Page 82 of Murder in Blackfriars

“Thank you.” I warmed that I and Daniel had such friends. Though we came from very different walks of life, we all cared for Daniel, and one another.

Before I grew any more maudlin, I took my leave.

Since I was so near Oxford Street, I went in that direction when I left Mr. Thanos’s Regent Street building. Instead of making my way east along Oxford Street, I went a little way to the west, heading for the small bookshop I’d so much enjoyed this past Saturday.

Mrs. Davies was helping a few customers, so I lingered, pretending interest in a few books on display until she finished.

When the shoppers departed with several books bundled together with twine, I turned to Mrs. Davies, answering her greeting. I’d tucked extra scones into my basket, intending to drop them here before I went to Joanna’s.

“Thank you so much, dear,” Mrs. Davies said as she tookthe scones I’d wrapped loosely in brown paper. “You are such a kind young woman. Now, before you hasten away, I have something foryou.” She ducked into her back room and reemerged before I had time to follow her. “I had a nose around at other bookshops for you, and I got them to look in their records as well. I came up with more names.”

Mrs. Davies beamed and thrust a sheaf of papers at me.

“That was good of you,” I said in wonder as I took the sheets. “There was no need.”

“It will be a tedious search through every bookshop in London if you try to do it by yourself,” Mrs. Davies said. “Besides, it interests me. If you need any more help, no matter what the problem, you can come to me.”

“You have done so much already,” I began.

“Nonsense, dear. It is rather dull here unless my grandchildren come to visit. I welcome the challenge of a little searching. It’s similar to finding rare books for those who want them.” Her eyes glimmered with eagerness.

“I will return at once if I need anything more,” I promised.

“And do let me know how things turn out.”

“I will.” I realized I’d found a friend, one who listened and didn’t give two sticks for me being in domestic service. “I must go now, unfortunately. My daughter is waiting, and she will be leaving London all too soon.” I faltered, my voice cracking.

Mrs. Davies laid a kind hand on my arm. “Take heart, dear. You will visit her as much as you are able, and a year is not so long a time. When you are my age, you realize they go by in the blink of an eye.”

The long months without Grace nearby did not seem like the blink of an eye to me, but I nodded.

“Thank you again, Mrs. Davies. Please enjoy the scones.”

“I will, dear. Off you go.”

I stuffed the pages into my basket, nodded as I went out the door, and hurried along Oxford Street, my feet turned eastward once again.

* * *

I had no time to look over the pages Mrs. Davies had given me, as I took myself as rapidly as I could to Clover Lane.

When I arrived, the interior of the house was in chaos. Crates and wooden cartons were stacked everywhere, with Mark and Matthew coming downstairs with armloads more. Joanna was hurrying about in her parlor, which had been stripped of books, pictures, knickknacks, and cushions, the room empty and desolate.

Joanna emerged as I paused in the hall, nonplussed.

“The removals men will come on Saturday,” Joanna said breathlessly. “Sam only informed me of this yesterday, if you please. I’d already been packing, but now we’ll have to throw everything in a van and hope for the best.”

While I stood still, unable to move, Joanna embraced me. “Nothing for you to worry about, dearest. The kitchen is still intact, so you can do your baking with no hindrance. We won’t pack it up until tomorrow.”

27

I suddenly wanted to sit down and weep. I thought I’d grown used to the idea of Grace and Joanna leaving, but seeing Joanna’s beloved house, which was the closest thing to a home I had, laid bare, made clear to me that this epoch in my life was truly ending.

Grace descended the stairs, following Mark and Matthew, who came down with another load. She gazed at me with understanding in her eyes, took my hand, and led me down the back stairs into the kitchen.

I no longer had interest in baking or going to my stall at all. I wanted to sit in the warm kitchen and hold on to Grace.

The rest of the world, my life cooking and baking, the excitement of selling things at the market stall, ceased to matter. All that mattered was being with my daughter for the brief time I could.