Page 32 of Murder in Blackfriars

He did, because he regarded her as a lost sheep who came back to the flock. She’d entered a bawdy house by the time she was sixteen—I imagine she had very little choice in the matter. Either she was taken against her wishes or she’d decided it was the only way to keep herself from starving.

However, she did leave the bawdy house eventually. She set up her own residence in Bethnal Green, not as a madam but as an angel of mercy, brave lady.

She took in children who would normally be left to die in the streets or locked into the sort of houses she’d just escaped. She offered them a place of refuge and worked her fingers to the bone to feed and clothe them. The vicar personally assisted her as he could, happy Mrs. Kerr had seen the error of her ways.

The parishes themselves didn’t help in the way of monetary donations, because she was sponsored by no church, and she didn’t feel the need to toddle off with the lads and lasses to Sunday school each week. Because Mrs. Kerr kept them warm and fed without trying to save their souls, she received no bounty.

I inquired aboutMr.Kerr, but this vicar had never met him, had no memory of a wedding, and indeed, the parish registers I consulted contained no record of a marriage. I conclude that she took the name to give herself a modicum of respectability—a widow assisting abandoned children would be less likely to be brought to the attention of the police than an unmarried fugitive from a bawdy house.

Jessica Kerr died, either of disease or exhaustion, when she was nearing fifty, moving back to Stepney inher last year to be looked after in a poorhouse of that parish. The house was leased to someone else, and what became of the children she’d looked after, the vicar has no idea.

The house itself was on West Street, which is very near Victoria Park, that bastion of green some well-meaning reformers plunked into the center of the slums. I tell you this because I know you’ll want to poke about, even if I warn you not to, and it’s safer if you don’t simply wander through the East End asking about Mrs. Kerr.

If you must continue your inquisitiveness on this case you and McAdam are supposedly working on, meet me in Victoria Park on Thursday afternoon, near the west entrance.

Answer as soon as you can as to whether you will meet me, so I do not stroll the paths in vain.

Yours in burning curiosity,

Errol Fielding

I read the letter over several times, folded it, and slid it into my apron pocket.

Once I had sent up breakfast, I tore a blank page from my notebook and scribbled that I’d be happy to meet Mr. Fielding at the west gate of Victoria Park at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon. I slid the note into a parcel I did up of scones, wrapping it in brown paper and addressing it to Mr. Fielding at his vicarage in Shadwell.

Usually, I asked Mr. Davis to make certain my letters or parcels were posted, but as he was not speaking to me, I entrusted it to Lady Cynthia. It would likely go faster if she sentit, in any case, because the local post office knew who was who in Mayfair and would make certain the earl’s daughter was not disappointed.

Now to explain to Daniel what I’d done.

He hadn’t visited me since the night Mr. Davis had come upon us, not even to deliver any order of flour or potatoes. He likely was giving Mr. Davis time to cool down, I told myself.

I hoped, as I donned my best frock the next morning, that Daniel would today meet me at the Millburns’. I’d asked James to convey the message for him to meet me there no later than one in the afternoon, but Daniel did not always respond to a summons.

Back in the kitchen, as I was buttoning my coat, Mrs. Bywater entered. I turned to her, heart sinking, waiting for her to command some odd dish to be made for supper that Tess did not have a hope to master on her own.

“What did that nice Mr. Fielding say in his letter yesterday?” she asked me in a too-bright voice. She held out her hand. “Mrs. Redfern told me you had a letter from Shadwell. Do let me read it.”

Some servants dutifully handed over all their correspondence to their masters or mistresses, often because the servants couldn’t read anything themselves.

I shrugged, assuming a nonchalant air. “I put it on the fire.” As I had done so with the envelope, I felt comfortable in the half-truth. “Shouldn’t waste good fuel. He mostly sent words of instruction and hoped I’d attend chapel more often in the future. Sunday is my busiest day in the kitchen, but I’ll do my best.”

“Of course you shall.” Mrs. Bywater beamed. “So lucky we live around the corner from such a beautiful church.”

I nodded, impatient to be gone.

“Have that chop ready for tonight, Tess,” Mrs. Bywater continued. “Mrs. Holloway can cook it and some potatoes when she returns. Are you meeting your friend, Mrs. Holloway? What was her name…Grace?”

Tess turned abruptly back to the table, sorting potatoes as though ready to get on with supper then and there.

I managed to school my expression. “Very likely,” I said.

“I hope she is a decent sort of person. Respectable, I mean. A nice outing for tea is one thing, but if she pulls you into music halls and public houses, then you should end the acquaintance.”

“She is the most respectable person in the world,” I said, my ire rising. “Mostly we go for improving walks, or to museums, or for tea in reputable shops.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Bywater blinked as though she’d been certain I spent my days out in debauchery. “That’s all right, then. Perhaps you could bring her around one day, and introduce her. I am pleased you have such a friend, but one likes to make certain.”

“Perhaps,” I said evasively.