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“I believe him.” Joanna sent me the look of someone begging to have their fears proved wrong. “I am his wife. Of course I do.”
“It has nothing to do with being his wife,” I said sternly. “Whether he is married to you or not, he would never steal from his employer.”
Joanna slid her hands from mine and rested them on her brown wool skirt. “You are right, Kat. I know you are. But that niggling voice inside me asks: What if I am wrong?”
“You are not. Samuel would never embezzle, and we both know it.”
“But what are we to do?” Joanna’s question held despair.
What indeed? I unfortunately had witnessed such situations a time or two in my life. An important person committed a crime, and the blame was shoved off onto someone deemed not so important. The insignificant man—or woman—was arrested and made to pay, thus preserving the reputations of the lofty. The scapegoat was inconsequential—except to his wife and children who would be destitute and share his shame and ruin.
I could not let that happen to Joanna and her sons and daughters.
“I will look into it,” I said with assurance. “Never worry, dear Joanna. I will find out who has truly done the embezzlement and clear Sam’s name.”
Did Joanna clasp her hands, gaze at me in adoration, and thank me profusely? No, indeed. Her face fixed in tired lines, fear exhausting her.
“How can you, Kat? I know you have helped the police before, but these are men of the City. Wealthy men, from prominent families. They have power, influence, and a long reach. They care nothing for the likes of Sam Millburn.” The tears in her brown eyes spilled to her cheeks.
I leaned to her and rested my hand on her knee. “I cannot tell lords and dukes what to do, no. But I know people who can—honest men and women who have influence. I promise you, my friend, I will leave no stone unturned until I prove that Sam is innocent.”
Again, Joanna did not hug me to her bosom and weep with relief. I saw a flicker of hope in her eyes, but it was quickly suppressed.
“It is kind of you, Kat.”
I held up my hand before she could try to tell me why I shouldn’t bother. “You leave it to me. I will be discreet—do not worry.”
Joanna opened her mouth to argue further, but the door swung open, and Grace danced inside, a folded paper in her hand. Joanna lifted her teacup again, while I took the recipe from Grace and praised her for writing it out so neatly.
The time had come when I must leave my daughter for the reality of my drudgery. I pushed the thought aside and hugged Grace, memorizing the feeling of my daughter in my arms. That memory would have to sustain me until I could visit again.
I tried to give Joanna a reassuring smile as I departed, but I left a woman dejected. Grace began to tell Joanna of the sights she and I had seen on our walk today, and Joanna tried to brighten. She’d never let her troubles upset the children.
I stepped out of the house into the cold winter air, the lane that led to Cheapside already dark. I adjusted my hat and trudged toward the main street, in search of an omnibus to take me back to Mayfair.
The lack of light went with my mood. I had vowed to make everything right for Joanna, but she spoke the truth. The powerful and wealthy would throw Sam to the wolves to save themselves, and I, a woman and a domestic servant, had even less influence in the world than Sam did.
I pondered the problem as the crowded omnibus bumped across the Holborn Viaduct and along to Oxford Street. I descended at Duke Street to continue on foot south through Grosvenor Square to South Audley Street and so to Mount Street. A hansom could take me home faster, but Mrs. Bywater, the mistress of the house, would have much to say about a cook who got above herself being dropped off in a hansom at her doorstep.
As I walked through the cold, flakes of snow settling on my coat, I confessed to myself that I had little idea how to begin on Joanna’s troubles. The few men I counted as my friends concerned themselves with science or police matters, not finance.
Mr. Bywater, nominally the head of the household that employed me, worked in the City, but I had no idea what he did. I’d never been much interested in his day besides knowing what he liked on his dinner table by the time he returned home.
I could not openly seek Mr. Bywater’s help, because I’d have to explain who Joanna was. Such information might inadvertently reveal that I had a daughter—a fatherless one, at that—whom I was supporting in secret.
Nothing for it, but I would have to turn to the one person I did not want to be obligated to, for reasons I did not quite understand. Daniel McAdam had been nothing but good to me, but I supposed I feared to be under the power of a man ever again. Grace’s father had ensnared me, lied to me, and then left me destitute. I’d believed myself married to him, but that had turned out to be false.
Daniel would never do such things to me, I understood. He would help, for Grace’s sake, if nothing else. He’d become quite fond of Grace, and Grace of him.
For Joanna, I decided, I’d seek Daniel’s aid. Daniel was familiar with all sorts of crimes, from brutal murder to clever fraud to forgeries to treason. I wouldn’t be surprised if he already knew, or knew something about, all parties involved in the embezzlement at Sam’s bank.
I’d reached Mount Street by the time I finished my musing and descended the outside stairs to the warmth of the house. I had to pass through the scullery, and greeted Elsie, the scullery maid, who was elbow deep in water, scrubbing pots.
“Did ye have a nice day out, Mrs. Holloway?” she asked over the clanking in the sink.
“It was quite pleasant, thank you, Elsie,” I replied absently as I moved past her to hang up my coat. I unpinned my hat but would carry that upstairs to put away safely when I changed my clothes. “Is all well here?”
“Think so. Mr. Davis has gone out and not come back, and isn’t Mrs. Redfern annoyed about that?”
