Page 6 of A Silence in Belgrave Square
“Thank you.” I set aside my half-drunk tea. “You have relieved my mind already.”
“Anything for an old mate. You kept yourself from me for too long, you know. I’ll pretend it don’t hurt me feelings.”
“You are difficult to keep track of.” I rose and straightened my skirts. “And I have been very busy. Meals to cook, a daughter to raise.”
“Life rolls around all of us.” Hannah jumped to her feet and caught me in an embrace, her arms strong around me. “You keep yourself well, Mrs.—are you going by Bristow now?”
“Holloway,” I said, my voice going tight. “Mrs.Holloway.”
Hannah released me, her approval beaming forth. “You’ve kicked his dust from your boots, have you? Good for you, duck. I know he was a hard one.”
“He was.” I’d never been able to keep the truth from her.
“Good riddance to ’im. Now, don’t puff up and tell me I’m a bad’un because I’m happy he’s shuffled off his mortal coil. The world’s better without some people in it.” Hannah squeezed my shoulders. “I’ll get into that house, Kat, me darling. Don’t you worry.”
I thanked her profusely, then we said our good-byes. I left her stall and walked back down Portobello Road, the little box wrapped in a handkerchief in my pocket.
As I searched for a hansom, I wondered if I’d been wise to recruit her. But I could think of no other way of inserting eyes into the Belgrave Square house with none, including Daniel, suspecting.
As I climbed into the hansom and instructed the cabbie to take me to Mount Street, I reflected that I trusted a knownthief and confidence trickster more than I did the police inspector who’d knowingly sent Daniel headlong into danger.
* * *
The only trouble with my plan to put Hannah in the Belgrave Square house was that I’d have to wait and stew until she could come to me. Until then, I could have no idea what was happening only streets away from me.
As I carried on with supper for the family when I returned Thursday night and preparations for the next day’s breakfast, I tried not to picture Daniel being taken into an attic room or a deep cellar to have his throat cut for being a police informer.
These visions troubled my sleep, and I was testy the next morning. When Lady Cynthia strode into the busy kitchen, I continued slicing vegetables, not in the mood to exchange pleasantries.
Cynthia wore a frock today, a subdued one of slim lines that she’d taken to in the past year or so. At any other time I’d tell her she looked fetching, but I was too distracted by my own troubles. So distracted that I almost missed the deep lines of worry etched on her face.
I ceased chopping the slim spring carrots I’d add to a roast for dinner. Tess had stepped into the scullery, her voice and Elsie’s risen in friendly chatter, leaving Cynthia and me relatively alone.
“Is something amiss?” I asked her in concern.
“I’m not certain.” Cynthia scraped a wooden chair from the work table and sat down, propping her elbows too near a smear of butter. “It is Auntie, you see. She’s in a state.”
“Oh?” An upset Mrs.Bywater could take her unhappiness out on the staff, noting the minutest speck of dust left on a mantelpiece, a tiny smudge on a polished floor. Or she mightmarch downstairs to demand I prepare a ridiculous meal of overly complicated dishes to dazzle whomever she worried about impressing.
“It is a letter she received,” Cynthia said. “She did not tell me of it, but I happened to catch her reading it. She became as pale as the paper in her hand. When I asked if it was bad news, she nearly flew at me and commanded me out of the room with much waving of her arms. I almost thought she’d strike me. I retreated as bade, but when she was at the theater last night, I stole into her sitting room and had a peek.”
Cynthia’s expression changed from triumph at her own cleverness to worry for one of her family. “It was an awful letter, Mrs.H. Accused Auntie of all sorts, including being unfaithful to Uncle—which is mad. Auntie has no use for men at all, except for Uncle, upon whom she dotes. But the language they used was horrible.”
I listened, both disquieted and puzzled. “Your aunt and I have had our differences, but she is the most upright woman I have ever met. What on earth could this poisoned pen say that was true? Also, why wouldn’t Mrs.Bywater dismiss such a thing as nonsense?”
“Judge for yourself. Auntie is out again today, so I fetched the letter and brought it with me.” Cynthia slipped a stained envelope from her pocket and held it across the table to me. “Go on, Mrs.H. Read that.”
3
While I hesitated at reading another’s correspondence, especially that of the mistress of the house, my curiosity got the better of me. I reached for the missive.
Instead of ripping out the letter and reading it immediately, I carefully studied the envelope, as I’d learned from long association with Daniel. It told me nothing, except that the paper was cheap, such as could be obtained at any stationers in the Strand. That and the fingers of whoever had carried it had been dirty, though no fingerprints could be seen, only smudges.
The envelope bore a penny stamp, which meant it had come by post like any ordinary letter. The stamp had a cancellation mark on it, so no one could use it again, and the back of the envelope had been marked with the date it went through a post office—two days ago. The direction on the front saidThe Lady of the Household,with the address of 43 Mount Street.
While Cynthia watched me impatiently, I withdrew the letter and unfolded it.
What I read made me flinch. The letter writer accused Mrs.Bywater of many and varied reprehensible things, using quite foul language, as Cynthia had indicated. It was a repellent, abusive missive that would sicken even the hardiest soul.
