Page 11 of Murder in Blackfriars

“Four bedrooms for the family, good heavens,” I said.

“They aren’t very big, Uncle Sam says,” Grace confided. “And there are six bedrooms. One for Aunt Joanna and Uncle Sam, of course, and then a spare room, for when you visit, Mum.”

“A spare room just for me?” I stared at her, then Joanna in amazement. “Nonsense, Grace must have the chamber. I will not be there often enough to justify keeping it empty most of the week.”

“It will be easier this way,” Joanna assured me. “Instead of having to shift everyone around when you arrive.”

“I don’t mind sharing a room with my daughter,” I said at once. Such a thing sounded heavenly.

“There will be plenty of time to arrange it all,” Joanna said.

The sparkle in her eye and the relief in her voice told me she was happy I’d ceased fussing about her taking Grace away. My unhappiness hadn’t vanished, but I decided I would help Joanna as much as I could with this change in her life. Being visibly downhearted would only put an extra burden on her.

When the hands of the sitting room’s small clock marched toward eleven, my uneasiness returned. I nearly jumped out of my seat when a knock sounded on the front door at ten minutes to.

“I’ve come to steal your mum for a bit,” Daniel told Grace, who eagerly greeted him in the front hall. “Then we’ll have our picnic.”

“Or go to a tea shop,” I suggested as I buttoned my coat and donned my hat. “It’s brisk today.” The day had clouded over as I’d chatted with Joanna and our girls, the autumn wind picking up.

“Whatever you like.” Daniel spoke too animatedly, which betrayed his own anxiousness. “Shall we, Mrs. Holloway?”

“We shall, Mr. McAdam.” I took his arm and we sallied forth, pretending we were going nowhere more important than a nearby shop for an errand.

Daniel started us off at a brisk pace, only slowing at the corner to cross busy Cheapside. Carts, carriages, wagons, and delivery vans choked the street, and shoppers thronged the pavements. The threat of rain deterred no one, including those gathered to watch the elaborate clock over Mr. Bennett’s watch shop strike the hour.

We continued south until we crossed Cannon Street, thentook Friday Street, purportedly named for a fish market that had been here in days long gone, to Queen Victoria Street, a broad road that led from the Thames to the heart of the City.

Before we reached Blackfriars Bridge, Daniel steered me south to Upper Thames Street. He pulled me along this road, which was filled with carts and drays trundling goods from the river to warehouses and shops that lined our way.

As church clocks began striking eleven, the deepbongfrom St. Paul’s cathedral overpowering them all, Daniel halted in front of a public house called the Friar and Hound.

Its hanging sign depicted a black-cowled man, presumably a Dominican friar, which was what the area of Blackfriars was named for, hurrying after a large, loping dog.

“I told him to meet us in the snug,” Daniel said. “Shall we?”

His hand shook as he gestured me forward.

This pub was nowhere I’d go on my own, even in the snug, where women could sit and enjoy a half-pint of ale or a cup of tea. The short corridor was musty, the floor muddy, mold snaking up from the base of the walls. So near the river, damp would be a constant problem. A pervading fishy and fetid odor did not add to the ambience.

The snug was small, with only a few tables and benches. Three other ladies were there, housewives stealing a moment for themselves. A young man sat far from them, against the wall, but I recognized him.

James didn’t look up or greet us, only kept his head down over his ale. Daniel said nothing to him either, and I checked my own impulse to call out. I assumed Daniel had asked him to come along to keep a surreptitious eye on Mr. Banks.

Mr. Banks himself was not there. Daniel led me to a table away from the ladies and James, and we settled ourselves like a couple coming to take our morning refreshment.

The sullen barmaid who popped in perked up when she beheld Daniel’s smile and simpered as she sashayed away to fulfill his order.

She smiled openly at Daniel again when she set a pint of ale in front of him and a half next to it. She took up the coin Daniel laid on the table and coquettishly slid it into her pocket before sidling away. Me, she utterly ignored.

We waited. Daniel was restless, slurping at his ale and then pushing it away as though reminding himself to keep a clear head.

After a quarter of an hour of this, Daniel was on his feet again. “I’ll just see if he’s coming.”

I was not about to be left behind, and quickly followed him out. James popped his head up, but I made a minute gesture to tell him to stay behind. If Mr. Banks turned up, James could tell him to wait.

Daniel had stepped into the taproom by the time I caught up to him. Ladies were not allowed inside, so I watched from the doorway while the landlord, who seemed to know Daniel by name, told him he hadn’t noted anyone asking for him.

I backed out of the way when Daniel emerged. He did not admonish me for leaving the snug, and said not a word as I followed him out into the road.