“I beg your pardon,” I said, trying to calm my breathing. “I did not sleep well.”
By their expressions, neither Tess nor Mr.Davis believed this explanation, but they didn’t press me.
“You sit still, Mrs.H.,” Tess said. “I’ll fetch you a cuppa.”
“That would be kind, thank you.” My words still didn’t sound right, but Tess trotted away without question. “Carry on with the story, Mr.Davis. How did they know the poor man was someone’s secretary?”
Mr.Davis sent me another skeptical look but returned to his chair and the newspaper. He ran his finger over the lines he’d already read until he reached the place he’d left off.
We have made inquiries, but the police are content to say very little about this poor soul. He washed up near Blackfriars Bridge after a journey in the water of some days. We suppose the physicians and detectives of Scotland Yard will draw conclusions of where he went in and how long ago from the wetness of his clothes and the condition of the body and so forth. We can only send our sympathies to his family, whoever they are.
“His family will not thank the journalists for that disrespectful description,” I said in disapproval.
“The more impertinent a story, the more likely it will be read,” Mr.Davis said. “Especially in a rag like this.” He turned to the front page, whose banner was from one of the many newspapers sold cheaply on any street. “Probably why the master only reads the financial and sporting news.”
From the article, I concluded that the police had decided not to release the dead man’s name. I wondered why they were being cryptic. Had Lord Peyton asked them to be?
Tess returned to me with my cup of tea. She’d added a pieceof lemon shortbread, which I really did not need, but I munched it anyway. The repast did make me feel better.
Hannah had said that the former secretary had been a Mr.Howard. This gent had packed his bags one morning and disappeared.
Had he actually walked out of his own accord? Or had he already been dead, the housekeeper instructed to send his bags on somewhere? I itched to make a note of all of this.
Even more, I longed to see Daniel in the flesh. To touch his face and make certain that I wasn’t terribly wrong about Hannah’s note.
I knew of someone who could tell me everything, a person I would not need to be surreptitious in order to approach. I was certain he’d not want to see me, but he would answer my questions or face my wrath.
Thinking of that scenario returned my spirits to me. I finished the tea and biscuit, rose from my seat, and continued the luncheon preparations with some of my usual robustness.
* * *
I could not leave the house that day to rush about London asking questions, so I put my own resources to work.
Errand boys went everywhere, saw everything, and were willing to share their knowledge for a few coins. Hannah had given me the names of Lord Peyton’s most frequent visitors: Lord Pelsham, Mr.and Mrs.Lofthouse, and Dr.Hampton.
Lord Pelsham, an earl, lived in Hill Street, which ran west from Berkeley Square. If Hannah meant that the doctor was one Graham Hampton, he had a home in Berkeley Square, which proclaimed how grand he was. I had not heard of the Lofthouses, but I asked the lads who carried out tasks for me to look out for anyone of that name. They were also to skulkabout the homes of the other two, perhaps asking to do odd jobs, and tell me of anyone who came and went or any unusual behavior of the household.
Once I’d dispatched the boys, I returned to the kitchen. Mr.Davis had resumed his duties, which by the sound of it, meant haranguing the footmen for the terrible job they’d done cleaning the silver.
Tess glanced up from her chopping board when I came in. “Want me to ask Caleb about the murdered man?”
I had been about to suggest she discover if he knew anything about the case. I smoothed my apron and took up my knife. “Only if he happens to know and doesnotpoke about in papers he has no business touching or ask too many questions.”
Tess brightened. “He’s become ever so good at finding things out without anyone knowing. He’ll make detective soon, I’m sure.”
“Unless they sack him first,” I said warningly.
I was very protective of Constable Greene, not only for Tess’s sake. He was an amiable soul, and he adored her. On the awful day Tess would announce she was leaving me to marry him, I would be comforted by the fact that Caleb was a kind, hardworking young man who would do well by her.
“I’ll ask him,” Tess said, undaunted. “You worried the bloke in the river were Mr.McAdam, didn’t you?”
I pulled an onion to me Tess had peeled and sliced off one end. “For a moment, yes. But Daniel is resilient and a bonny fighter. I’ve watched him dispatch those who tried to hurt him in the past.” I bolstered my doubts with this recollection. “There would have been many ruffians lying about, bruised and bleeding, if it had been Daniel who went into the river.”
“That’s a mercy,” Tess said. “Though not for the poor sod who actually died.”
I kept to myself my theories about who the murdered man was, but I puzzled over them.
Why should Lord Peyton’s former secretary have been killed? Had he discovered too much? Or had he simply been the victim of a robbery? London was rife with thieves who didn’t mind cutting a gent to take all he had. Perhaps one had done so to Mr.Howard and tossed him into the river to be rid of him.
