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I took the hint. As Daniel trundled the second bag to the larder, I handed Tess my knife to continue with the onions and prepared to accompany Daniel outside.

Mr. Davis grew still colder as he watched from the doorway of the servants’ hall.You see?his expression seemed to say.

I silently slid on my coat and followed Daniel, when he returned from the larder, through the scullery and up the outside stairs.

The sun shone today, but the wind was brisk. I huddled into my coat, wishing for a warm hat.

“My apologies for not turning up last night,” Daniel said as soon as we were up on the busy street and a few yards along from the house.

Daniel’s wagon, harnessed to a large and patient horse, was indeed full of boxes of vegetables and greens. Dark redbeetroots, creamy white parsnips, and deep green spinach tempted my eyes, as well as bright oranges that poked round flesh above the crate.

“I assumed you were well into some intrigue,” I replied, brushing a finger across a fragrant orange.

Daniel huffed a laugh. “Not so much intriguing as tedious. I sat most of the night in front of a building in Mile End Road, waiting for two thieves to come out of it. They’d been robbing their way through every goods depot in the East End, stashing their take in a derelict warehouse.”

“Did you catch them?” I asked. Daniel’s blue eyes were darker than the sky, and I found myself standing as close to him as I dared.

“I did indeed, with the help of seven constables who resented being assigned such a cold, dismal vigil. The thieves are now comfortably in cells awaiting the magistrate, with the constables being congratulated on a job well done.”

“Why were you there?” I asked in some indignation. “If the constables did the arresting and received the praise?”

“Because the thieves didn’t act alone.” Daniel rested his arm on the side of the wagon. His coat was worn and patched, but I knew he layered plenty of solid clothes beneath it. He played the down-at-the-heels deliveryman well, but he had no intention of freezing. “They could never have done all that burglary on their own. It was my governor’s hope that they’d beat a path to their leader, but that did not happen.”

“Your governor,” I repeated. “You mean Mr. Monaghan, who sent you out to sit in the icy darkness because he could.”

“Of course he did.” Daniel shrugged. “He is not wrong about the gang’s leader—a criminal responsible for thousands of pounds’ worth of silver plate and costly furnishings beingstolen out from under the nose of the railroads. Their lordships in Mayfair are not receiving the finery they ordered, and they are leaning on Scotland Yard to stop the man.”

He glanced at the tall houses around us as he spoke, whose tenants were the very men pressuring Mr. Monaghan to send Daniel out to the East End on a January night.

“Still, there are plenty of other policemen who could have performed the task,” I said. “How long will he punish you?”

“As long as he can,” Daniel answered with good humor. “I vowed to him I’d do one last big job, but he is holding off on that.”

“Sending you on many small ones in the meantime,” I said in disapproval.

“This is so.” Daniel’s smile was genuine, as though he found Monaghan’s machinations amusing.

I did not. Mr. Monaghan, a high-ranking official of some kind at Scotland Yard, blamed Daniel for the death of one of his men. He’d been making Daniel pay that debt for years now, by sending him into highly dangerous situations.

According to Daniel, Mr. Monaghan had once been a very bad man—Daniel was vague about what he’d actually done in the past—but had turned coat to help the police. This did not mean he’d become a good man, I often reminded Daniel. Mr. Monaghan, in my opinion, was unnecessarily cruel.

Daniel broke my thoughts. “My dear Kat, I did not come here to debate what my governor should or should not have me do. You sent for me, but you didn’t tell James what for.”

My umbrage at Mr. Monaghan receded as my troubles came back to me. “It is Joanna.”

As it had when I’d confided in Cynthia, the entire tale flooded out. I ended up face-to-face with Daniel, my shoulder againstthe wagon’s side, as I spoke. He listened with sympathy, with flashes of anger on Sam’s behalf.

“Daalman’s Bank,” Daniel said when I’d finished. “A bastion of success and respectability. The London branch was opened by a daughter and son-in-law of the family who controlled the business in Amsterdam. That was about four hundred years ago. Their descendants are now very British, but interestingly, the business in England has been handed down mostly through the female line, with the daughters and nieces marrying men who step in and run things.”

“Gentlemen must vie to marry these ladies, then,” I said.

“Wealthy heiresses all,” Daniel agreed. “A few lordships have wormed their way into the business, but the gentlemen who hold the reins are firmly of the City. No one who doesn’t wish to work his fingers to the bone need enter their ranks.”

“Who runs the bank now?”

“At the top, the matriarch of the English branch of the Daalman family. A no-nonsense woman who has her fingers firmly entrenched in the enterprise. Her son and daughter, and the daughter’s husband, are on the board, along with a few other family members of one sort or the other. A head banker, who shows up at the office every day, is the second cousin of the matriarch.”

“This is what Sam is up against,” I said with a qualm.