The fear turned to blinding fury. “You bloody, self-righteous bastard,” I cried. “People depend on Daniel, not only myself. If he is harmed in any way, you will have an enemy in me, and believe me, Mr.Monaghan, you do not want this. Nothing can stop me when I decide to act.”
Mr.Monaghan regarded me with predictable outrage. I knew I’d gone too far, he’d arrest me on the spot, and I’d have no recourse.
For a brief instant I thought I glimpsed understanding in his eyes. He hid this quickly, so I could not be certain.
He tucked his anger behind his cold mask once more. “Do not make the mistake of creating an enemy inme, Mrs.Holloway.” He spoke almost calmly, as though he was inured topeople threatening him. “Stay far from Belgrave Square and McAdam. This is my only warning.”
Monaghan turned on his heel and walked away, his lean form making swift headway through the traffic in the Strand.
“Well, he’s a rude one, inn’t he?” a ruddy-faced woman in a drooping brown straw hat and a basket on her arm proclaimed. “Not a fare-thee-well, couldn’t even be bothered to tip his hat. You’re well shot of him, missus.”
“He certainly ain’t a friend,” I agreed, easily falling into the speech patterns of my youth. “Happy to see the back of him, I am. Good morning to ye.”
We nodded to each other, two strangers practicing more courtesy than Mr.Monaghan did with anyone he knew. My mother would have had plenty of opinions abouthim.
“I wish you were here, Mum,” I whispered to myself as I trudged along the Strand. “You could tell me what to do. I miss you so.”
My mother would have loved Grace and done everything she could to help look after her. I blinked away my sadness as I reached Charing Cross and turned my steps toward Mayfair and a house that would never be my home.
* * *
I spent Tuesday and Wednesday doing nothing but my job as cook. I did not see Mr.Grimes, and decided either that James couldn’t find him or Mr.Grimes was too busy with whatever he did in South London to make the journey across the Thames.
Tess and I made another star bread—the dough was so easy to handle that I created four more, two sweet and two savory—and plenty of tarts. Strawberries were just coming into season, and I bought basketfuls of ripe ones from girls who sold themon the streets. Strawberry tarts were best when kept simple, with plenty of strawberries nestled in a bit of crème anglaise on a thin, buttery crust.
Mrs.Bywater fortunately had no guests in the middle of this week, and so the suppers Tess and I cooked were relatively simple, to Mr.Bywater’s joy. A good chop, roasted potatoes, and a bit of carrots for a side dish were all he needed, Mr.Bywater often declared. With my distractions, I was happy to please him.
Thursday could not arrive quickly enough for me. I brushed my best frock in the morning after breakfast, realizing that I could no longer delay replacing it. I’d kept it mended as much as I could, but a few of the seams were now frayed beyond repair. If I took up the hem many more times, as I did when it became too bedraggled from London’s streets, the skirt would soon be halfway up my calves.
I’d have to dig into my meager funds to either find a decent secondhand dress or cloth to make my own. If the latter, Joanna would have to make it for me. My needlework skills were far less competent than hers, and I had very little time to cut and sew a frock.
I decided to don my second best today. Ironically, the brown broadcloth with black piping was not as worn out as my best gown. Thus attired, I set my dark brown hat on my head and went downstairs.
Mr.Davis was gliding toward the butler’s pantry when I reached the kitchen level. “Enjoy your day out, Mrs.Holloway,” he said.
“Thank you, Mr.Davis.”
He halted directly in front of me. I was in a hurry, but I could hardly push rudely past him.
“Is anything the matter with Lady Cynthia?” he asked in puzzlement. “Is it something I can help with?”
Mr.Davis was quite fond of Cynthia, which I found pleasing, though at the moment I had no time for a long discussion.
“She’s in good health,” I answered evasively. The letter meant for Lady Rankin had renewed some of Cynthia’s distress over her sister, but she seemed more excited about catching the writer and wringing his neck.
“She watches me like a hawk,” Mr.Davis said. “Especially when I bring in the post. As soon as I sort through it and leave it on the hall table, she pounces on it. If she is waiting for a letter, she only has to ask me to keep an eye out.” He sounded hurt.
“I did bid her to look for any letters to me,” I extemporized. Cynthia had told me only this morning that no further poisoned-pen missives had appeared. “I apologize for upsetting you.”
Mr.Davis’s aggrieved expression increased. “I would always bring any post down to you immediately. In any case, you should receive your letters through your agency.”
I did have the agency as my official address, though I got few letters but the confirmation receipts from the building society where Mr.Davis had persuaded me to deposit my extra funds.
“That is true, but I don’t always trust those at the agency not to have a peek.”
Mr.Davis considered this and nodded. “It is a pity, but sometimes we can’t depend on those we ought. Please tell Lady Cynthia I will bring you any correspondence right away. She does not have to intercept it before her aunt sees it.”
“Thank you very much, Mr.Davis.” I paused, considering bringing him into my confidence, but hesitated. Cynthia hadn’t minded Tess knowing, but if she wanted Mr.Davis to learn of the blackmailing letter, she ought to be the one to tellhim. Also, Mr.Davis was a man, of course, and Cynthia might not wish him to know what sorts of scurrilous accusations had been made against her sister.
