Page 74 of Murder in Blackfriars

“We must not forget about Mr. Ramsay,” I reminded them. “He had a connection to Mr. Banks we should not ignore. We’ve only Ramsay’s word that he considered Mr. Banks a friend, and both Hannah and I recognized him for a tough the moment we saw him.”

“I have not forgotten him,” Daniel said grimly. “Meanwhile, we will scout the docks and then raid.”

My worry returned. “Rushing straight into the peril you admonish me to stay out of.”

Daniel took my hand in his warm one. “I know how to take great care, my love. Also, Grimes won’t let anything happen to me, will he?”

Mr. Grimes, who’d scooped up more biscuits, saluted me with one. “I never do.”

I did feel a bit better knowing Mr. Grimes would be with Daniel, but I’d worry for him too, as well as for Mr. Fielding.

“You might not have so difficult a job with the scouting,” I announced. “I have already sent Albie and his mates all over Blackfriars to tell me what they find. If you visit me later today, I will be able to give you their report.”

* * *

As much as I would have liked to sit in the comfortable drawing room sharing tea with Daniel and friends the rest of the afternoon, I had to return to Mount Street. Mr. Davis could only fend off inquiries from Mrs. Bywater for so long.

Daniel led me out the way in which he’d entered. A room in the back of the house gave onto a garden, and that garden’s gate led to a small lane behind it.

We emerged from the lane into Minerva Place, on the opposite end of the square from Mr. Naismith’s house. This street connected with a main road, where Daniel hailed a hansom and put me into it. He paid the fare, whether I wished it or not, and bade the cabbie not to stop until I was within strolling distance of Mount Street.

I wanted to embrace Daniel again before we parted, but of course I could not do such a thing in the somewhat crowded road. Daniel dropped a kiss to my lips as he assisted me in, then I landed in the seat at the same time the cabbie’s horse clopped forward.

I turned to try to keep Daniel in sight, but he was already gone.

By the time I clattered down the outside stairs at the MountStreet house, unbuttoning my coat as I went, the family upstairs were in the middle of luncheon. The kitchen was empty, silent, and tranquil.

Mr. Davis would be upstairs serving, the footmen with him, the maids going about their daily tasks on the upper floors. Elsie was in the laundry again, singing to herself as she liked to do. A pot of stock steamed gently on the stove, and ingredients waited on the table for me to make them into something delectable.

I sighed in satisfaction as I filled the kettle and set it on a burner. There was something about an orderly, quiet kitchen that soothed me.

I’d straightened up the unknown gentleman’s kitchen in Barnsbury Square before I’d gone, not trusting the three men I’d left behind to do it properly.

I could grow fond of such a house, I reflected. While I knew the likes of me could never afford it, the layout and decoration gave me ideas of what I could do with the little house in Kensington Daniel and I would occupy.

I began sifting flour with baking powder and a bit of salt, preparing to make a quick bread filled with apples that were starting to go soft. I’d finely chop those and bake the bread in a loaf pan, to cut up to serve with tea or for pudding. I needed to melt the butter before I stirred it into the batter, rather than cut it in as for scones, which would give it a silkier crumb.

As I swirled a pan of fragrant butter on the stove, Mr. Davis appeared.

“Thank God you are back” was his greeting. “I can serve an improvised luncheon without question, but I’d never make any sort of headway on supper.”

“Did they mind warmed-over roast and vegetables from last night?” I asked without turning. Butter melted quicklyonce it started to go, and if I took my eyes from it, it would burn.

“They never noticed.” Mr. Davis’s statement held derision. “Ate it up while they discussed whether they’d go to the country for shooting again this year. Mrs. Bywater is all for it—wants to mix with her country-set friends—but Mr. Bywater does not want to take time away from his firm. Lady Cynthia ate quietly and let them battle it out. They reached no conclusion.”

As I turned from the stove with my little pot of melted butter, Mr. Davis snatched a bun from the plate of them I’d left from breakfast and chewed on it as he went out.

If Mrs. Bywater did persuade her husband out of London for the shooting season, it would give me quiet time to create and hone recipes for the coming winter and busy spring. However, if they insisted Cynthia go with them, or to her parents in Hertfordshire, I’d miss her dreadfully. I was growing tired of the people I loved being taken out of my life.

I continued my baking, letting the warm odor of the apple bread in the oven calm me. I made more buns—brushed with the leftover melted butter before they went in beside the bread—and rolled out dough for another tart. I chopped more apples, which I’d layer on the dough, and then dollop a streusel of cinnamon, sugar, flour, and walnuts on top of it.

The work helped me keep from worrying about Daniel, Mr. Fielding, and Mr. Grimes. I knew they would not simply walk to Blackfriars and ask Mr. Draper’s smugglers what they thought they were doing, but still I fretted. I’d hoped Daniel’s hazardous investigations would be finished once he resigned from Scotland Yard’s Special Branch, but apparently not.

Albie sought me out as the afternoon wore on. I met him outside with more pennies and a thick slice of the apple bread.

“There’s lots of little piers between Blackfriars Bridge andLondon Bridge,” he told me as he tore off pieces of the cake-like bread and popped them into his mouth. “Puddle Dock’s the busiest, but there’s plenty of little lanes coming down from Upper Thames Street. Same on the south side of the river, but we never go over there. The little wharf closest to Blackfriars Bridge is called Chatham Dock. There’s a warehouse there that’s guarded all the time, and when boats come in, some toughs whip crates and things in there, then wave the ships to go. Looks like smugglers to me. They keep a sharp eye out, so we couldn’t get no closer.”

Most interesting.