Page 67 of Murder in Blackfriars

Mrs. Bywater did not come down again, thankfully, but she did send an order via Mrs. Redfern that I was to make dinner for six tonight. Cynthia would be staying in.

“Mrs. Bywater said this firmly,” Mrs. Redfern told me while Tess and I were working on supper’s main course. “She is not to go out tonight, and the mistress asks you to restrain her if she tries to run out the kitchen door.”

I paused in the act of slicing potatoes into perfect discs. “I am to tackle her ladyship and drag her back inside, am I?”

Mrs. Redfern sniffed, no happier with Mrs. Bywater than I was. “I can only convey her wishes. Between you and me, the mistress will drive her ladyship to ruin. Lady Cynthia is a restless soul, and if they are not careful, she will be off, eloping with some blackguard who will drag her into misery.”

I thought Cynthia more sensible than that, but it was true she often expressed much exasperation with her aunt and uncle. Cynthia was now a spinster, and the world mocked such women. She’d found refuge with her friends, but I knew she chafed at the restrictions put on her because she did not have aMrs.before her name.

“I will keep an eye out, Mrs. Redfern,” I said.

Mrs. Redfern nodded and glided away.

I hoped Cynthia could take the message I asked to Miss Townsend, if her aunt was curtailing her, but knowing Cynthia, she’d somehow manage.

Six for supper meant extra guests. Mrs. Bywater must have spontaneously invited friends again.

They arrived when the window darkened. I went out when I heard a hansom stop, climbing halfway up the outside stairs, curious as to who was coming.

Mr. Fielding stepped out of the hansom, paid the driver, then settled his coat and hat. He saw me on the steps and gave me a mock salute before pasting on his obsequious expression, and entered the house, the front door held open by a footman.

Another hansom pulled up behind the first, disgorging a primly dressed man and woman I did not recognize. Cynthia would have much to put up with at the table, I decided, though Mr. Fielding would no doubt keep her amused.

To my surprise, Mr. Fielding did not attempt to descend to the kitchen under the guise of praising my cooking that evening, to speak to me. I’d assumed he’d gotten himself invited in order to do so, but Tess and I cleared up the supper things and had a meal of our own without him appearing.

He departed when the other guests did, according to one of the footmen who’d stationed himself on the outer stairs. None of the staff could retire until the visitors were gone, and the footman yelled back inside that they’d left at last.

The footman then raced up the back stairs with the other footmen and maids, who’d be expected to put the house to rights before they retired. Mr. Davis followed them, admonishing the footmen to be quiet, for pity’s sake.

Once they were gone, I sent Tess to bed and lingered, in case Daniel, or even Mr. Fielding, appeared. Neither did, and the house quieted, the rest of the staff finally climbing wearily to their beds.

Just as I was about to give up, someone banged on the back door. I opened it to find Albie, brimming with agitation.

“Did as you asked, missus,” he announced. “Went all over Blackfriars and up to Hoxton Square. I have mates all over the East End.” His eyes held worry. “One of them told me your man, McAdam, was taken up by some blokes and hustled into a carriage near Victoria Park. Them blokes work for Naismith, missus. I think McAdam is for it.”

22

I seized Albie by the shoulder and pulled him inside, shutting out the cold night. He did not resist, his eyes round in his small face.

“Are you certain?” I knew Albie must be, but I couldn’t stop the question.

Albie nodded as I released him. “Had it from Pete, who’s me best mate. He’s not bright, is Pete, but honest. He described exactly what happened—two blokes came to either side of McAdam and half dragged, half pushed him to a fine carriage. Pete knew exactly whose carriage it was. He hid in the hedge and watched. McAdam climbed in, the carriage sat for a time, then it pulled off.”

“Does he know where it went?”

Another nod. “Pete rounded up some other chaps and they followed it all the way north, to Islington, they said. Place called Barnsbury Square. Some big houses there. Constables patrolling, though, so most of the lads ran for it.”

I was not familiar with Barnsbury Square, but I’d heard of it, an affluent corner of Islington favored by writers, poets, and the respectable middle class.

I wondered if Mr. Naismith had taken an abode in the innocuous part of town to avoid the attentions both of the police and of the criminal gangs that swarmed the East End. Those in Barnsbury Square were well-to-do, but not in the ostentatious way of those who could afford a mansion in Park Lane.

“Mr. Naismith took Daniel there?” I asked.

“Looks like it, missus. I’m sorry. He might never come out again.”

Albie’s dire predictions were not helping the cold fears racing through me.

Mr. Naismith had told me he wanted Daniel’s help, had instructed me to send Daniel to him. I wondered if Daniel had decided to beard the lion in its den and either arrange to meet him in Victoria Park or wander about there until Naismith sent his ruffians to grab him.