but a middle-class banker.
“I see no reason for him to have made up the story of James and his mother,” I said.
“Good.” He pronounced the word with satisfaction. “Then I am pleased he has taken you into his confidence.”
“Are you?” I eyed him. “Why?”
Mr. Fielding leaned back in his chair, the very picture of a relaxed clergyman who’d come to discuss nothing more dangerous than charitable works. “He needs a confidant. Daniel was ever alone. Had few friends, trusted no one.”
“I cannot blame him. I have heard a little about his childhood, and I understand why he kept himself to himself.”
“Our life was not all bad.” Mr. Fielding took on a nostalgic look. “Carter was kind to us, in his way. He knew we believed he’d taken us into his house for the worst of reasons, and so at first he left us alone, simply giving us place to sleep and food to eat and not minding if we came and went as we pleased.”
“Kind of him, indeed. What was his price?”
Mr. Fielding blinked at me. “Beg pardon?”
I sent him a pitying look. “Unless this man was of angelic disposition, wishing to save all boys from the streets, he must have expected something in return.”
“He did,” Mr. Fielding conceded. “But what Carter asked was far less disgusting than some would have demanded. He had us run errands, nothing dangerous and none that would get us arrested. Or we’d carry messages to his cronies. We’d find out things for him—no one pays much attention to small boys. Men who thought themselves clever criminals would tell their entire schemes to one another right in front of us and never notice.” He chortled in remembrance.
“How long did you live with Mr. Carter?”
“Oh . . . two or so years. That seemed a great while when we were young.”
“I know Daniel was fond of him. He told me he was quite broken up when Mr. Carter was killed.”
Mr. Fielding’s laughter died, his expression darkening in an instant. “It was a cruel thing. Terrible. They didn’t even give Carter a chance to defend himself. Daniel is correct when he said I fled that night. I knew we’d never prevail. If I hadn’t gone, and Daniel hadn’t hidden himself, we’d not be here now. Those men slaughtered everyone in the house.”
He fell silent as more true grief flickered through his eyes. Daniel had told me of the horrors of that event, which Mr. Fielding had likewise witnessed.
After a moment, Mr. Fielding cleared his throat. “And now someone’s done for Nell. The Lord seems determined to take away everyone I care for.”
“Life has tragedy, Mr. Fielding,” I said gently. “And that is the way of it. I do not speak lightly—I have had my share. Most of us do.”
“Thank you for reminding me I am a selfish sinner,” Mr. Fielding muttered, then he sighed. “You are right, of course. I have been wallowing in self-pity and not thinking straight.”
“Of course.” I kept my voice quiet. “As you loved her.”
“Nothing so sentimental.” Mr. Fielding frowned. “Let us say I cared deeply for her.”
“It is the same thing.”
Mr. Fielding studied me a moment, then his face lost its dour expression. “I believe I understand why Daniel is so taken with you. You are a sensible woman, and kind, but also unrelenting. Daniel must find this irresistible.”
“Please, cease speculating about Daniel and me,” I said sternly. “We are friends only.”
Mr. Fielding’s quick smile blossomed. “Ah, well, if I am deluded about my feelings for Nell, then I can’t be surprised Daniel is about you. What is holding him back? There is affection, there is friendship—”
I cut him off. “He is a busy man. And I am a busy woman.”
“Neither of you would be half so hard-pressed if you joined forces in holy matrimony.” Mr. Fielding peered at me. “Or is it you who is resisting? You have refused his suit?”
“There is no suit.” I rose, my annoyance growing. “Now, if you have finished with your interrogation, I must get on with my work.”
He was on his feet and beside me in an instant. “Mrs. Holloway, forgive me. I had no wish to offend you, only to know you better. Daniel will not speak to me. Not in a friendly way, I mean, sharing stories from our pasts, our thoughts and hopes, as we once did.”
Mr. Fielding took on a morose expression, but I’d seen he could be as much of a chameleon as Daniel.
“Are you truly a vicar?” I asked.