Murder in the East End - Jennifer Ashley Page 0,77

Tess’s wages were meager, but she was a generous young woman, happy to share them.

The next day was Sunday, and we were run off our feet cooking a large meal for Mrs. Bywater and her guests. Lady Cynthia slipped out after luncheon and returned late. She’d spent the day with Bobby, she told me, but there’d been no sign of Mis Townsend. Even Bobby was growing worried.

I tucked these facts into the back of my mind, as I continued to work and went wearily to bed, dropping off as soon as I pulled up the covers.

On Monday, I planned to take part of my afternoon out and visit Bobby to quiz her about where Miss Townsend liked to do her painting. I could have a look around for her before I went to see Grace. I kept in mind that Cynthia had said Miss Townsend would not be pleased to be interrupted if she was working, but I’d only peek in to reassure myself she was well.

Before I could leave that afternoon, however, Daniel came into the kitchen at a fast pace, the draft of the door gusting cold wind through the scullery.

“Come with us, Kat. Please. I need you.”

Daniel never stormed in, especially not during the day when Elsie, Charlie, and Tess were in the kitchen, Mr. Davis pausing to glare at him. And he never called me Kat in front of the others.

“Good heavens. Whatever is the matter?”

Daniel’s clothes were windblown, his eyes wide with pleading. “I have my brother in a coach, the coachman charged with not letting him out. I told him it would take only a few seconds to bring you. We must go.”

“I haven’t changed my frock.” I wore my gray working dress, my cook’s cap still pinned to my hair.

“No time, I’m afraid. Cover up with your coat—no one will mind. Please come.”

Never had Daniel spoken to me like this, his urgency clear. He moved in impatience while I debated.

“Very well.” I plucked off my cap and apron and snatched my coat from a hook.

I did not insist on an explanation as Daniel dashed up the stairs, me close behind him. I knew he’d never stop to tell me.

The coach was plain and black, likely hired for the occasion. I recognized the coachman—a cabbie called Lewis, who was Daniel’s friend. I wondered if Lewis had changed jobs or whether he drove both hansoms and hired carriages.

Mr. Fielding sat in the backward-facing seat in the coach, scowling as I climbed in. Daniel took the seat next to me, highly improper of him, but there wasn’t much point in perfect manners at the moment.

“Tell me now,” I said as Daniel slammed the door and the coach jerked forward. “Where are we going?”

“The Foundling Hospital.” Daniel sent a stern look to Mr. Fielding. “You are coming along in the hope that you can keep him coolheaded.”

“A vain hope,” Mr. Fielding snapped. “We discovered the reason the ruffian swine of Seven Dials did not want you down that road, Mrs. Holloway. Because if you’d continued, you might have found the bawdy house specializing in children that Luke and his friends help stock. I’m guessing Nell found it too, and that is why she was killed. I’m off to turn the director upside down and shake him by the heels until he spits out answers. That is, if I don’t murder him outright.”

20

Gone was the Mr. Fielding who, no matter how bitter he became, managed to be glib and sardonic. This man was grim and furious, and I did not blame him.

“Did you summon the police?” I demanded. If they hadn’t, I would.

“Yes.” Daniel’s word held finality. “Inspector McGregor and many constables are storming the premises of the bawdy house as we speak. Errol is convinced the Foundling Hospital has been furnishing the house with children, and I decided I’d better go with him to keep him from setting fire to anyone.”

“Daniel believes you will calm me and not let me kill every bastard responsible,” Mr. Fielding said, eyes flashing. “He is wrong.”

“What about the children?” I asked. “If constables are storming the building, what happens to them?”

“I admit, I don’t know,” Daniel said. “They won’t be hurt, Kat. Inspector McGregor will see to that.”

“I’ll see to it,” I said with conviction. “I too want to speak to the director. Mr. Fielding, please leave him alone long enough for me to question him.”

Mr. Fielding barked a laugh, not a nice one. “Do your worst, Mrs. Holloway. Did you