Deciding it was Cynthia’s decision who knew about the letter, I said nothing more to Mr.Davis. I bade him good morning and continued around him to the kitchen.
After instructing Tess to marinate the roast in plenty of wine with the herbs and pepper I’d left out for her, I sailed out into the world.
The weather, being fickle in spring, had turned colder again, with a chill wind blowing light rain into my face. I didn’t mind at all, as at the end of a brisk walk would be an entire glorious day with my daughter.
I knew Monaghan had eyes on me. The past few evenings, when I’d gone out to distribute food scraps to the less fortunate, I’d seen a scruffy man trying to be inconspicuous across the road. He’d lounged like the beggars but wasn’t interested in coming forward for his share of food. Also, his coat and hat weren’t as ragged as the others’, and he remained even after the beggars had gone.
I’d pretended not to notice, but I could have given him a few instructions on how to be less obvious.
Another man, similarly garbed, followed me now. I allowed it, as I was going nowhere but Clover Lane, though if he did anything to frighten my daughter, he’d gain an earful from me.
I had no intention of returning to Belgrave Square today. Mr.Monaghan’s warning had rattled me and also convinced me that I had been foolish. I would heed the warning, not because Monaghan had frightened me with his threats, but because I had no wish to expose Daniel or endanger him.
I missed him, and I feared for him, but I’d done all I could for now. I’d have to trust Daniel to take care of himself.
Grace and I spent a lively day together, while I put aside my fears to focus on her. I’d learned that absorbing oneself in a pleasurable thing for a few hours leaves one refreshed enough to meet one’s troubles later. Fretting without pause generally did more harm than good.
Today we walked through the City to the Tower of London, that place that had seen the triumphs and tragedies of England’s kings and queens. The blue- and red-garbed Yeomen of the Guard strolled about, relating lurid tales of the famous prisoners here and giving a history of the crown jewels, which lay within.
Both Mr.Davis and Daniel had told me tales of how those jewels had been pawned and recovered over and over down the centuries to fund wars and other ventures for the kings and queens.
Being of a suspicious nature, I wondered if the jewels in the Tower now were the true ones. So many wealthy people sold their jewels to pay off debts and replaced them with very good replicas. Why should not the ancient royals have done the same? I doubted I’d ever know the truth, of course.
We ambled from the Tower and west along the Thames to the Strand, where we admired the little church of St. Mary le Strand. The original church had been pulled down so that Somerset House could be constructed for the first duke of that name in the 1500s and not replaced until the past century. It had been designed by James Gibbs, so said the plaque I read all this information on, part of a project to build multiple churches across London. I liked little St. Mary’s, on its island in the Strand, with arched clear-glass windows and a simple porticoed porch.
Turning from here down a side street, we passed the colossus of Somerset House that St. Mary’s had been sacrificed for, and emerged onto the Embankment for a walk there.
The rain had petered out as we’d emerged from the grounds of the Tower, and now clouds rolled back, bathing us in sweet sunshine. If Daniel had been with us, the day would have been perfect.
Once we returned to Cheapside, I took Grace to tea in our favorite shop there, and reluctantly took her back to Joanna’s. I knew we’d been followed by some poor constable assigned the duty the entire day, and I hoped he’d enjoyed the pretty sites.
To distract myself from the ache of leaving Grace, I turned from my route home to Covent Garden to find what remnants I could in the market. Some of the vendors who knew me would keep back good bits and give me a discount to rid themselves of their excess produce at the end of the day.
I was tucking some bright green asparagus into the small basket I always made certain I had with me, when someone collided hard into my back.
I rocked on my feet, grabbing at the edge of the greengrocer’s stall to steady myself. My basket slipped, and I frantically righted it before the asparagus could be tumbled all over the ground.
“Here, you,” the greengrocer I’d purchased the asparagus from snapped to whoever was behind me. “Watch what you’re about.”
I swung around to find a personage with grimy red hair under a battered hat standing very close to me. She had a ruddy face with sparkling blue eyes, her grin betraying crooked teeth. She shoved a wrinkled pear at me.
“Buy me fruit, missus. They’re ever so sweet, and I can’t go back home with ’em and no money.”
8
As I gaped at this bizarre personage, my heart speeding, the greengrocer scowled at her. ““Clear off,” he barked.
I raised a soothing hand to him. “It is all right. She didn’t hurt me. Now, I sympathize with you, my dear, but those are sorry specimens. I’d throw them into the gutter were I you.”
The woman seized my arm. “But I’ve got so much better. Come on with me, love. I’ve a basket full of ’em just over yonder.”
The greengrocer continued to scowl, I suspected not so much because the young woman might be towing me off to rob me, but because she was poaching on his territory. I sent him a conciliatory nod and let the woman lead me off.
“I do need some good fruit for tarts,” I said loudly enough so anyone following would hear. “They had better be worthwhile, or I am buying nothing.”
“They’ll do for ya, missus. I promise. Here we are.”
She led me around to the steps of the Covent Garden opera house, where she pulled a basket out from behind one of the porticoes. It was indeed heaped with bright pears, apples, and grapes. Where she’d found such nice ones out of season, I couldn’t say, but this woman was ever resourceful.
