Page 87 of Murder in Blackfriars

I squeezed Daniel once, then straightened to turn a severe eye on Mr. Patterson. “When Mrs. Kerr died, you took Robbie to a workhouse. This one. Left him here with all the other children. Why?”

Mr. Patterson ducked his head in shame. “It weren’t supposed to be forever. I knew I couldn’t look after him on me own. My own missus had died long ago, which is why Rosiehad always taken care of me. I didn’t lie when I said I had to work for a living. I left you there while I earned wages and hunted up a lodging where I could take you in. I’d moved into a hole when Rosie left me, but it weren’t no fit place for a boy. I did scare up some decent rooms and a woman to come in during the day to look after you, but when I came to fetch you…” He dragged in a ragged breath. “You were gone.”

Dr. Boland nodded slowly. “A few months into their stay, the children ran away. No one ever saw them again.”

“You could walk well enough by then,” Mr. Patterson said. “You were three, still just a babe, though you loved that book you had. You’d scream if someone tried to take it away from you. But it was left behind when you disappeared. The others must have dragged you with them. I searched and searched. Finally I gave up.” His shoulders sagged. “Please, forgive me.”

The room went silent for a moment, the stillness broken only by Mr. Patterson’s quiet sobs.

Mr. Fielding cleared his throat. “Forgiveyou?” he demanded. “If you knew what hell the man I call my brother went through, because you abandoned him in a workhouse and never explained to any you were coming back—”

“I did explain.” Mr. Patterson snapped his head up and glared at Mr. Fielding. “I told those who ran the place. The lads and lasses probably didn’t believe me. Why should they? Jess was gone, and they had no one to turn to.”

“It’s all right.” Daniel’s voice was steady. “He did his best. What happened to me on the streets of Southwark wasn’t his fault, and it’s the past now. Besides, we don’t know if I’m truly his grandson. This is all speculation.” He let out a breath, as though he did not want to admit the fact.

“You have his look,” Mr. Patterson argued. “Munro’s. His way of walking, the color of his hair. Plus what you got frommy Rosie. You’re theirs all right.” More tears slid from his eyes. “I’m sorry, lad. I am so sorry.”

“Do you still have the book?” I asked softly. It would be wonderful if Daniel had that from his past, and it might trigger memories.

Patterson shook his head. “Don’t know. It were so tattered it was almost in pieces by then. The people here must have chucked it out.”

I hid my disappointment, but it was too much to expect.

“Do the other Munros still live in Richmond?” I asked Mr. Patterson. “Robert Munro’s brother and family?”

Mr. Patterson shrugged. “Don’t know. Never spoke to them again. Me mate’s daughter quit them after a few months and went on to another house.”

“They never suspected she made off with Robbie?” I asked.

“Naw. She were a cool one. Knew if she simply disappeared, the police would be after her, so she went back and cleaned their floors for a time. Never let on.” Mr. Patterson scanned our disapproving faces—all but Daniel’s—and bristled. “She thought it were for the best. We knew he were safer with Jess than anywhere.”

Mr. Fielding began to object, but Daniel rose, signaling Mr. Fielding to be quiet. He went to Mr. Patterson, who stood shakily to meet him.

Mr. Patterson regarded Daniel in abject fear, as though believing Daniel would put his hands around Mr. Patterson’s throat and strangle him. Living his life in the slums of Bethnal Green, perhaps that happened much of the time—conflict resolved easily and finally. Men like Mr. Naismith thrived on it.

As the rest of us held our breaths, Daniel grasped Mr. Patterson by the shoulders, and pulled him into an embrace. Mr. Patterson started, then he collapsed onto Daniel, holding the grandson he’d thought lost all those years ago, and wept.

* * *

After an hour of Daniel sitting with Mr. Patterson on a hard settee in the vicar’s room, he rose and declared it time to take his leave.

“I’ll return,” he promised Mr. Patterson. “We have much to talk about.”

Mr. Patterson, who seemed to have aged years during our visit, only nodded.

Dr. Boland vowed he’d look after Mr. Patterson well while he was in the parish’s care, then shook Daniel’s hand and Mr. Fielding’s, and mine this time.

Mr. Fielding walked out with us as we left Mr. Patterson to Dr. Boland.

“I will have to find a place for him to live,” Daniel said. “He can’t stay in a Bethnal Green workhouse. He’ll soon die in there.”

“He leftyouin it,” Mr. Fielding pointed out. “We have only his word that he intended to return for you.”

“No matter,” Daniel said. “If he truly is my grandfather, I can’t do the same to him.”

Mr. Fielding turned away impatiently, waving at Lewis, who lounged against a light post down the street. This was an uncertain neighborhood, but Lewis was a tough cabbie with a large and hard-eyed horse. I noted that passersby left him and the horse alone.

“You know he might have been spinning the story so you would do that very thing,” I told Daniel. “Move him into better lodgings, see that he was fed.”