Page 61 of Speculations in Sin

Her words checked me. I fell silent as I envisioned Daniel in Sam’s place, chained and exhausted. Mr. Monaghan could do that to him—invent a charge or dredge up Daniel’s old mistakes and punish him for them. Monaghan was quite powerful, and he might succeed in making the charges stick.

Joanna was right. I’d be devastated. I’d round up everyoneI knew and not stop until they’d found a way to rescue Daniel. I’d also be at Newgate every day—to look upon Daniel’s face, touch his hand, make certain he was well.

Joanna’s gaze sharpened as she observed my distress. “I think you understand,” she said.

“I am so sorry,” I whispered. “My dearest friend, you have the right of it, and I am a fool.”

“Thank you.” Joanna continued to watch me, as though diverted from her troubles by a new insight about me. “Will you—”

She clamped her lips closed as Grace opened the sitting room door. “Mum? I saw you arrive. Is Mr. Kearny gone now? Can we have our day out?”

I swung from Joanna and swept Grace into my arms. “We can indeed, darling. We’ll have a walk and a fine tea, and talk and talk.” I released her, and Grace happily darted off to fetch her coat.

Joanna continued to give me a knowing stare. I was glad that my confused feelings gave her a respite from her own troubles, but her little smile began to vex me. I pointedly closed the door on her and met Grace at the front door, where Carrie was helping the excited girl into her coat.

“How did you know Mr. Kearny’s name?” I asked as I took her hand and led her down the lane.

“I recognized him when he came in. We were watching over the stair railing.” She grinned at me, guessing correctly I wouldn’t admonish her for curiosity. “He’s called on the Millburns before. He’s Uncle Sam’s friend.”

Possibly why Mr. Kearny had been certain he’d be welcome. There would be no objection to an old friend making certain Sam’s wife was all right.

Was Mr. Kearny guilty of anything but fancying Joanna?I’d heard him state loudly in the clerks’ room, before anyone had seen me, that Sam couldn’t be responsible for the murder. He seemed genuinely distressed for Sam, although ready to take advantage of Sam’s absence to get in good with Joanna. Hedging his bets, I’d say.

He did not know Joanna very well, I decided. Joanna was thoroughly in love with her Sam and not the sort of woman to eagerly seek another man to take care of her.

Grace’s hand tightened on mine. “You’ll get Uncle Sam free, Mum. You and Uncle Daniel. I know it.”

Her confidence made me want to hug her again. “We will do our best,” I said.

“You will.” Having made her pronouncement, Grace tugged me onward. “Where shall we go today?”

I did not want to venture far. I settled for one of our usual strolls around St. Paul’s, the two of us stepping into its hushed interior to admire the lofty dome and the fine architecture of the late seventeenth century. Both Lord Nelson and the Duke of Wellington, the noble heroes who’d fought Napoleon, lay in the crypt beneath us.

We then walked around the green of the churchyard outside, a quiet space so removed from and yet so close to the bustle of the metropolis.

I realized someone dogged our footsteps as we strolled, which annoyed me. I wanted to take Grace to one of our favorite tea shops, not rush her home to keep her safe. She’d be disappointed as well. Not frightened—Grace was a brave soul.

Daniel sometimes intercepted us on our walks, but I knew it was not Daniel who followed. I’d spent enough time on these streets to know when I was guarded by a friend or stalked by an enemy.

I exited the churchyard to St. Martin’s Le Grand, which rannorthward past the large edifice of the post office, hoping to throw our pursuer off the scent. I ducked around the corner at the end of the post office, but heard rushing footsteps in pursuit. I squared my shoulders and swung around to face the approaching menace of Mr. Jarrett.

18

Mr. Jarrett had chosen his ambush point well. This small lane was quiet and empty, the traffic lumbering by on the large street beyond muffling any shout I’d make. The bulk of the post office rose beside me on one side, and a railed-off yard separated the lane from the small brick church of St. Anne and St. Agnes on the other.

However, I too had chosen well. I knew that a quick run would take us around another corner and back to Cheapside. Also, that a second man would step behind Mr. Jarrett as soon as he advanced toward us, and hem him in.

Mr. Jarrett, out of his territory, had followed me into the trap.

“Won’t hurt you none, missus,” Jarrett said, his swagger too confident.

His short black coat and flat cap were dusty, his light hair greasy beneath it. I doubted he’d been home to bathe and have a change of clothes since I’d last seen him. I wonderedwhere he was staying on this side of the river—friends in the area? Who would dare put him up?

“I know you will not,” I said. “There is a policeman nearby.”

The constable lingering in Cheapside had kept his eye on me and Grace, and wandered as far as St. Paul’s with us, as though he suspected we’d rush to Newgate to try to break Sam from it. The constablemighthave walked up Foster Lane from there toward this little turning, so I did not lie to Jarrett.

Jarret cast a nervous glance past me but retained his belligerence. “This your little ’un?”

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