Scandal Above Stairs

  I too had spent time in Newgate’s common cell, a place full of desperation, rage, and fear. Young Tess would have been terrified, in spite of her defiance.

  I reached across the table and took her hand. “Well, that’s all over,” I said. “Daniel stood up for you and got you free.” As he had done for me. “How did he know to save you?” I asked as I released her. “Were you already acquainted?”

  Tess shook her head vigorously. “No, I didn’t know him. He was there at the Old Bailey—I don’t know why—when I was in the dock. He stood up and said he’d seen the whole thing, that a boy had picked the man’s pocket and I happened to be behind him. Then he went on about my character being honest and other things, which was a huge lie. He’d never met me before. But the judge and jury liked him, and here I am.”

  Tess spoke quickly, her words evenly paced, as though the speech was rehearsed. I knew there was more to Tess’s story than she let on, but I’d have to learn it another time.

  “Yes, here you are,” I said. “Safe and sound and not likely to be arrested again.”

  Tess released a ragged breath. “I hope not.”

  “Not while you work for me,” I said stoutly. “I will look out for you, never you worry.”

  My heart constricted as I said the words. I’d promised my last assistant I’d look out for her, in almost those very words, and she’d turned up dead. I swallowed, trying to tamp down my feeling of foreboding. Sinead had died because of her connection to another person, who was also now dead. There should be no more danger in this house.

  So I told myself as we finished our meal and made preparations for the next morning. I sent Tess up to bed, made my notes, and finally decided to retire for the night. I toyed with the idea of waiting up for Lady Cynthia to ask her what she discovered, but Mayfair gatherings could go on into the small hours of the morning; no telling when she’d return.

  I ducked into the scullery before I went up and saw that the bolt across the outside door was firmly in place. Mr. Davis must have seen to it himself.

  No more danger, I said to myself in my bedchamber as I washed my face and combed out my hair. I braided my long, thick hair into a single plait and climbed into bed, wishing I could rid myself of the disquiet that had come over me as I’d comforted Tess.

  In the morning, my presentiments proved to be justified. As I entered the kitchen, I found Charlie there, his box of blacking, brushes, and cloths dangling in his hand as he stared fearfully into the scullery.

  I looked past him to see that again the door was wide open, the iron strap that had held the bolt to the wall on the floor, a stiff breeze blowing down the stairs to wash over us.

  15

  Mr. Davis, grim faced, reported the incident above stairs. He came down to the kitchen as Tess and I were finishing up the usual breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast, and potatoes.

  “They’re sure I can’t know the difference between bolting a door and not bolting it,” Mr. Davis said in a bad temper. “I checked it to make bleedin’ sure. I’m to fetch someone to fix the latch at once. I would have done it yesterday, but the mistress was trying to find someone from our stables to do the job to save the expense. I could have told her that those lads are expert at brushing horses or mending harness, but ironmongery is beyond them. Cheeseparing, bloody . . .” He trailed off as he stormed out again.

  Tess was pulling pieces of buttered toast from the rack that had been on the fire, piling them on a plate and dribbling them with more butter. She didn’t look up as Mr. Davis spoke, but I caught sight of her face, which was pale with fear.

  “It’s a faulty bolt and latch, Tess,” I said, trying to reassure her. “Easy to mend.”

  “Ain’t right,” Tess said, her voice scratchy. “I don’t like this.”

  I too did not know what to make of a back door opening but nothing in the house going missing—at least nothing we’d found. I scooped the bacon and potatoes onto the silver serving dishes, closing their domed lids to keep the heat in. Then, on impulse, I stepped to the larder.

  Thieves in London weren’t always after silver and Greek antiquities. The poor souls I fed scraps to were desperate, some of them so far gone in hunger or so drunk on gin that they’d think nothing of creeping into a house and taking food and drink.

  Mr. Davis kept the wine cellar locked—he and I had the only keys. If that had been broken into, Mr. Davis would have said so at once.

  The larder, however, was my domain, and I knew it like the back of my hand.

  What I found missing wasn’t obvious at first. There were a few apples gone from a basket, carrots jumbled into a heap to make the pile seem larger than it was, paper stuffed into the bottom of the strawberry basket to conceal the fact that only one layer was left. The missing cooked and salted beef had been harder to hide—its covered plate had been pushed to the back of a cupboard.

  The larder was neat and clean, the floor swept. No telltale footprints on the flagstones, nothing out of place. The thief had known exactly where to look and how to conceal his crime.

  Troubling thoughts filled my head. I dismissed the idea that Daniel had been there. Even if Daniel had decided to creep in and take provisions to keep himself fed, he would have found some way to leave money for what he stole, and more than that, he would never have left the back door open. If Daniel had done this, we’d never have known anyone had been in at all.

  The only person new to the household was Tess, who had demonstrated that she’d been nearly starved before coming here. But she’d been well fed since, and why wouldn’t she have simply asked for the extra food if she’d been hungry? She must know by now I’d give it to her.

  Then again, she might be smuggling it out to someone—a lover? Or perhaps a parent. She’d snarled that her family was no good, but they might be coercing her to feed them.

  Even so, Tess was intelligent enough not to announce that she’d been out by leaving the back door wide open. She’d have had no need to tamper with the bolt—she’d simply have opened the door, handed out the food, and closed it up again.

  Curiouser and curiouser, as Mr. Carroll’s Alice would say.

  My interest in this problem took another leap after I finished preparing the midday meal some hours later and sent it up, and the man came to fix the latch. I saw Mr. Davis lead him down from the street and inside to point out the problem.

  I wiped my hands and stepped to the scullery just as the man said, “Not to worry, Mr. Davis. I’ll have this done quick as a wink.”

  The repairman in question had dark hair under a cloth cap, a rumpled homespun suit, thick-soled boots, blue eyes, a cheerful voice, and a ready smile.

  “All right then, Mrs. Holloway?” Daniel asked me as I steadied myself on the kitchen doorframe. “I hope you have some of those ever-so-tasty scones baking.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Daniel was whole and well, as carefree as ever, his face clean and shaved. He looked fed and comfortable, as though he’d had a night in a soft bed and a hearty breakfast. Blast the man.

  He set down the box of tools he’d carried with him and crouched to examine the lock and latch. Mr. Davis watched him a moment, arms folded, then he glanced at me.

  “You might as well feed him, Mrs. Holloway. McAdam was the only one I could find in a pinch who knew anything about locks. Luckily for me, he’d popped in to visit the head groom.”

  Luck, was it? Had it been a coincidence that Daniel decided to hang about in the mews behind the Mount Street house just when Mr. Davis needed a handyman? Or had Daniel heard that Mrs. Bywater was looking for a chap to work on the door and made sure no one but himself answered the summons? I had no idea how he might do that, but Daniel seemed to be acquainted with everyone in London. If he’d put out word that no locksmith was to go to Lord Rankin’s home in Mount Street, I had no doubt that word would be obeyed. I imagined that when Mr. Dav
is heard Daniel was in the stables, he’d hastened to him, realizing he could hire him for a fraction of the cost of a true locksmith. Mrs. Bywater would be pleased.

  “What do you know about locks?” I asked Daniel sharply.

  Daniel lifted the iron strap from the floor and peered at it. “A good many things, Mrs. H.,” he answered. “Had a misspent youth, didn’t I?”

  Mr. Davis rolled his eyes and stalked back into the kitchen.

  I ought to return to the kitchen as well, shaking my head at Daniel’s impertinence, and get on with my baking for the day. Instead, I lingered, watching as Daniel lifted a long, thin tool from his box and poked at the lock’s mechanism with it.

  “You truly are a jack-of-all-trades,” I observed.

  “I am.” Daniel kept his eyes on the tool. “I would say master of none, but that’s not quite true. I’ve mastered a few things.”

  “Like locks?”

  Daniel chuckled. “Locks were my first area of mastery. The other things, like carpentry, horse grooming, and carriage repair, I had to learn from painstaking study. Locks are second nature to me.”

  “I see. So, if you had decided to pick your way inside to steal food from the larder, you could have.”

  Daniel looked up at me. “Yes, but I did not. Is that what happened here?”

  “That is what you need to discover. The door was bolted—I saw it. And locked. Mr. Davis was adamant about that. Except, it seems they broke the bolt.” I indicated the iron strap, which used to be screwed into the wall but now lay on the flagstone floor.

  Daniel set down his tool and carefully lifted the strap, scrutinizing it. “I can see where you were deceived into thinking the door bolted,” he said after a time. “The screws that held this into the wall have been replaced by much shorter ones.” He set the strap in the place it was supposed to rest on the doorframe, closed the door, and slid the bolt carefully into it. “It’s a housebreaker’s trick. So that when a person outside pushes at the door . . .”

  He demonstrated, giving the door a yank, letting the tongue of the bolt shove the strap out of its place. He caught the strap as it fell.

  I stared at the iron piece on his gloved palm in growing horror. “Only someone inside the house could have replaced those screws.”

  Daniel nodded. “Or a worker called in to repair something. Or a deliveryman, or some such. Did any stranger come down here yesterday? Left alone long enough to tamper with the bolt?”

  And move the food around the larder so what was stolen wouldn’t be missed right away? “That explanation does not answer the question as to why the door was left open,” I said. “Why take the trouble to enter so covertly, and then announce you’ve been inside by not closing the door when you go?”

  Daniel frowned as he thought. “Maybe the thief heard someone coming and ran?”

  “Perhaps—but two days in a row?”

  Daniel blinked. “Two days? Why didn’t you have someone fix the bolt yesterday?”

  I felt my cheeks heat. “It was not broken yesterday. The thief had no need.” I leaned to him and spoke in a whisper. “I had left it open for Lady Cynthia night before last.”

  Daniel nodded, understanding, not censuring. “But the thief—or thieves—could not count on you leaving the bolt undone a second time. And so they replaced the screws.” He stared at the strap unhappily for a moment. “I’m sorry to say it, but you’d better ask Tess about this.”

  “Tess?” I glanced into the kitchen, but for the moment, it was deserted. “Why? She told me you kept her from being condemned for thieving—you would not have if she weren’t innocent. Why are you now saying she’s involved in a housebreaking?”

  Daniel shook his head. “She was innocent. A bloke on the street had his pocket picked and shouted for a constable. Tess was nearby. When the constable approached her, believing her only a witness, she kicked up such a fuss that the victim of the crime decided to accuse her and even started to beat on her. The constable took her in, more to get her away from the enraged victim than anything else. While she protested her innocence to the magistrate, she did it in such a way that he was convinced she was lying. And so—Newgate and a trial.”

  “How did you know all this?” I asked. “She told me she hadn’t known of you until you stood up in court and defended her. Were you masquerading as a barrister? Wig and all?”

  Daniel’s smile flashed. “Nothing so droll. One of the sergeants at Bow Street is a friend. He knew Tess from her prior run-ins with the law, and knew she hadn’t done this crime—not her style, apparently. He told me what happened, as did the constable who’d arrested her, the sergeant knowing I’m always interested in unusual incidents. I went to Tess’s trial and watched her in the dock—she was terrified but determined not to give way. I concluded she was covering up for someone. Her fit when the constable came to her in the street likely gave whoever it was time to get away. She protested to the magistrate, not very convincingly, so that the police would bang her up for the crime and give up the search for the true culprit.” He let out a sigh. “I am so very sorry, Kat. I hoped that having her work here would take the villain out of her life, whoever he is, but she might still be helping him.”

  “I see.” I had an ache in my heart—I liked Tess, I truly did. “I suppose I will have to put it to her.”

  “That’s best, or this won’t cease. Tell her we will help, not condemn.”

  “So we are reformers now, are we?” I asked glumly.

  “She needs someone like you. A kind, good woman who will steer her right.”

  Or a complete fool, I thought. “I am pleased you wish to help her, but I must ask—why? What made you look at poor Tess in the dock and decide to set her life on the straight and narrow? Why her and not all the other poor souls who move through the Old Bailey?”

  Daniel shrugged. “A feeling.” He pulled several long screws from his toolbox and tested each in the holes on the iron strap until he found one that fit. “Perhaps more than that. I suppose she reminded me of myself at that age. Tess is very smart—she talked rings around the prosecuting barrister, to the great delight of the courtroom. He didn’t understand half her jokes and grew incensed at all the laughter.”

  Daniel drew out three more screws of the same thickness and set the strap and the first screw into the doorframe. He balanced this while he fished out a screwdriver and fit it to the groove in the screw.

  “Tess is at a crossroads,” Daniel went on. “If she moves along the right path, she will be brilliant—she can do anything she likes. If she moves along the wrong one . . .” He began turning the screwdriver with harder strokes. “She’ll hold out for a while but end up in a bad place. A very bad one.”

  I glanced behind us again, but still no one was in the kitchen. I was beginning to wonder where they’d all gone.

  “You say you stood at these crossroads?” I asked.

  “I did indeed. I could have ended up in great darkness, Kat, believe me.”

  “Why didn’t you?” I leaned closer, wanting to lap up any secrets Daniel might impart.

  Daniel gave the first screw a final twist and picked up a second one. “I met kind people. Like Thanos, and one of his professors. Others. They saw the potential good in me, not just the evil and villainy that so many did.”

  “Good heavens,” I said in jest. “And I’ve let you into my kitchen.”

  “You would not have ten years ago, love,” Daniel said with conviction. “That I assure you.” He finished the second screw and began a third.

  His revelation made me hunger for more information. Daniel was a good, intelligent, caring man. How could others have looked at him and declared him evil?

  “I notice that you are no longer in hiding,” I said, keeping my tone mild. “No more sores.”

  “As you see.”

  “Did you tell James?”

  Dani
el gave me a look of surprise. “Of course. He was the first person I went to as soon as it was safe.”

  Good. “And are you now safe?”

  “Somewhat.” Daniel set in the last screw. “At least, I am no longer in danger of being arrested. The constables caught—or believe they did—the man who killed the thug in the pawnbrokers. Chief Inspector Moss is letting me speak to him, which is where I’m off to after I finish here.” He sent me an inquiring glance. “Would you like to come with me?”

  16

  I straightened up hastily. “Me? Whatever for?”

  Daniel unhurriedly began to turn the last screw. “Because I respect your opinion. You see things others do not. I would like your assessment of this man.” He finished and gave a final tightening to each screw in turn. “You may sit out of sight and listen if you don’t wish to expose yourself to a villain, as we did when Varley came to the pawnbrokers.”

  Mr. Varley had seen me now, but he could hardly have known I was in the shop with Daniel. At least I sincerely hoped not.

  “I will think on it,” I said.

  “Finish your cooking for the afternoon,” Daniel said. “I’ll be waiting, and we’ll go if you like.”

  Daniel set down the screwdriver and began prodding the lock with his tools again, resuming his guise as efficient man-of-all-work. I’d get no more out of him, I concluded.

  I returned to the kitchen, my thoughts unsettled. I had already grown fond of Tess, but if she was stealing from the house, even to help someone else, I could not condone it. I had no wish to turn her over to the constables, but she could not work here if she was thieving.

  I wondered very much whom Tess wished to protect, so much so that she’d go to the dock for him. It was a him, I was certain. While Tess could very well be protecting a woman, I highly suspected she was not. She was at the age where romance made a woman do foolish things.