the coach and asked where I wished to go. I told him.
Not long later, I alighted in Cheapside, the coach too large to fit comfortably in the narrow lane where the Millburns’ home lay. I ran on alone, my legs trembling, and knocked on the door.
Grace herself flung open the door. “Mum?” she asked in concern. “Where’ve you been? I was worried.”
“I’m here now, my darling.” I swept Grace into a long embrace, the wind pushing the door closed behind me.
I breathed the scent of her hair, the wool of her frock, the sweetness of her. I thought of the mite who’d been saved from the bawdy house, young and frail, the two sisters clinging to each other, hardly daring to hope.
Grace hugged me in return, as though sensing I needed this comfort. I took solace in my child, and let my tears come.
23
As much as I hated parting from my daughter, it was refreshing to return to my own kitchen that evening, smell the good things burbling on the stove, and hear Tess sing out her greeting. Mr. Davis sat at the table, chortling over something in the newspaper. Mrs. Redfern swept in, giving me an approving nod, and swept out again, ever efficient in her duties. This was an easy place, I realized, comfortable and without strife, one I’d made my own.
Tess had started a fairly simple supper, as the Bywaters and Cynthia were dining alone tonight. I finished the sauce for the pork roast and potatoes, and Tess had already made a nice salad and peas pudding—mashed boiled peas beaten with butter and eggs, and wrapped in a pudding bag for more boiling. The last of the apple tarts went up for dessert.
After Tess had gone to bed, I sat at the table to make my notes, the kitchen quiet for the night. Daniel did not come, though I hadn’t much expected him to.
I’d spent a farthing on another small notebook not long ago, and in it I wrote not about my recipes and menus, but about the puzzles we were solving. I started a new page now, trying to render what we’d discovered into efficient lists.
Nurse Betts: Luke claims to have chased to Whitechapel, but he ran away, fearing Naismith’s men, and did not witness her murder.
I tapped my pencil to my lips and added an addendum. Or so he says.
I went on.
Mr. Naismith: Who is he in truth? Perhaps speak to Inspector McGregor for clear picture. Did his ruffians kill Nurse Betts? Did he kill Mr. Carter?
I left space for any answers and continued.
Who is skimming money from funds for the Foundling Hospital? All of the board? Or only one or two? Why did Mr. Fielding not know of this?
And the most important question of all.
Where are the children?
I underlined the last three times, then wrote, Speak again to Bessie.
I put away the notebook and went wearily to bed. Before I climbed under the covers, I said a prayer for Grace, as I did every night, adding more for the children I’d met today in addition to the missing foundlings. I prayed for Mr. Fielding, that he might find comfort, and asked God to look after Nurse Betts. Then, exhausted, I snuffed out my candle and crawled into bed.
In the morning, I made buttered muffins and plenty of bacon for breakfast. Before Elsie left for her half day after luncheon, I asked her to find Bessie and tell her I wanted a word. Elsie looked surprised I’d want to speak to Bessie, but she promised to deliver the message.
Today, I would remain in my kitchen and cook. No dashing among the rookeries after villains, no breaking my heart over those London swallowed. I let my thoughts be absorbed in each dish, shutting out the horrors of the world by focusing on my tasks of cookery.
Miss Townsend had called me an artist. I supposed I was, painting with raspberry puree and lemon curd, sculpting with dough and marzipan.
And what the devil had become of Miss Townsend? I was growing quite concerned.
I decided that afternoon to teach Tess how to make tarts called maids of honor. I had prepared a puff pastry dough in the morning, a long hour of rolling and folding, placing butter between the folds, rolling again.
Tess and I cut the finished dough to fill small tart pans, and I added a good helping of raspberry jam to each. We filled the rest with a mixture of butter, almond flour, and curd cheese, with