Page 63 of Murder in Blackfriars

I regarded him with the fondness that now consumed me. I’d vowed not to lose myself in this man, and of course, I’d gone and done that very thing. The heart did not always listen to common sense.

“I confess it is much more pleasant,” I said in a low voice.

Daniel leaned even closer, and we let practicality go to the wind for the next little while.

* * *

The next morning, I pinched off pieces of risen dough and rolled two balls at a time on the table, one with each hand, and pondered what to do next.

I’d not be wise to hurry to Hoxton Square and Mr. Draper’s gaming house to demand to know if he or his friend Mr. Barlow murdered Mr. Banks, if Mr. Draper would even be there.

I was not entirely convinced of Mr. Draper’s guilt, in any case. It was true that collectors for gaming houses could be brutes, but usually they left the debtor alive so that he could pay back the money. Mr. Banks hadn’t been given a good drubbing to make him motivated to pay—he’d been murdered outright.

I’d also not be wise to make my way to the docks to see what had been going on at the warehouses near Pudding Dock, either that Mr. Banks might have been a part of or simply stumbled into.

It was a drawback to be a lady in skirts with no business in the docklands. Admittedly, I’d met women who scrounged on the shore of the Thames, who were plenty hard as the men there. They’d not want me elbowing in either.

I did, on the other hand, know plenty of swift messengers who could race among the docks and be mostly ignored. They’d helped me earlier this year in keeping an eye on Daniel when he’d been sequestered on a dangerous job for Scotland Yard.

That morning, I put the word out through our bootboy, Charlie, who knew how to find all the errand boys in the area. I slipped him an extra piece of rhubarb tart for the favor when Mrs. Redfern wasn’t about.

The lad Albie, who seemed to have grown several inches since I’d last employed him, arrived after breakfast. I’d saved him out a soft bun, which he devoured while I explained what I wished of him. We stood on the street, a brisk wind pushing white clouds across a bright sky.

“Right you are, missus,” Albie said cheerily. “I know just the lads to help.”

“Be careful,” I admonished. “The Blackfriars docks are dangerous places, and a man has died already.”

“I’m in and out of there all the time,” Albie said with confidence. “They’re used to me, and anyway, they’ll never catch me.”

So spoke the great confidence of the young. I hoped Albie’s faith in himself and his companions was not misplaced.

“If anyone comes after you, you are to leave at once and not go back,” I said.

“Told ya, they’ll never notice. Sixpence, is it?”

“I will decide on the payment when you bring me information,” I said coolly.

Albie grinned at me, knowing I had a soft heart and that he could get out of me what he wished. He finished the last bite of the bun and leapt away, racing to the corner and around it, out of sight.

Lady Cynthia had spent the night at Miss Townsend’s, Mrs. Redfern had informed me last evening when she reported how many would be in for supper upstairs. Cynthia came into the kitchen not long after I’d spoken to Albie, still in her man’s clothes, her eyes red-rimmed.

She collapsed onto the chair at my table where Daniel had sat last night. “Coffee. For the love of God.”

I’d anticipated this and slid a cup of the brew in front of her. Mrs. Bywater insisted that only tea be served above stairs, but Cynthia and the footmen liked coffee, so I always kept some on hand.

“Did ya have an exciting night, your ladyship?” Tess asked good-naturedly as she rolled out another batch of scones. Hershad been baking up so well, I’d gladly turned the task over to her.

“Bobby has the energy of a racehorse,” Cynthia said with a groan. “Miss Townsend retires at a sensible time, but Bobby remains awake, putting away the whisky with her cronies, men and women alike, until the wee hours. I, for some reason, think I should keep up with them.” She grabbed the cup and took a long sip. “I’m growing too old for carousing.”

“You are barely above thirty,” I said. “But drink and dissipation does age one quickly.”

“Now you sound like my aunt. Did Daniel or Fielding turn up?”

“Daniel did, yes. Thank you.”

Cynthia took another loud slurp of coffee. “When I am of sounder mind, I will ask you what you were so desperate to speak to them about.”

I abandoned the bread I kneaded and took the seat next to hers. “Do you think Miss Townsend would do me another favor? This has more to do with asking questions at the Home Office than sending her footmen scurrying about London.”