Page 22 of A Measure of Menace

“Perhaps I ought to speak to Mr. Parkin,” I said.

“God help the man,” Daniel said in jest then glanced at me. “Did you mean now?”

I slowed as we approached the door of Mobley’s business, but I had a more pressing engagement pulling me onward. “Later, I think. Grace is waiting.”

Daniel, fully understanding why I wanted to diverge from investigating this problem, led me past Mobley’s office without slowing.

Once I was inside the small house in Clover Lane, with my daughter hugging me tightly, Lord Clifford’s woes, the murder of a moneylender, and other difficulties, evaporated. Grace was my world, and anything else was peripheral to that.

Daniel remained, at both Grace’s and Joanna’s invitation, and we had a lively chat. For our walk today, we ventured on one of our favorite strolls to the Tower of London. The castle had been both royal residence and notorious prison, and now was a place of historic fascination. The Crown Jewels were kept there, guarded by the red-uniformed Yeoman Warders, who these days pointed out the more exciting areas of the Tower to visitors.

We wandered along, trying to decide which wing had housed Queen Anne Boleyn, the ill-fated wife of Henry VIII so long ago.

“I wouldn’t marry a king,” Grace declared. “Aunt Joanna has us reading about old King Henry for history lessons. It seems far too dangerous to be a queen.”

“At one time it could indeed be perilous,” Daniel agreed. “If a lady did not bring the right amount of power and influence to the marriage, and even more importantly, bear the king a son, she could be banished. Or in Anne’s case, arrested on trumped-up charges of treason. Her family gambled that she could bring them fortunes and the favor of the king, and they lost. Her uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, was condemned to the Tower several times, escaping his execution sentences by the sheerest luck. Anne was not so fortunate.”

“Poor lady,” Grace said with true sorrow.

“On the other hand, her daughter was the greatest queen Britain ever saw.” Daniel sent me a grin. “It is why I’m always kind to ladies. One never knows when they’ll become powerful indeed.”

He had me blushing again. I admonished him to not be so daft, and both Grace and Daniel laughed.

“I visited an interesting square the other day,” I told Grace, to change the subject, which was growing ridiculous. “Wellclose, not far from here. There was once a Danish church in its center and some fine houses, though it has lost its grandeur since then.”

“May we see it?” Grace asked at once. She was ever curious.

At any other time, I might steer us to a respectable teashop instead, but my own curiosity was as great as hers. Grace had inherited that from me.

Mr. Jacoby’s office was in Wellclose Square. The police did not suspect him of murder—and why should they? His place of business was nowhere near the Strand, and Lord Clifford was trying to keep Jacoby out of it, not to mention his own involvement in Jacoby’s confidence scheme.

But Jacoby had a connection, didn’t he? Which was why he was on my list of suspects. Lord Clifford had gone to Mobley to raise funds to be part of Jacoby’s swindle. Jacoby had known this, and had known Lord Clifford could not pay Mobley back. Why this would cause Jacoby to kill the moneylender, I had no idea, but I could not resist trying to see what Jacoby was up to at the moment.

Daniel must have shared my interest, because he guided us toward the square without hesitation.

He chose a route that would not take us past any gin houses or almshouses, fortunately, and we walked along with Grace between us, like a proper family.

As I had so vividly imagined last night …

Before another wave of longing could swamp me, my attention was arrested by a gentleman leaving Mr. Jacoby’s shipping office, which was now a few doors from us. The man wore a fine greatcoat and hat—I knew quality when I saw it. His wardrobe would have set him back a fair amount. He had a bushy, gray-streaked beard that was well-combed and thick eyebrows to go with it.

I’d never seen the gentleman before, and apparently neither had Daniel, who betrayed no recognition. Another gent doing business with Jacoby—or being cheated by him, whichever was the case.

The man was thrusting things in his pockets as he passed us, forcing us, the nobodies in his way, to press ourselves against the railings of the nearest house.

A paper fluttered from his pocket, unnoticed. Before I could stop her, Grace darted forward, retrieved the scrap, and hurried after the man.

“Beg pardon, sir, but you dropped this,” she said.

The man swung around. When he beheld my daughter holding the paper out to him, smiling brightly, did he soften and beam at the sweet girl? No, he snarled and snatched the page from her hand.

“Were you trying to pick my pockets?” he demanded. “Be off, you, before I call the constable.”

“She most certainly was not robbing you.” I’d charged to Grace the moment the man turned to her. “She kindly retrieved what you lost, and for that, she should have your gratitude.”

The bad-tempered man turned his bellicose stare on me, but I lifted my chin and met his gaze. He might be more wealthy than I was, but that did not make him my better. Such ingratitude to an honest child made him the lesser of us.

The man darted his gaze past me to Daniel. I could not see Daniel’s expression, as he was behind me, but whatever invective the gentleman had intended to hurl at me died on his lips. His eyes flickered as he looked from Daniel to me and back to Grace.

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