Page 22 of Murder in Blackfriars

“Did Mr. Banks mention Mr. McAdam’s family?” I asked.

Ramsay hesitated, and Hannah took an impatient step forward. “There might be a coin or two in it for you,” she said, slipping a hand into her pocket.

Ramsay’s expression turned scornful—that, at least, was easy to read. “Don’t want your money.She’srespectable.” He gestured at me. “You ain’t.”

“Well, I never—” Hannah began, but she’d already betrayed that she was not a quiet, innocuous woman when Ramsay had surprised us.

“Please, Mr. Ramsay.” I didn’t have to strive very hard to sound desperate. “It would be so helpful. I promise never to reveal where this information came from.” I’d have to tell Daniel, of course, but I meant I wouldn’t bleat it to Inspectors McGregor or Scott.

Ramsay shook his head. “Banks didn’t know nothing about McAdam’s family, as far as I could tell. Not his proper family, anyway. He said the same woman who took him in also took in McAdam when he were a nipper. All orphans together. Rough-and-tumble, Banks said, but claimed he were happy there.”

I listened hungrily, if I had to hide disappointment that he didn’t have the names of Daniel’s true father and mother atthe ready. Daniel had never mentioned a woman who’d taken him in, his memories beginning when he was foraging on the streets of South London, so he’d told me.

“Who was this woman?” I asked. “Where does she live? We can speak to her.”

Again, Ramsay shook his head. “She’s long dead, household broken up. It’s why Banks joined the army, more fool he. Lived out Bethnal Green way. Nowhere you need to be going, missus.”

I wasn’t to be deterred. “Did Mr. Banks tell you the woman’s name?”

Ramsay regarded me with impatience. I’d subdued him temporarily by mentioning Mr. Grimes, but my insistent questions were starting to annoy him, I could see.

“He did. No, don’t offer me coin again,” Ramsay said severely to Hannah. “It was Kerr. Mrs. Kerr. Short and easy to remember. Banks said she weren’t no angel, but she kept them all out of the rain and fed.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ramsay,” I said in genuine gratitude. “You have been most helpful.”

“Never tell anyone I was.” Ramsay’s lips twitched into a near smile. “I have me reputation to keep. You sure McAdam didn’t do for poor old Banks?”

“Very certain. Mr. McAdam has been arrested for it, but I hope to quickly clear his name.”

Mr. Ramsay’s smile faded. “Good luck to you, missus. The peelers do what they want, corrupt lot of fatheads they are. If McAdam’s in the nick, it’s likely they’ll string him up right away instead of bothering to prove whether he did it or not.”

As this was my greatest fear, I could only swallow my anxiousness and try to appear unruffled.

“Even so, I must try.”

Ramsay nodded. “Ah, I see the way of it. You’re his ladybird.”

“Not exactly,” I said coolly, ignoring Hannah’s sudden grin.

“Don’t take offense, missus. He’s a fortunate bloke to have one so loyal. Good luck to him, I say.”

“Thank you.”

It occurred to me, and it must have done to Hannah, that Mr. Ramsay himself might have murdered Mr. Banks. He knew the man well enough to walk straight into his rooms and to know his history. He might have quarreled with Mr. Banks over some matter and struck out when they were alone among the warehouses.

Or Mr. Banks might truly have possessed something valuable, and Ramsay had killed him, then returned here to retrieve it.

Hannah would have found any such thing and rapidly, however, or the police would have. The only thing that would fetch any price was the medal in my pocket, and that probably not very much.

I decided not to say any of these things to Mr. Ramsay, and I was happy Hannah kept quiet. Any accusations might turn Ramsay belligerent, and he looked strong enough to make short work of both of us if he chose.

Ramsay seemed to understand he hemmed us in, because he stepped back into the hall, gesturing us out in mock cordiality. I strolled past him as though unworried, nodding him another thanks.

Hannah followed me, fixing Ramsay with a hard stare. Ramsay scowled at her, but he did not impede us.

We clattered back down the stairs, returned the key to Mrs. Duggan, and emerged into the street and a needlelike rain.

Speech was impossible as we hurried around the cornerinto Southwark Street. Hannah’s umbrella was welcome but not large enough to keep both of us dry, and by tacit agreement, we took shelter in the Blackfriars Bridge railway station.