Cynthia scoffed. “Auntie Isobel dotes on Papa. She does love a peerage. Uncle might have a thing or two to say, however. He’s a plain-speaking man.”
Mr. Bywater was an upright middle-class gentleman who went to work in the City, read his newspapers in the morning and evening, and preferred easy comfort to extravagance. His sister, Cynthia’s mother, had been a famous beauty and far more frivolous than her brother, eloping with Lord Clifford long ago.
“Will your mum and dad let you stay with another lady?” Tess asked. “If they’re trying to catch you a husband?”
“They might not notice. Haven’t said a word to me all morning. Papa was at the table when I went in to breakfast, deep in the racing news, never even grunted when I greeted him. Mummy, of course, is still in bed.”
I pretended not to notice Cynthia’s hurt at her parents’ disregard. “Mrs. Bywater is more likely to object to you going. But if Miss Townsend asks her, I am certain all will be well. Your aunt likes Miss Townsend.”
“Dear Judith does know how to wrap people around her fingers.” Cynthia slapped the table with both hands, rattling the cutlery there. “I’ll do it. Anything to escape this beastly house, and I’ll be doing a good deed.”
“If you don’t get poisoned yourself,” Tess said, eyes round.
“Might put the poisoner off, having a guest in the house,” Cynthia said. “A widow growing ill and passing on is one thing. A healthy young woman turning up her toes on the dining room carpet is another.”
“Oh dear,” I said with a qualm. “Perhaps you shouldn’t go, after all. It isn’t fair for me to put you in danger.”
“Nonsense. If no one else in the house is taking ill, then I won’t either. The cruel fellow—or lady—seems to be targeting Lady Covington.”
“While that is true, they might resent you poking about.”
“I will have a care, Mrs. Holloway. If Lady Covington truly is in danger, we can’t abandon her.”
“I agree.” I subsided. “It could be she is not ingesting the substance inside the house at all. When the cook takes her a private meal, she is fine. Perhaps you should try to discover if Lady Covington goes out for tea or some such, say, at a friend’s home. Or secretly devours chocolates from a certain shop, or is taking some sort of remedy for beauty or slimness.”
“True, there are foul concoctions out there purporting to make you young, lithe, and free of blemishes,” Cynthia said cheerfully. “Plenty of women sicken themselves trying to look different from what they do.”
She spoke with the confidence of one who’d never had to worry about excessive plumpness or spots on her face. Cynthia took her very fine looks from her mother.
Lady Covington, approaching fifty, might have begun to feel her age and worry about her attractiveness, turning to the remedies we’d mentioned. I doubted this, as she was such a steely lady, but all of this was only my conjecture.
Cynthia’s moroseness fled. “I’ll alert Miss Townsend and bring her in to help me confront Auntie. Then I’ll storm the battlements, as it were. Never fear, Mrs. H. I’ll report in every day, like a good soldier.”
Cynthia came at me, and I thought she’d embrace me, herbs and all, but she only gave me a hearty pat on the shoulder before skimming out on light feet.
I knew Tess would want to continue discussing Lady Covington and Cynthia’s parents, but I forestalled her.
“You are ready to learn something new, my girl.” I lifted the aromatic strands of dill. “I will teach you to make green mayonnaise.”
“Green?” Tess wrinkled her nose. “Why would you want mayonnaise to be green?”
“It is simply an herb sauce, but wonderful with fish and meat. Gather a half-dozen eggs and separate out the yolks, and we’ll make a batch. Put the whites aside to save for meringues.”
Tess had come to know me well enough to obey my orders without lingering to ask questions.
While she gathered up the things, James came in from the street, giving Elsie a cheery greeting.
“Message from Dad, Mrs. H.,” James told me as Tess competently broke open an egg and slid the yolk from shell to shell to drain off the white.
I reached out a hand so James could put whatever letter into it, but he shook his head. “He didn’t write nothing down. Just wanted me to tell you he couldn’t be reached for a time. I know where he is, and I’m to linger nearby once every day or so, in case he can slip out. But he’s well lodged inside the mansion of a prominent gentleman, and will remain there for a while.”
6
I did not like the idea of Daniel out of reach. I admonished myself that I had no business expecting him to be nearby whenever I wanted him, but emotions do not always respond to logic. I knew his life was not always his own, and I understood, but my heart felt heavy all the same.
“Thank you for telling me,” I said to James. “Before you run off, I have a missive for you to deliver.”
Instead of being annoyed I wanted to employ him as the post, James scrunched his cap in his hands and told me he’d be happy to wait.
I slipped down the hall to the housekeeper’s parlor, which was empty, as Mrs. Redfern was busy supervising the maids upstairs. I seated myself at the desk and scribbled a note on paper torn from my notebook. I folded it neatly and left the parlor, briefly visiting the larder before carrying the letter to James.
“To Mr. Fielding,” I said as I handed it to him. “At All Saints Church in Shadwell.”
James’s mouth popped open. “Uncle Errol?”
He referred to Mr. Fielding as “Uncle,” but Errol Fielding and Daniel were not blood-related brothers. They’d been raised by the same man, a Mr. Carter, who’d been a criminal of some sort but apparently kindhearted enough to take care of two homeless boys.
“Indeed. I know it is a long way, but do not rush. Take this for fortification.” I gave him the wrapped piece of seedcake I’d taken from the larder.
James flushed with pleasure. “Thank you kindly, Mrs. H. He’ll get the letter, no worrying.”
“I am not worried. If you do see your father, please greet him for me.”
“Right you are, Mrs. H.”
James was a good six feet tall now, almost a man at seventeen years old. His voice had deepened in the few years since I’d met him, and he’d sprung up like a weed. His clothes, a secondhand suit I hadn’t seen before, fit him a bit better than his last set—his rapid growth seemed to have slowed somewhat this year. I had become quite fond of James, and I gave his strong shoulder a pat as I said good-bye.