Page 80 of Murder in Blackfriars

“The truth might not be as exciting as all that.” I tried to gentle my voice. “It might even be distressing, but at least you would know.”

“Will that be better?” Daniel asked in some despair.

“I think, for you, it will,” I answered. “You always seek answers, and the truth. You make people own up to who they are and what they do. I think you will never be satisfied with not knowing.” I softened. “Cheer up. You might be the son of a duke, after all.”

Daniel leaned closer to me. “If I proved to be a duke’s son, would you still love me, Kat?”

“Of course.” I loved Daniel for himself, no matter who he turned out to be. “I couldn’t marry you, of course, but I’d still love you from afar.”

“Couldn’t?” Daniel asked, brows rising. “Or wouldn’t?”

“My dear Daniel, a duke cannot marry a cook.”

“If I am a duke I’ll marry whomever I please,” Daniel said, his good humor returning. “Then you can live in my manor house, put your feet up, and criticize your own cook, because none will ever reach your standard.”

I did not let myself laugh. “Now you are being absurd. But it is no matter. I have reasoned you are probablynotan aristocrat, because that family would have turned over every stone to find you. Or their solicitors would have, if you were indeed the next heir. But that does not mean you didn’t belong to a family who treasured you.”

“I would like to think I did,” Daniel said softly.

I opened my notebook and flipped to the relevant pages. “While you have been assisting the police, I have come up with a list of people who bought books for children about the seaside thirty or so years ago. Mr. Thanos and Cynthia are combing through it and lists of people who either perished or reported a missing child, to see if any match. I copied out the ones I thought most likely. Do you think any of these are good possibilities?”

I turned the notebook so he could read what I’d written. I’d focused on those with addresses in the center of London, places close enough to the East End where someone in the household might have heard of Mrs. Kerr, but also within easy distance of Mrs. Davies’s shop.

I did include a few from the western part of London, reasoning that if a maid or nurse had taken Daniel to Mrs. Kerr, she might be familiar with the East End even if Daniel’s family didn’t live there.

The addresses ranged from Whitechapel to Hammersmith, though I reasoned that the possibilities were less likely the farther afield I went.

Daniel gazed down at my notebook for some time, then he lifted his head, a bit dazed.

“How did you find out all this?”

“I have my methods,” I said mysteriously. “Truth to tell, I paid a visit to a bookshop. I do know it is only one shop out of many, but please tell me what you think.”

Daniel’s eyes had warmed. “I think I was the wisest man on earth to deliver goods to your kitchen that day.”

I flushed, not an unpleasant sensation. He referred to the time he’d come breezing into a kitchen I’d worked in five years ago, laid down his sack, and smiled at me. I’d fallen for his blue eyes and engaging ways and hadn’t lost my fascination for him since.

I slid my chair over so I could lean my shoulder against his.

“Never mind the flattery,” I said softly. “And let us decide which is the best possibility.”

* * *

Before Daniel departed, he did agree that three of the names were worth investigating, including the one in Hammersmith.

Once he focused, he was able to reason out why those names had more possibilities.

For one, all three had purchased more than one book that would be of interest to a small boy. Next, they lived in neighborhoods of people who could likely afford the expense of a few secondhand books, and last, the houses were handy for either a walk to Victoria Park or to the direct train lines there.

Now to discover if any of those people still lived at these addresses, and if they had reported a missing child or had died themselves.

By the time Daniel left, he’d regained interest in the puzzle,I was pleased to see. I’d rarely encountered Daniel dejected and hadn’t realized how deeply he could sink into himself.

In the morning, as I readied myself to go to Joanna’s to bake for my market stall, Cynthia passed through the kitchen on her way out the back door.

“Can you stop by Thanos’s flat this morning?” she asked. “We have much to say.”

With that, she floated out, her well-tailored skirt barely fluttering.