Page 10 of Murder in Blackfriars

Grapes and figs were also ripening, and the shooting season was coming, which meant pheasants and grouse would grace the table. While the Bywaters wouldn’t dream of tramping through wet grass themselves on a shoot, their friends bequeathed them plenty of birds each autumn.

At the moment, however, I was preoccupied with what might be a revelation for Daniel, not to mention Grace’s upcoming departure from London. I had no interest in creating tempting dishes, and I cooked like an automaton trained in a few, unvaried tasks.

Fortunately, my long experience let me turn out edible meals, though they were simple as could be. Mr. Bywater, the current master of the house, sent down praise, as he enjoyed plain cooking, but Tess regarded me with concern.

Likewise, Mr. Davis, the butler, marched into the kitchen on Wednesday and demanded to know why I hadn’t used the rich burgundy he’d purposely requested for me from the wine merchants.

“I’m too busy to experiment with new dishes, Mr. Davis,” I answered as I poured cream over roasted sliced potatoes and dropped in dollops of butter. I slid the pan back into the oven for the potatoes to brown and bubble before I served them.

“That’s not like you, Mrs. Holloway,” Mr. Davis stated.

“Whether it is like me or not makes no difference,” I threw at him, scarcely knowing what I was saying. “I am run off my feet.”

I caught Tess giving Mr. Davis a minute shake of her head, which did not improve my temper.

Thursday could not dawn quickly enough. I hurried through preparing breakfast for both upstairs and downstairs, only pausing to pop a piece of buttered toast into my mouth and wash it down with tea.

“You never told me what I was to start for dinner,” Tess reminded me as I pulled off my apron.

Usually I made up a detailed menu in the evening before my day out, so Tess would know what to fetch from the market in the early morning. I’d told her I’d do it last night after she went up, but I’d only ruminated while I’d sharpened my knives and retired when I could no longer keep my eyes open. Truth to tell, I’d forgotten.

“There’s a chop,” I said. “The larder is well stocked. Choose some things on your own. You’ve made enough meals with me by now to know how to put one together.”

Tess’s eyes went wide, the freckles standing out on her suddenly wan face. She had advanced quite far in her cooking skills, but she’d never concocted entire meals by herself.

“You will do well, Tess,” I said a trifle impatiently. “There is only the family today. The chop and some potatoes and greens, along with bread, will be fine. You must learn to command a kitchen at some point.”

“Maybe, but I ain’t necessarily ready for it today,” Tess shot back.

“Ask Mrs. Redfern’s advice if you are stuck,” I told her. “I really must be off.”

Without waiting for more argument, I hastened up the back stairs to my room to change out of my work frock.

I brought out the new gown that had been sewn over the summer, mostly by Joanna with some help from myself and Grace. The frock had stayed in Clover Lane until it was finished, and I’d carried it carefully home wrapped in layers of paper inside a box.

When I’d first put on the frock, I’d marveled at myself. The dark blue cloth flowed over my simple undergarments, two petticoats filling out the skirt. Stiff hoop skirts and bustles were fading from fashion—not that I could afford such froufrous, and they’d certainly get in the way in the kitchen—and this gown fell in straight lines, which disguised the plumper curves of my figure.

Joanna had sewn black piping along the bodice and had given me, as a gift, a dozen black buttons that glittered against the blue. Dark violet lace trimmed the edges of the bodice and also the skirt’s hem.

I’d gazed at myself for a long time in the mirror in Joanna’s bedchamber during my final fitting, wondering that the comely creature I beheld was me.

Today, I only rejoiced that Joanna had made the gown easy to slip on and fasten by myself. I hurried back downstairs, snatched up my coat and hat, and burst out of the back door before Tess, the scullery maid Elsie, Mr. Davis, or Mrs. Redfern could ask me any more questions.

An omnibus in Oxford Street took me the few miles to the Holborn Viaduct and down through Newgate to Cheapside. I resisted looking about for Daniel as I walked along Cheapside to Clover Lane, as it was only nine o’clock, and he’d put the meeting for eleven. He wouldn’t be late, I assured myself.

Grace was waiting for me when I arrived, flinging open the door before I reached it.

Mercy, how I’d miss this house. The moment I stepped over the threshold, my preoccupation with Daniel and the meeting with Mr. Banks faded. So did the dread that had consumed me of Grace’s upcoming departure.

I knew only the love of my daughter, the greetings of my friends, and the warmth of the little house that overflowed with cheer.

However, I would not be allowed to put Sam and Joanna’s move to the country out of my head, because her children could speak of nothing else this morning. They were somewhat sad to leave the only home they’d ever known but excited about the possibilities of the new one.

“I’m to have my own chamber,” Jane boasted. “There are so many bedrooms in the house, I can sleep by myself.” She glowered at her younger sister, who put out her tongue.

“Grace and I will have a lovely time without you,” Mabel declared. The three girls at present shared a tiny bedroom upstairs—Jane must view having her own as a great luxury.

“Matthew and Mark will have their own chambers as well,” Grace said. “Whenever Matthew is home, that is. I don’t mind bunking in with Mabel.” She smiled at the younger girl, who appeared mollified.