Page 30 of A Silence in Belgrave Square (Below Stairs #8)

We’d emerged to Charing Cross by that time, Daniel guiding me unyieldingly. Once in the Strand, Daniel let out a piercing whistle, similar to the one James had used only a few weeks ago. A hansom immediately pivoted in a sharp turn and pulled in next to us.

I clung to Daniel’s hand as he assisted me in, fearing that if I let go, he’d send the hansom on and fade into the crowd. I relaxed when he climbed in beside me and the cab jerked forward, taking us in the direction of Cheapside.

“You must tell me what the devil happened,” I said once we were rumbling along the cobblestoned street. “Was Lord Peyton murdered?”

“I don’t know.” The furrow in Daniel’s forehead told me his frustration matched mine.

“No one is certain whether it was an accident, a natural death, was self-inflicted, or a murder. The viscount was found at the foot of the staircase, his wheeled chair at the top of it. No one, not even Fagan, knows why he was in the upstairs hall or how he came to fall.”

“Someone must have killed him, then,” I said with conviction. “If he was an invalid, how could he throw himself down the stairs?”

“He could stand,” Daniel said. “Shakily, and only if he held on to something, usually Fagan. He would last for about thirty seconds before he had to sit down again. Lord Peyton had some sort of palsy, and even his doctor wasn’t certain exactly what his ailment was.

He might have heaved himself out of his chair for some reason, lost his footing, and fallen.

According to everyone in the household—Inspector McGregor and his men questioned them all—they heard him cry out, and then the crash of him on the stairs. ”

I winced, not liking to picture the poor man, whether he was a villain or no, desperately trying to stop himself as he tumbled to his death.

“He might have been asleep or under the effects of laudanum,” I suggested. “To prevent him struggling or calling for help when the murderer pushed him to the top of the stairs. Not waking until he knew he was falling.”

“As I have not been able to see the scene of the crime, I am guessing as much as you are,” Daniel said.

“The back wheels of the chair are large enough that Lord Peyton could propel himself about, though he didn’t like to.

It was difficult for his weak hands, but he could have taken himself into the hall.

From what Fagan told Inspector McGregor, the chair wasn’t at the edge of the stairs, but a few feet back.

Lord Peyton could have tottered the short distance himself for whatever reason he thought he should.

Or he might have had a seizure of some kind.

He pulled himself to his feet to shout for help but wasn’t able to summon anyone before he fell. ”

“The police surgeon will be able to determine whether Lord Peyton had apoplexy or his heart had given out, won’t he?”

“Possibly.” Daniel scanned the traffic around us, as though watching for followers.

“The actual cause of death was a broken neck, so the examiner might not bother to search for other ailments. Even Monaghan does not seem that interested. The subject of Monaghan’s investigation is dead, and he’s satisfied the man can cause no more trouble. ”

I heard the skeptical note in his voice. “But you are not?”

“I’m not convinced Lord Peyton was a criminal mastermind who was planning and funding bomb attacks around London.

He is for Irish Home Rule, but so are others in the Lords and Commons, without resorting to violence.

Viscount Peyton had sympathy for those who need to better their lives, but I believe there his complicity ended.

I went over all of his correspondence and his accounts multiple times, and a less guilty-looking man, I have never met. ”

“Mr.Monaghan was adamant though.”

“He was,” Daniel said. “I thought Monaghan would be all over that house this morning, digging into every corner, but he’s lost interest, it seems.”

“Rather an odd reaction.”

“Monaghan is a rather odd man. He turned me away when I asked him why he wasn’t following the investigation on Peyton’s death. Which means either there is something he doesn’t want me to know, or he was wrong about Peyton and refuses to admit it.”

“Well, you did your best,” I said emphatically. “Monaghan cannot go back on his bargain that he’d let you go because he was wrong about the culprit.”

“He can, and he will,” Daniel said, a bleakness in his eyes. “I haven’t put myself into sufficient danger to satisfy him yet.”

My ire rose. “If Mr.Monaghan does not release you, I shall have something to say about it. Inspector McGregor is not happy with him either, and Miss Townsend’s father works for the Home Office. She likes you, and she’d be pleased to help.”

“Miss Townsend’s father is right-hand man to the home secretary,” Daniel said. “But the home secretary might be on Monaghan’s side, in this case.” His voice softened. “It is kind of you to worry about me, Kat.”

“It isn’t kindness,” I said in vexation. “You know it isn’t.”

Daniel stilled for a long moment. “Do I?”

“Of course you do. I am quite fond of you.” I drew a long breath, remembering what I’d admitted to myself when he’d held me in the larder. “More than fond.” I had difficulty saying the words with him gazing at me with his blue, blue eyes. “Grace loves you too,” I finished in a faint voice.

“Don’t, Kat,” Daniel said fiercely. “Don’t give me hope.”

I stared straight ahead at the gleaming brown back of the horse pulling us through London.

“I know I’ve pushed you away,” I said, choosing my words carefully.

“I did because I’ve been frightened. I thought myself in love once before, but it made me miserable and wretched.

Not until I held my daughter did I understand what loving truly was.

” My heart had swelled with immeasurable joy that day, but I’d also felt great terror.

“Even when I understood that you were nothing like Joe, I was still afraid, because of Grace. I didn’t want your ties to Scotland Yard to hurt her. So I kept putting you off.”

When I faced Daniel again, I found him watching me with a stunned expression.

I continued: “When you went into that house in Belgrave Square, and I thought you might die there, every harsh word I’ve ever said to you came back to me.

” I rested a hand lightly on his knee. “I am so sorry, my friend. You have been good to me, and I repaid you poorly. I ought to have learned how to manage my fears, or told you to go, instead of trifling with your feelings.”

Daniel’s shock turned to amazement. “You have been thinking all this?”

“Yes, and I know that rattling through London in a hansom is not the place for such a discussion—”

Daniel put gloved fingers to my lips. “I am the selfish wretch who should have told you to go. You are right that what I do is dangerous—very dangerous—and I have pulled you into that danger from the beginning. But looking forward to being with you keeps me from despair every day. Makes me want to be good at what I do, and moral, and even admirable. So you will look at me and tell me it has all been worthwhile.”

I reached up and gently grasped his hand. We both wore gloves but the warmth of his fingers flowed into my every limb. “Seeing you is all I need. That is worthwhile.”

“Damn Monaghan,” Daniel growled. “I need to be free of him. Soon. So I can come to you as I truly wish to.”

“With a sack of potatoes?” I asked coyly.

“Oh, Kat.” Daniel silenced anything else teasing I might say with a strong kiss on my mouth.

I returned the kiss, clinging to him, but the bumping hansom had us soon drawing apart, laughing.

We spent the rest of the journey without speaking, but something between us had profoundly changed.

* * *

Even the passionate kiss and our near-declarations of devotion to each other did not erase the need to solve the dilemma of Lord Peyton’s death, the former secretary’s murder, the blackmail letters, and whether Lord Peyton, his manservant, or his friends had anything to do with Fenian bombs.

However, we could not discuss the problems when we reached the house in Clover Lane, with Joanna beaming at Daniel, and Grace so excited to see him.

I half expected Monaghan to turn up and drag Daniel away by his ear, but Daniel seemed in no way worried about this. He announced he’d accompany Grace and me on our walk.

I did not want to go far, to Grace’s disappointment, because we still had watchers. I sensed them, as did Daniel. I saw him surreptitiously signal to someone unseen as we strolled along Cheapside, possibly one of Mr.Grimes’s men ready to intercept whoever stalked us.

We paused to observe Mr.Bennett’s complex clock strike the hour and then meandered to our tea shop. The waitress there, who was usually sour to me, always had a smile for Daniel and Grace. She was almost pleasant today, serving our tea and cakes quickly and not glaring when we lingered to talk.

“James should come to tea with us sometimes,” Grace suggested as we finished our repast. “Though he would likely devour the entire tray of sweets.”

“James is working now,” I reminded her. “Delivering goods while his father lazes about eating scones.”

Daniel licked a bit of lemon curd from his thumb and grinned at us.

“Still, he might enjoy it,” Grace said.

She proposed this in all innocence. I wondered anew if she regarded James as a potential beau rather than a friend, and which opinion James held of her. A mother’s worry never ceased, I supposed. I was happy my own mother never knew of the mess I’d made of my earlier life.

James was a good lad and would never hurt Grace as my husband had me, but it was still too soon for this direction of things, I decided.

I hugged Grace tightly when we said good-bye and swallowed a lump in my throat as Daniel led me away from her.

I laced my arm firmly through his. “Now, Mr.McAdam, we will find somewhere to talk about Lord Peyton and all the things you learned in that house, and decide who murdered him.”

Daniel opened his mouth, likely to make some quip about my eagerness, but we were interrupted by the form of Inspector McGregor, who stepped out of the crowd at the turning of Cheapside to Clover Lane.

“McAdam,” he said.

“Inspector.” Daniel touched his cap. “I thought I saw some of your lads watching us. Seeing us observe a masterfully engineered timepiece and then take tea must have been entertaining.”

Inspector McGregor’s mustache twitched with his annoyance. “They were ready to arrest you, but I held them back until you took the little girl home. Viscount Peyton’s sister and the manservant have insisted that you killed Lord Peyton, McAdam, and that we should detain you immediately.”