Page 48

“Good night,” I answered. When he turned to go, I added, “I am glad we are friends again.”

He swung back to me, a hint of his steel returning. “As long as you stay out of my chamber, Mrs. Holloway.”

I sent him a warm smile. “I wouldn’t dream of entering it again, Mr. Davis.”

* * *

I had a bit of a headache in the morning, the result of rushing outside into the winter cold without a hat. A drink of chamomile tea helped, but I was out of sorts. I longed to run to Newgate and hammer at the gates until they let Sam out, then move the entire Millburn family, including Grace, far from London and the evil men at Daalman’s.

I also wanted to return to Daalman’s and shake each and every employee until one confessed to the murder. Any of the wretches could have done it—at least, any who could enter the building early enough in the morning. I supposed the coroner who’d examined the body knew Mr. Stockley had been killed early—it had been kind of Inspector McGregor to give me that detail.

Did Mr. Stockley have a key to the building? Perhaps he’d arranged to meet one of the other employees before working hours and let them both in. Or he and his killer had been at the bank overnight, for whatever reason, with the murder happening after a quarrel.

In either case, I was back to anyone who worked at the bank, including whatever charwomen cleaned at night, having opportunity to kill Mr. Stockley.

I penciled the wordKeysin my notebook, reminding me to inquire whether Mr. Stockley had had his own. If not, then that narrowed the possibilities. He’d have had to be let into the building early in the morning, possibly by his killer.

Our speculation that Mr. Jarrett had killed him to put Sam in the frame was a wash. If the doorman had stumbled over Mr. Stockley lying in a pool of blood on the bank’s doorstep or even in the foyer, then Jarrett would be a good suspect. The fact that the police hadn’t rounded up vagrants in the area and coerced a confession from one showed that they believed someone from the inside had killed the man. I wondered if Inspector McGregor’s sensible advice was making the City police work a bit harder to find a culprit.

I could imagine the coolly efficient Miss Swann telling Inspector McGregor that no one in her bank could possibly have committed murder. Except Sam, of course. He’d been handed over on a silver platter.

Blast the lot of them. I wanted to rush across London and knock heads together until someone told the truth.

As it was, I had to calmly continue my duties and prepare for Mrs. Bywater’s supper party that evening. My only consolation was that tomorrow was Thursday, my full day out. I’d be able to not only hold my daughter close but do the rushing about to discover the truth. The fact that someone at Daalman’s was robbing me of the precious time with Grace angered me further.

Tess, sensing my mood, was subdued that morning, but worked steadily.

Today we retrieved the now-frozen sorbet from the icebox, and I broke it from its pan with a clean ice pick. Working in the larder rather than the hot kitchen, I dumped the chunks of sorbet into a bowl, then Tess and I mashed and whipped the mixture until it was fluffy but still chilled. We quickly scooped the concoction into the prepared orange rind cups, which I set back into the ice tray to remain cold until ready to serve them.

“They look ever so pretty,” Tess said longingly, as she studied the shaped cups heaped with light orange ice.

“I’ll save a few back for us,” I promised. “Now, we will take some of the leftover orange peel and shape it into roses for more decoration. I’ll show you.”

“Fancy carving food like you would a sculpture,” Tess said as we moved back to the kitchen.

“There are those who carve ice itself into structures,” I told her. “Dragons and beasts, and all sorts.”

“Truly?” Tess sent me a look of amazement. “You’d have to have a cold dining room, wouldn’t you? Or it would melt and be all over.”

I had to smile, in spite of my gloom. “That is true. Sugar sculptures are much safer. Unless someone knocks them over or spills hot liquid on them, of course.”

Tess stopped in the middle of the floor. “There are sculptures made ofsugar? Well, I never. Waste of perfectly good sugar, if you ask me.”

I had to agree—those whose bellies were never empty thought nothing of turning food into inedible artwork. My little sorbet cups and orange roses at least were made of the part of the orange that wouldn’t be eaten.

We worked on the rest of the meal—lemon sole and a medley of parsnips and potatoes, along with salads of the greens I’d bought yesterday morning. Dried fruits and walnuts would be served alongside the sorbet for a light dessert.

Amid this activity, James arrived. His youthful buoyancy reminded me of Daniel’s story last night, of how Daniel had been taken from who knew where to be used by an unscrupulous criminal. I imagined Daniel’s alarm when he’d discovered he had a son, fearing that James might have gone through a similar experience.

James was quite robust, no darkness in him at all. Daniel had found him in time to save him.

“Message for you, Mrs. H.,” James said, oblivious of my contemplations. He handed me a folded piece of paper.

I opened the letter with trepidation, but it was a note from Joanna.

Men from the City police arrived to thoroughly search Sam’s study and all his things.What they hoped to find, I cannot say. They remained respectful, however, thanks to the kind vicar Mr. McAdam sent to sit with me. Please thank Mr. McAdam for his foresight.

Lady Cynthia’s friend, Miss Townsend, sent me a letter explaining she’d found a solicitor and barrister to take Sam’s case. The solicitor, Mr. Crowe, went to confer with Sam this morning, she said, but I have not spoken to him yet. How we will afford the fees, I do not know, but at this moment, I will do anything to help my Sam.