Page 13 of Murder in Blackfriars

Mr. Grimes, clearly relieved I was finally talking sense, towed me along the space between the walls.

It was nasty back here, the passageway full of stones, weeds, mud, and discarded bits of rusty metal too far gone even for the scavengers to take. Rats roamed the edges of the walls, and I hiked up my skirts a long way as I followed Mr. Grimes through the muck.

We emerged, after twisting and turning through this maze, on another lane, but I was no longer certain exactly where I was. Mr. Grimes continued along until we were once more in Upper Thames Street, which seemed a haven of respectability after the mire of the warehouses.

Rain began as we made our way back to Cannon Street. I did not want to return to the pub in case the constables startedasking questions there, and I hoped James would understand the danger and make himself scarce.

I now took the lead and guided Mr. Grimes to a tiny courtyard behind St. Mary Aldermary Church on the south side of Watling Street, across from the end of Bow Lane. This was the neighborhood of my childhood—Joanna and I had found a refuge in this courtyard on many an occasion.

A bench in the corner of the thick walls sheltered us somewhat from the rain. The stone seat’s cold seeped through both my coat and frock when I sat on it, but at least we could keep dry for a time.

“I would have to wear my new gown to tramp through mud and rain,” I grumbled. “Now, Mr. Grimes, please tell me what happened.”

“I don’t know, do I?” Mr. Grimes shrugged his big shoulders. “I followed Banks when he left his digs in Southwark and made his way over the bridge to Blackfriars. Danny asked me to, in case he tried to slip away or maybe bring some toughs with him. But he set off alone. There was a crowd at the north end of the bridge, and I lost him in the crush. He’s a bearded gent dressed like every other bearded gent in London.” Mr. Grimes scowled in frustration.

“You can’t blame yourself for that,” I said. “I mistook another bearded man for him as well.”

“Finally caught sight of him ducking down another lane near the bridge,” Mr. Grimes continued. “Don’t know why he was going that way. The place was crowded, as a barge on the river was just unloading. I searched for what must have been twenty or thirty minutes, and finally found him stretched out behind that warehouse off Puddle Lane. I whistled our signal, in case Danny were nearby. If he weren’t, I’d have come to the pub and fetched him, but then you caught up to me.”

I understood now why Daniel had come alert, possibly hearing Mr. Grimes’s whistle, though I’d noticed nothing.

“You didn’t see anyone else?” I asked. “No one following him?”

“Or stabbing the poor gent to death?” Mr. Grimes shook his head. “No. Banks must have come across a desperate man or one ready to kill for what few coins he had in his pocket.”

“Was he robbed?”

Another shrug. “Didn’t have time to look, did I? You came upon me almost at once. Maybe I scared the killer away before he had time to go through the gent’s pockets.”

I’d had only a fleeting glance at the body, but the coat had looked stiff, as though the blood had already started to dry.

“Do you know what time it was when you lost sight of him?” I asked. “I know you probably weren’t paying attention—”

“A quarter till eleven,” Mr. Grimes answered promptly. “The church towers were just striking three-quarters past ten.”

In London, one never needed to look at a clock to know what the time was. The multitude of churches, plus the cathedral a short distance from us, signaled every quarter, with a cacophony of bells filling the air at the top of each hour.

Sometime between a quarter to eleven and eleven thirty, when Daniel and I had turned down Puddle Lane, a person had come upon Mr. Banks and stabbed him until he was dead. I assumed stabbing from the blood on his chest.

I drew a sharp breath as the memory of a cold blade on my neck tumbled at me. I recalled too vividly how the brick wall had grated into my face, the man behind me pinning me with appalling strength, and the sickening realization that I’d been about to die a violent death.

Mr. Grimes’s heavy hand on mine pulled me back from the brink, and I sucked in a breath.

“It’s a long time before it fades.” His voice was gentle with understanding. “Remember what I told you—feel your feet on the ground and breathe in the air.”

The air I dragged in was smoky, as the cold wind and rain had people stoking their fires inside. Still, I drew a long lungful, dispersing the tingling sensation of remembered fear.

“Thank you,” I told Mr. Grimes. “You are a good man.”

He flashed a grin. “No, I ain’t. It’s why I can’t go to the nick, not even to save Danny.”

“Iwill go.” I rose, admonishing my legs for being a bit unsteady. “I will leave your name out of my report, but I will tell Inspector McGregor what happened. He believes in Daniel even if others won’t.”

ByothersI meant Mr. Monaghan, who might continue to cause trouble for Daniel if given the opportunity.

Mr. Grimes hefted himself up beside me. “You should leave it for Danny to sort out. He can talk his way out of anything, the cheeky cove.”

I agreed that he could, but I still worried that any enemies Daniel had made within Scotland Yard might decide this was a wonderful chance to fit him up.