace,” I said. “Grace, this is Mrs. Davies. She owns a bookshop on Oxford Street.” I had not yet given Grace the novel the woman had pressed on me—I’d planned to after we reached Joanna’s again and weren’t so busy with baking.
Grace looked interested, but she only bobbed a curtsy at Mrs. Davies and said, “How do you do?”
“I am well, thank you.” Mrs. Davies’s eyes twinkled in amusement. “I have a granddaughter about your age. As pretty as you are too.”
Color infused Grace’s cheeks. “Thank you. You are very kind.”
“And you have been taught to be polite to your elders.” Mrs. Davies winked at her. “You run into my shop anytime you like, dear. Your mum, too, when she can tear herself away.”
She teased, but I was grateful for her friendliness. “I believe I owe you a pastry or two,” I told her. “Take as many of whatever you like. Grace will wrap them for you.”
Mrs. Davies clasped her hands. “What a treat. I’ll have two of those little turnovers, dear. They smell lovely.”
* * *
Daniel and Mr. Fielding turned up together, just as I’d sold out my table and was ready to return Grace to Joanna’s. I suspected Mr. Grimes was also about, though I did not see him in the crowd.
“Ah, you are a businesswoman now,” Mr. Fielding said to me as Grace and I put the platters and leftover paper into my basket. “Lucky for my brother. Be careful—he’ll put his feet up and expect you to keep him.”
“I highly doubt that, Mr. Fielding,” I said loftily. I knew he was teasing, but he could be needling.
“Ya have a vicar for a brother, McAdam?” Hannah cut into the conversation. She’d watched Daniel arrive and had approached while I spoke to Mr. Fielding. “Who’d ’a’ thought?” She looked Mr. Fielding up and down, clearly not impressed by what she saw.
Mr. Fielding returned her assessing gaze. “Do I have the pleasure of meeting Hannah Dunnett? I’ve heard that you are a master of disguise, infiltrating homes in Belgravia without being unmasked. No wonder you and Daniel get on.”
Hannah’s expression turned even more wary. “No better disguise than that collar around your throat. A vicar, my eye. I know a confidence man when I see one.”
“He truly is a vicar,” Grace put in. “Though Uncle Daniel says he used to be a very good thief.”
“And a liar, I’m thinking,” Hannah said.
Mr. Fielding thrust a hand to his chest. “You wound me, ladies. Yes, I was a transgressor, in my youth. Then I took a degree in theology and gained a living at a small parish in the east part of this great city. I am a reformed man.”
“No, you ain’t.” Hannah observed him shrewdly. “At least I own up to being crooked. Most of the time, anyway.”
Daniel took my elbow and steered me from this intriguing conversation, which Grace continued to avidly observe.
“I came for the information from your excellent resources,” he murmured to me.
“I do have McGregor and Scott interested in Blackfriars now. While it’s technically inside the City, there’s enough worry about smuggling that the City’s constables are amenable to men of the Yard and the River Police assisting. ”
The paper in my pocket crinkled as we moved, and I debated whether to show it to him.
I was very curious myself, but I decided that clearing up the death of Mr. Banks and stopping Mr. Draper’s smuggling operation was, at the moment, more important than wild speculation on whether Daniel’s parents or caretakers had once purchased a children’s book.
We ducked into a narrower street that led between houses to end in a gate. Here, away from the crowds, I told Daniel about what Albie had seen under Blackfriars Bridge and also what he’d said about Mr. Ramsay.
“Good for Albie,” Daniel said, his eyes afire with animation. “We can watch those docks and nab them in the act. I trust Albie—he’s more loyal to you than he’d be to Draper or his smugglers, even if they offered to cut him in if he kept his mouth shut.”
“I hardly pay him as much as a criminal gang could,” I pointed out. “I give him pennies at a time, and he shares those with his mates.”
“You feed him, don’t you?” Daniel asked with a glint of humor. “And look after him a bit? Likely no one’s ever done that for him.”
I shook my head. “He does not seem prone to hang about any longer than it takes to grab his payment and a buttered muffin.”
“He’s a street rat, like I was. You don’t stay in one place too long, but you learn who is truly good and who is only using you. Albie knows the difference.”
Daniel started to turn and walk back to the market, but I caught his coat sleeve. “When it’s all done, please come and talk with me.”
Daniel regarded me in some surprise. “Of course. I will tell you all, don’t worry. You’ve provided much that is valuable to this investigation. As usual.”
I hadn’t meant we’d talk over the smuggling ring and Mr. Banks’s death, but I did not elaborate. Daniel had become focused on the smugglers and Naismith, and I did not want to distract him from that. We could speak about the question of his past later.
We returned to the market to find Hannah and Mr. Fielding still facing each other. Hannah’s cheeks were flushed, Mr. Fielding’s jaw tight. Grace watched with interest, but she turned happily to me when we reappeared.
“Time we were going,” I said brightly.
Hannah jerked her attention from Mr. Fielding, blinking as though recalling where she was. “I’ll tear down your table, Katie. Go on. See you on Thursday.”
Mr. Fielding rigidly pulled himself back to Daniel. “Time to go, brother.”
His speech had shed its overblown formality, Mr. Fielding no longer playing a part. He did not look at me or Daniel but started down the road without saying farewell to any of us.
Daniel conveyed his own cheerful good-byes and hurried after him. He moved with vigor, pleased to be on the hunt once more.
He always would be, I reflected as Grace and I finished packing up, Hannah uncharacteristically silent beside us.
Daniel had enjoyed being a Scotland Yard detective, whether he claimed he did it under duress or not. I did not think he’d ever give it up, even to settle into married life with me.
* * *
Not until after supper that night, once Tess and I had cleaned the kitchen and eaten our own meal, did I have a chance to open the list Mrs. Davies had given me and scan it.
Tess was already beginning preparations for the next day, turning the leftover roasted beef bones into stock on the stove. While her attention was on that, the rich aroma of beef broth and onions wafting to me, I looked over the names.
There was more than one page, I’d discovered, folded together. They contained a dishearteningly long list, one of the pages covered front and back.
Mrs. Davies had been thorough, however. Each name had an address and also a note of all books the person or family had purchased.
The date of purchase was listed alongside it, covering the years 1852 through 1854.
Since I had no way of knowing when exactly Daniel’s parents or nanny would have read him the book, we’d have to look at them all.
Daunting, but it was nice to have a place to begin.
I had given Grace the book from Mrs. Davies’s shop—Miss Sewell’s novel about a horse—and Grace had expressed delight and a promise to read it right away. I would not hold her to that, as I knew she had many things to do. But perhaps it could occupy her on the journey to Basingstoke.
When Cynthia hurried in through the back door later, after Tess and the others had gone to bed, I stopped her and offered her tea.
She was in her tailor-made man’s suit again, entering the house through the kitchen in an attempt to evade her aunt. The fact that she’d returned an hour before midnight, however, told me her last argument with Mrs. Bywater had rattled her.
“How is the research?” I tried to ask casually as she seized the teacup and drank steadily. There was no coffee left for her, but she seemed too impatient for me to brew more.
Cynthia heaved a satisfied sigh after she’d drained the cup. I refilled it and pushed a plateful of scones toward her. She reached for one eagerly.
“We are carrying on fearlessly,” she said.
“Thanos is very good at marching through tedious ledger after tedious ledger. I’m not as stoic, I am sorry to say, but I’m proficient at copying out what he believes is important.
We’ll have a list for you soon. Oh, and Judith is nudging her father about old records as well.
She has that man wrapped around her little finger. I wish I had such a skill.”
Cynthia shook her head but happily bit into the scone and accepted the second cup of tea.
“Thank you,” I said. “And please thank Miss Townsend. It is good of her.”
“She likes you, Mrs. H. You’ve done her good turns in the past, and she will always be grateful. Besides, she hopes for more lemon cake out of it.”
“Which she will have.” I was lucky to have such kind friends.
“I’ve obtained a list of my own, of a sort.
I would like you and Mr. Thanos to compare it to yours and see if any names match.
Though I’d like to peruse it a bit more before I hand it to you.
I haven’t had much time for that yet, and want to see what I can make of it. ”
Cynthia regarded me in curiosity but agreed. “I’m meeting Thanos tomorrow afternoon, back in the archives. I’ll pop down here and fetch it before I go. Will that do?”