Murder in the East End - Jennifer Ashley Page 0,81

they elected you to join them would puzzle me if I didn’t know you. But if you punch a peer in the face, you’ll only get yourself arrested.”

“I am not afraid of toffee-nosed aristos,” Mr. Fielding snarled.

“Ledgers can tell tales,” Daniel said. “I know you can’t read them, and neither can I, but I know a chap who’ll likely be able to.”

“Mr. Thanos,” I said at once.

“Exactly.”

Mr. Fielding opened his mouth, derision on his face, then he nodded. “You’re right. He’s a bloody genius. Even I can see that.”

He settled into silence as we made our way back to Regent Street, too slowly for my comfort. It was Monday, and cold, but all of London seemed to want to be out this afternoon.

Mr. Thanos was in, fortunately, and he began an eager welcome before he caught our expressions.

“What has happened?” he asked.

Daniel began to explain. I stepped out to ask the landlady for a pot of tea for us all, and when I returned, Mr. Thanos was already bent over the books at his desk.

The landlady came with a tea tray, and I took it from her and sent her off, busying myself pouring out cups while Mr. Thanos read. Mr. Fielding paced, his fists balled. Daniel took a cup of tea from me with a soft word of thanks.

Mr. Thanos glanced up when I set a cup by his side. He seemed to recall we were in the room with him and turned a puzzled expression to Daniel.

“Why did you want me to look at these?”

Mr. Fielding drew a breath to angrily retort, but Daniel cut in. “To tell us what they mean, of course. What they say about decisions the Foundling Hospital has made.”

Mr. Thanos removed his spectacles, still puzzled. “But it’s plain as day.” He spread his fingers indicating the page open before him.

“Not to us,” Daniel said with a patient smile. “What have you found?”

“Well, if they were hiding great secrets, they did it poorly,” Mr. Thanos said. “Any accountant, or at least someone proficient in numbers, would see it. Plain as pikestaff.”

“For God’s sake,” Mr. Fielding muttered.

“See what, my friend?” Daniel asked, keeping his voice genial.

“That whoever keeps these books is claiming great success in placing children in good homes.” He tapped his page. “This person then puts the word out that with more contributions, the Hospital can presumably do the same again.” He indicated a second ledger. “He records those additional donations here.” When we said nothing, Mr. Thanos regarded us in perplexity. “Do you not see? There is a swindle going on—whether it has to do with bawdy houses, there is no telling from these notes. Someone is claiming great success in helping the children, and then squeezing more contributions out of willing donors because of that success. But the additional contributions never reach the Hospital. The records don’t match. Whoever is receiving the money is pocketing it for himself.”

21

Neither Daniel nor I bothered to ask whether Mr. Thanos was certain. He would be.

“Bloody hell.” Mr. Fielding ceased pacing, his face mottled. “Are you telling me some of the governors are placing the children in brothels, patting themselves on the back, and eagerly asking for more funding from generous donors?”

“And then keeping the money for themselves,” Daniel finished grimly.

“That’s horrible,” I said. “They’re procurers, worse than. We must stop them.”

“We will.” Daniel’s expression held a severity that meant whoever he set his sights on was in grave danger.

“I know the treasurer,” Mr. Fielding said, frowning. “I always thought him a meek little straitlaced man. Would faint if untoward behavior was mentioned. Strange.”

“Why is it strange?” I demanded hotly. “It’s awful. Criminal.”

“Because I am usually good at assessing a man’s character. Or a woman’s. Have to be, don’t I?”

“As a vicar?” Mr. Thanos asked, bewildered.

“He means as a confidence man,” Daniel broke in, voice dry. “Tricksters learn their marks quickly, and then decide their strategy for duping them.” He turned to Mr. Fielding. “I’m surprised you didn’t tumble that there was fraud going on. You usually have a nose for it.”

“I agree. And here, I’d thought—” Mr. Fielding broke off, as though realizing we stared at him.

“Here, you thought you could swindle them?” Daniel asked without surprise. “Of course. Why else would you convince them to elect you to the board of governors? How did you plan to do it? You once told me you helped look over the accounts. Why, so you could fiddle them?”

“I never had the chance to.” Mr. Fielding’s response