Page 62 of Murder in Blackfriars

Daniel gently closed the book. “I might have had such a thing when I was a lad. But it is far too long ago for me to remember.”

“But it could be a connection,” I persisted. “If the book was one your parents gave you, of course you’d hang on to it until it was no longer possible. Perhaps it wasn’t about the seaside at all, but if it was, that could account for your nostalgia about it.”

Daniel raised his brows. “Possibly, but I don’t see how this helps us much.”

“You only become obtuse when we are discussing your past,” I said. “Either your parents took you to the sea, or talked of it, or showed you books like this. You taught yourself to read, you once told me, but perhaps it was your family who instilled interest in books and letters.”

“Obtuse, am I?” Daniel relented. “You are likely right. When I am close to a thing, my judgment is clouded, and I don’t trust it. Even so, we can’t know if my family purchased a book—or was given it or lent it—thirty-odd years ago. If they bought it, they did so secondhand. A book like this would be hideously expensive.” He brushed his fingertips over the cover again.

“If your father was a duke, he wouldn’t balk at the price,” I said. “But let us look at logical possibilities. It is likely that yes, your family could only obtain books from secondhand shops or as gifts. Not all families purchase books for their children, secondhand or not, so we can assume yours were indulgent and thought such an extravagance worth the price. Or they had a subscription to a lending library, also believing that worth the small investment.”

“So, all we need to do is discover what families in or near London purchased a book on the seaside from a secondhand shop or borrowed it from a lending library thirty years ago?” Daniel’s smile returned. “I’m not likely to have time to find Banks’s killer if I go on that hunt. Or do any deliveries, or anything else, for that matter.”

“Don’t make difficulties,” I said impatiently. “This would be a family, or parent, who purchased or borrowed a book on the seaside thirty years ago, and not long later reported their child missing. They must have lived somewhat near Victoria Park so that whoever dropped you at Mrs. Kerr’s would know about the house there and that she took in children.”

Daniel’s attention grew more keen as I rattled this off. “You still make it sound simpler than it is, but you could be right, Kat. I should narrow things down instead of flailing about.”

“The police must have made note of a family whose child had gone missing. Whatever their drawbacks, I know they keep meticulous records. Some newspapers also might have reported the missing boy, knowing that people in general worry about children.”

Daniel was already shaking his head. “As soon as I penetrated the halls of Scotland Yard, I went to the records, looking for any sort of report of a missing child from around the time I was a few years old. I found nothing. Or, at least, an unfortunate number of reports, but none that matched my description.”

“Oh, dear.” My heart burned for those families. “I hope they were found.”

“Many were,” Daniel said. “Happily. But nothing that I could match to my own circumstances.”

“Yes, but perhaps they didn’t report to Scotland Yard. Most people would go to their local constable, wouldn’t they?Someone they already knew, and who would know their child. Perhaps the record stayed at that station and didn’t get passed on to the Metropolitan Police. If your family lived within the City, it would stay with the police there. The two branches don’t always communicate.”

When I was a girl, the constables who patrolled the City had nothing good to say about those of the Metropolitan. They were separate entities and happy to stay that way.

Daniel took on a bit more animation. “That is true.”

“The City is close to the East End. I know you know that—I am trying to organize my thoughts. It is only a few miles from Aldgate to Victoria Park, a fairly easy walk, no matter what the weather. Also, a visit to more local police stations might provide the record. And one more thing…”

“Yes?” Daniel prompted.

“I don’t like to speak of it, but perhaps you didn’t go missing. Perhaps something happened to your parents, and one of their servants or friends didn’t know what else to do with you, and so carried you to Mrs. Kerr. Perhaps there was simply no one else to look after you. Somerset House might be of use once more, to look for records of deaths at about that time,” I finished gently.

I, more than most, did not like to mention the loss of a parent. I still missed my mum so very much.

Daniel didn’t flinch. “Records of a couple who lived within a five-mile radius of Victoria Park and had a son, born about 1852, before one or both of them passed away.”

He spoke quietly, but I saw him resolve himself to face the truth, even if it was tragic.

“Shall we send Mr. Thanos and Cynthia back to Somerset House to search again, with those guidelines?” I suggested. “Itmight turn up more precise information. Mr. Thanos is so very thorough, and Cynthia helps him focus.”

“I’d say Mr. Thanos is a bit focused on Lady Cynthia,” Daniel said, softening into a half-smile. “I’m glad to see him happy.”

“I would be glad to see them settled,” I said. “Before Cynthia’s family manages to marry her off to a man who would be entirely unsuitable for her.”

“Thanos is a very honorable gentleman of limited funds, which means he will never believe he has the right to propose.”

“Well,” I said briskly. “We shall have to work on that. It just takes a bit of planning, is all.”

The usual teasing twinkle entered Daniel’s eyes. “My very practical Kat.”

“My dear Daniel, you know as well as I do that living by a kiss and a hope will not help when the gasworks sends their bill.”

Daniel leaned closer to me. “But a kiss and a hope is still a pleasant thing.”