Page 12 of A Silence in Belgrave Square (Below Stairs #8)

The ice-cold fear that washed through me at his words paralyzed me a moment. He’d sent Daniel to an almost-certain death, he meant, and he didn’t care.

The fear turned to blinding fury. “You bloody, self-righteous bastard,” I cried. “People depend on Daniel, not only myself. If he is harmed in any way, you will have an enemy in me, and believe me, Mr.Monaghan, you do not want this. Nothing can stop me when I decide to act.”

Mr.Monaghan regarded me with predictable outrage. I knew I’d gone too far, he’d arrest me on the spot, and I’d have no recourse.

For a brief instant I thought I glimpsed understanding in his eyes. He hid this quickly, so I could not be certain.

He tucked his anger behind his cold mask once more. “Do not make the mistake of creating an enemy in me , Mrs.Holloway.” He spoke almost calmly, as though he was inured to people threatening him. “Stay far from Belgrave Square and McAdam. This is my only warning.”

Monaghan turned on his heel and walked away, his lean form making swift headway through the traffic in the Strand.

“Well, he’s a rude one, inn’t he?” a ruddy-faced woman in a drooping brown straw hat and a basket on her arm proclaimed. “Not a fare-thee-well, couldn’t even be bothered to tip his hat. You’re well shot of him, missus.”

“He certainly ain’t a friend,” I agreed, easily falling into the speech patterns of my youth. “Happy to see the back of him, I am. Good morning to ye.”

We nodded to each other, two strangers practicing more courtesy than Mr.Monaghan did with anyone he knew. My mother would have had plenty of opinions about him .

“I wish you were here, Mum,” I whispered to myself as I trudged along the Strand. “You could tell me what to do. I miss you so.”

My mother would have loved Grace and done everything she could to help look after her. I blinked away my sadness as I reached Charing Cross and turned my steps toward Mayfair and a house that would never be my home.

* * *

I spent Tuesday and Wednesday doing nothing but my job as cook. I did not see Mr.Grimes, and decided either that James couldn’t find him or Mr.Grimes was too busy with whatever he did in South London to make the journey across the Thames.

Tess and I made another star bread—the dough was so easy to handle that I created four more, two sweet and two savory—and plenty of tarts.

Strawberries were just coming into season, and I bought basketfuls of ripe ones from girls who sold them on the streets.

Strawberry tarts were best when kept simple, with plenty of strawberries nestled in a bit of crème anglaise on a thin, buttery crust.

Mrs.Bywater fortunately had no guests in the middle of this week, and so the suppers Tess and I cooked were relatively simple, to Mr.Bywater’s joy.

A good chop, roasted potatoes, and a bit of carrots for a side dish were all he needed, Mr.Bywater often declared.

With my distractions, I was happy to please him.

Thursday could not arrive quickly enough for me.

I brushed my best frock in the morning after breakfast, realizing that I could no longer delay replacing it.

I’d kept it mended as much as I could, but a few of the seams were now frayed beyond repair.

If I took up the hem many more times, as I did when it became too bedraggled from London’s streets, the skirt would soon be halfway up my calves.

I’d have to dig into my meager funds to either find a decent secondhand dress or cloth to make my own. If the latter, Joanna would have to make it for me. My needlework skills were far less competent than hers, and I had very little time to cut and sew a frock.

I decided to don my second best today. Ironically, the brown broadcloth with black piping was not as worn out as my best gown. Thus attired, I set my dark brown hat on my head and went downstairs.

Mr.Davis was gliding toward the butler’s pantry when I reached the kitchen level. “Enjoy your day out, Mrs.Holloway,” he said.

“Thank you, Mr.Davis.”

He halted directly in front of me. I was in a hurry, but I could hardly push rudely past him.

“Is anything the matter with Lady Cynthia?” he asked in puzzlement. “Is it something I can help with?”

Mr.Davis was quite fond of Cynthia, which I found pleasing, though at the moment I had no time for a long discussion.

“She’s in good health,” I answered evasively. The letter meant for Lady Rankin had renewed some of Cynthia’s distress over her sister, but she seemed more excited about catching the writer and wringing his neck.

“She watches me like a hawk,” Mr.Davis said. “Especially when I bring in the post. As soon as I sort through it and leave it on the hall table, she pounces on it. If she is waiting for a letter, she only has to ask me to keep an eye out.” He sounded hurt.

“I did bid her to look for any letters to me,” I extemporized. Cynthia had told me only this morning that no further poisoned-pen missives had appeared. “I apologize for upsetting you.”

Mr.Davis’s aggrieved expression increased. “I would always bring any post down to you immediately. In any case, you should receive your letters through your agency.”

I did have the agency as my official address, though I got few letters but the confirmation receipts from the building society where Mr.Davis had persuaded me to deposit my extra funds.

“That is true, but I don’t always trust those at the agency not to have a peek.”

Mr.Davis considered this and nodded. “It is a pity, but sometimes we can’t depend on those we ought. Please tell Lady Cynthia I will bring you any correspondence right away. She does not have to intercept it before her aunt sees it.”

“Thank you very much, Mr.Davis.” I paused, considering bringing him into my confidence, but hesitated.

Cynthia hadn’t minded Tess knowing, but if she wanted Mr.Davis to learn of the blackmailing letter, she ought to be the one to tell him.

Also, Mr.Davis was a man, of course, and Cynthia might not wish him to know what sorts of scurrilous accusations had been made against her sister.

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.”