Page 70 of Murder in Blackfriars

I nodded at him. “I am aware of that, Mr. Davis.”

* * *

The advantage of Mr. Naismith holing up in a respectable neighborhood was that a woman in a work dress and coat, a basket on her arm, could stroll in without attracting much attention.

It took me some time to reach Barnsbury Square. I had to go all the way to Regent’s Park, where I caught an omnibus to take me along Euston Road, past St. Pancras and King’s Cross Stations, to where the street curved to become Pentonville Road. Here I turned north and made my way by foot to Barnsbury Square.

The square had quite a lovely garden in the middle, well tended, its flower beds now bare for autumn. The trees within were turning lovely shades of gold and red, and walkways wound among this beauty.

One end of the square held a row of town houses that were typical of most parts of London—three stories of brick or whitewashed stone with dormer windows and black shutters.

The other three roads around the square were lined with individual houses, a few sharing common walls, but most built with a bit of space in between.

Some of the houses were quite lovely, with bow windows and stately facades, a short flight of stairs leading to front doors, and little courtyards that housed plants in private gardens.

It was a quiet area, a refuge from the bustling city and cramped lanes I’d traveled through to reach it. A person could walk here and admire the garden in relative solitude.

I tramped around the square, my feet already aching, and tried to decide which house would contain Mr. Naismith. I dismissed the more modest abodes—though if I were a grand villain, I’d take a small, unassuming house so that no one would suspect me of gaining wealth from crime.

I found a little offshoot of the square called Mountfort Terrace, and there I believed I had my man.

The house was several stories tall, of whitewashed brick and stone, set back a bit from the street. Plain but elegantmoldings lined the roof and also the tops of the grand windows. On the right side of the house, large bow windows, one on each floor, gracefully curved from the facade. The view over the park from within must be fine.

Of course, so many large windows would let the inhabitants see me as well.

I stepped into the shadows of the trees lining the park and assessed the house, which seemed as quiet as those on the rest of the street.

“Have you got a ha’penny, missus?” A small boy stepped beside me, his hand palm up. “Sweep the street for ya?”

“You haven’t got a broom,” I pointed out.

“It’s back here, along the railings. I’ll show ya.”

A person would be foolish to follow even so small a boy into a less public area. He might not only pick my pocket, but lead me to a group of his mates who could relieve me of all my belongings, including my coat, and leave me shivering in the mud.

However, I recognized the thick brown hair and chipped tooth of a lad Mr. Fielding regularly employed.

The boy took me along one side of the square and halted before another house. This one was narrower and slightly less adorned than the one I’d gazed at, but no less grand.

The boy darted away as soon as I reached the foot of this house’s front stairs, but the door opened, and Mr. Fielding himself beckoned me inside.

23

The interior of this house was refreshingly elegant. The very large front windows poured plenty of light into the hall, as did a skylight that reposed at the top of the winding staircase.

Mr. Fielding shut the door behind me and let out an exasperated sigh.

“You could not trust us to report to you?” he demanded. “After you sent Grimes and me here in the middle of the night?”

“My dear Mr. Fielding,yousit in a kitchen and wait and wait for news, and see if you don’t shrug on your coat and hurry out to see for yourself.” I looked him up and down, taking in his neat black suit with its dog collar and his brushed and trimmed hair and beard. “You look well enough. You do know this is Sunday, and you should be up in front of your congregation?”

“I did that earlier. Then I explained that our two lay readers would take over the next service and tonight’s evening prayer.They adore being left in charge, so they eagerly agreed. Who is your lay reader? Tess?”

“Very amusing. It’s Tess’s day out, but yes, I made arrangements too.” I gazed about me. “Is this your house? Or did you commandeer it? Is Mr. Grimes here?”

“I am, that.” Mr. Grimes appeared on the stairwell above me, illuminated by a square sunbeam. “Your lads found me. Our Errol got the gent what leases this house to clear out of it.” He chortled. “It was masterfully done.”

Mr. Fielding winced. “It will cost me a packet, but I was in a rush.”