Page 76 of Speculations in Sin

I toyed with the idea of walking down to the cellar floor and making some excuse to speak to the cook. The cook and maids would know all about any gilded carriages or sumptuous artwork Miss Swann might be hiding. I wasn’t certain what excuseI’d invent—perhaps I could pretend to be starting work in a nearby house and ask the cook to point me to the best market in the area.

Before I could put this plan into motion, the front door of the house opened. The woman who emerged looked so remarkably like Miss Swann that for a moment I thought it was she.

I realized after a moment that this woman was a bit older, her hair holding more gray, her face lined. However, she possessed the same slimness and upright posture of Miss Swann, and wore a simple gown similar to Miss Swann’s mode of dress under her unbuttoned plain coat.

An older sister, I guessed, as the resemblance was so close. This woman turned back to assist an even older woman out of the door, one bent with age, who rested her weight unsteadily on a cane. Once the older woman had, with help, navigated the two steps down to the street, Miss Swann’s sister twined her arm through the older woman’s, and the two set off northward.

At Daniel’s quiet command, Lewis started the hansom forward, the horse maintaining a slow pace as we followed the two women.

They continued on foot, ignoring other cabs that rumbled by, in the direction of Regent’s Park. The older woman—mother, grandmother, or elderly aunt—limped heavily, but the two plodded on, glancing neither left nor right.

This must be a daily routine, I realized. Both women were neat and respectable, but if Miss Swann had been shunting money home to them, it was not evident in their clothing. Nor did they have a carriage at their disposal, nor did they bother with a paid conveyance, and no servant followed them.

“If she is taking the money, she is hiding it well,” Daniel murmured to me.

“From the brief impression I have of Miss Swann, she would know how to hide it,” I said. “Perhaps she is saving a nest egg. But I wonder if Miss Swann would embezzle at all. Fraud might seem tawdry to her. Beneath her.”

“Even the most respectable of people can commit crimes, in my experience,” Daniel said. “We can’t rule out Miss Swann. In the meantime, though, let us see if anyone else on the list is living ostentatiously.”

The patient Lewis drove us all over north and west London that afternoon, from just above Regent’s Park to Oxford Street and along it to Kensington, then back north to Paddington. Many of the bankers and senior clerks lived near one another, I noted, which considerably shortened our time wandering about. Perhaps new employees asked the more experienced where they could find good but affordable lodgings, and so ended up in the same neighborhoods. The Metropolitan Railway let them commute to the City each day relatively cheaply, so they would not necessarily have to live near the bank.

The junior clerks dwelled in smaller homes or in boardinghouses in places like Holborn or within the City, as did Joanna and Sam.

Nowhere did we find imposing mansions, a plethora of servants, lavish gardens, or fine horses in the mews behind the homes. None of the houses were on squares with private parks or even in the most lush part of the particular area in which they were located.

After a few hours of this fruitless search, I asked Lewis to take us to Clover Lane. I did not want to waste any more time of my afternoon out away from Grace.

“I will continue,” Daniel offered. “I can make a full report to you tonight.”

I leaned tiredly against Daniel as Lewis’s horse moved down Farringdon Road toward Fleet Street. I wished we could simply drive together, without investigating or without time ticking behind our enjoyment.

“I thought Mr. Monaghan warned you off,” I said.

“He warned me against investigating thebank,” Daniel replied. “He said nothing about driving past the homes of the people who work there.”

“You are being overly literal. He will not see it that way.”

“I did not intend to tell him.” Daniel’s grin told me I’d not win the argument, and in truth, I had no wish to debate the point.

“At least there are only two names outside London,” I said as we turned to Ludgate Hill, St. Paul’s looming before us. “Mr. Zachary, who as we already know has a sumptuous house at Hampstead Heath. And Mr. Kearny, who lives with his parents at Harrow. Mr. Zachary seems the most likely, I’ll admit—”

“Harrow?” Daniel peered at the addresses on the paper, brows rising.

“That’s what he told us. As did Sam.” My lethargy began to lift. “Why?”

“I have two addresses here for Mr. Kearny.”

“Do you?” I peered over his shoulder to where he pointed to Mr. Kearny’s name, scribbled a second time near the bottom of the list. “Where did you obtain this information, anyway? Who is your inside man?”

Daniel’s smile flashed. “The doorman’s assistant. The fellow sees everything and hears everything, even what isn’t officially written into the bank’s records.”

I thought of the young man who’d taken my coat when I’d visited the bank with Cynthia. I’d barely noticed him except to worry about my coat, but I suppose that was the point. Hewould, unnoted, overhear conversations and gossip, and likely knew much more about the inhabitants of Daalman’s than anyone thought. He was exactly the sort of person Daniel would have recruited.

“Wilton Crescent,” I read under Mr. Kearny’s name. “Where is that?”

Daniel’s amusement evaporated. “Belgravia.”

“Belgravia?” My brows rose. Belgravia, like Mayfair, held homes of the wealthy. “Perhaps another house of his parents, where they stay for the Season?”

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