Page 36 of Murder in Blackfriars

This was a lane of respectable people who could not afford to live anywhere else, I recognized. They crowded together at the edge of the slums, likely blessing their lot that they hadn’t fallen into the slums themselves.

We stood back and let Mr. Fielding knock on the door of Number 7, where he said Mrs. Kerr had lived. A maid or the woman of the house would be more likely to open the front door to a vicar than to Daniel in his work clothes or even me in my years-old coat and hat.

A maid who did not look pleased to see anyone at all answered. “Mistress is out,” she snapped to Mr. Fielding’s politegood afternoon. “So’s the master. They don’t have no money to give to your charities, anyway.”

“Nothing like that, my dear,” Mr. Fielding assured her. “I only wish to inquire—”

“They’re out,” the maid repeated firmly and slammed the door in his face.

“Such a pleasant young woman,” Mr. Fielding said mildly. “Never mind. Perhaps the neighbors will know a thing or two.”

Daniel gazed up at the house, studying it from the dormer window that peeked from the slate roof to the dark green shutters that framed the windows.

He was trying to remember, I decided. Waiting for any memory to come to him, however distant or vague.

I said nothing, not wanting to interrupt his contemplation.As Mr. Fielding moved briskly to the house on the right, Daniel looked at me and shook his head.

“Not even an inkling?” I whispered to him.

“Nothing.” His shoulders sagged. “Either I was never here or I was far too young to recall.”

I clasped his arm, trying to convey comfort.

As much as my mother had struggled, I’d always had the sense of her being there with me, of a place of refuge that was my home. Even now, when I happened to stroll down Bow Lane, I felt a sense of ease, as though I could run into the rooms where we’d lived, and my mother would look up and smile at me.

I’d lost her years ago, but I knew every inch of Bow Lane, had many warm and happy memories associated with the house in which we’d lodged.

Daniel had nothing like that. He’d lived in South London with Mr. Carter and his gang, but that house had been burned the night Mr. Carter had been killed.

Daniel had spent the rest of his life trying to carve a niche for himself, to make a place in the world where he fit. He’d succeeded in part, but he still was restless, roving between lodgings and the house he’d made his own, never settling anywhere for long.

No one answered at the house on the right, but a gray-haired woman in a pinafore with a broom in her hands opened the door of the house on the left.

“They’re out, love,” the woman told Mr. Fielding, indicating the house next door. “Out on their ‘good works.’ Or so they say. Wouldn’t you know that?” She eyed his collar with an amount of disapproval. “If you’re helping them canvass for money around here, you won’t get much.”

“This is not my parish,” Mr. Fielding said in soothing tones.“Nor would I wander through mine asking people to hand over their hard-earned coins. I touch the wealthy in the West End for that.” He chuckled. “I am Mr. Fielding, from Shadwell. And you are, good lady?”

“Mrs. Forbes,” she said, a bit reluctantly. “What you want with the Kingstons, then?”

“Nothing at all. I am inquiring about the woman whousedto live next to this house. Mrs. Kerr? I know she passed on long ago, but I’m looking into the whereabouts of others who lived with her.”

“Oh, yes?” Mrs. Forbes leaned on her broom as though happy of the chance to rest. “I knew her. I was a girl at the time—my folks had this house, and now it’s mine. I were maybe twelve at most when she went away. Ill, poor lamb. Never saw her again. That was, hmm, twenty year ago now? No, thirty. My, how time flies.”

“She passed away about thirty years ago, yes.” Mr. Fielding took on a sorrowful expression. “She fostered children, didn’t she?”

A fervent nod. “I rememberthem. Overran the house, but none of them bad lads or lasses. Some were my playmates. Some would be adopted off, but not many, because Mrs. Kerr didn’t trust none to look after them as good as herself.”

“What became of those children?” Mr. Fielding asked. “When Mrs. Kerr died? I am trying to locate one,” he added hurriedly, when the woman’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

She softened again. “I don’t know, love, I’m sorry. One day, they were all gone. Older ones, little ones, all of them. She locked up the house and walked away. I don’t know if she took them with her or sent them to someone else to look after.” The woman shrugged. “I truly don’t know.”

“Do you remember one of them called Banks?” Mr. Fieldingasked, while Daniel and I remained mutely in the background. “Howard was his Christian name.”

Mrs. Forbes flashed a sudden smile, making her drab face pretty. “Howie Banks? I rememberhim. Cheeky lad. He were older than me and had no interest in a girl in pigtails, but I was sweet on him. Went off to join the army when he were only about seventeen or eighteen, I think.” Her face fell. “Never tell me he were killed out in Crimea. He was a pleasant lad.”

Mr. Fielding shook his head. “No, he survived that. Unfortunately he did pass away a few days ago.”

“Aw, I’m sorry about that.” Mrs. Forbes betrayed sorrow but not undue grief. “I’m glad to hear he came home after the war, in any case. But if you’re asking about him, I don’t know much. Never saw Howie Banks after he left for the army.” Her eyes narrowed anew. “If you know he’s dead and gone, why do you want to know about him?”