Page 31 of Speculations in Sin

“He should only tell us what he can learn legitimately,” I said. “I have no wish to have Constable Greene lose his post.”

“He gets into plenty of trouble on his own, don’t he?” Tess grinned. “He’s very inquisitive, but that’s a good thing in a policeman, innit?”

Not always. Those higher in the organization, from what I’d seen, preferred constables to stay in their places and not interfere.

I lingered as the staff ate their meals and continued their duties. Never had it taken so long for the kitchen to be cleaned, the next morning’s preparations made, or the other servants to clatter off to bed. Elsie was the last to leave, bidding us a friendly good night behind her yawns.

Tess offered to stay behind to make sure I got out all right, but I told her firmly to go to bed. I could not trust that she’d not make up some long rigmarole about where I was if she encountered Mrs. Bywater.

Once Tess was gone, I quietly fetched my coat and gloves. I left my apron and cap behind but did not change out of my work dress.

When I peeked from the kitchen into the passageway, I saw Mr. Davis at the doorway of his butler’s pantry. He stood like a sentry, the last of the staff to remain downstairs.

I gave him a faint wave, which he acknowledged with a nod. His stiff back told me he still hadn’t forgiven me, but I would not throw away the opportunity he handed me.

I would owe Mr. Davis quite a few favors, I mused as I ducked back into the kitchen. I buttoned my coat, slid on my gloves, and climbed the outside stairs into the cold Mayfair night.

9

London in the late hours was a frightening place. It was one thing to travel across the City in the early evening, quite another nearing midnight.

The aristocrats and wealthy had barely begun their revelries, and carriages swarmed Mayfair, taking their inhabitants to soirees and suppers or across the metropolis to operas and the theater. The Season was a few months from its height, but already the hostesses were vying with one another to create the most talked-about parties of the year.

The activity did not make it safer for me, a lone woman hurrying through the dark. Pickpockets and worse roamed the night, including men who would drag their victims into lonely lanes and beat them senseless for the few shillings in their pockets.

At the moment, my greatest concern was that one of the neighbors, rolling by in a splendid carriage, would remarkthat she saw Mrs. Bywater’s cook hurrying through Berkeley Square in the dead of night.

I followed a lane from Berkeley Square across New Bond Street, then turned down Conduit Street to Regent Street. Here, I searched for a cab, not wishing to plunge into the theater district and beyond on foot.

Hooves clopped loudly behind me as a hansom came out of Conduit Street on my heels. I ducked aside and pressed myself against the wall of the nearest house to let it by, assuming it was already engaged. Empty cabs waited at a stand down the street.

“Take you somewhere, missus?”

A voice I recognized called down to me. The cabbie was Lewis, a hansom driver who was Daniel’s friend. I exhaled in relief and lost no time climbing into the low-slung vehicle and pulling its half doors closed.

“Happened to be passing, were you?” I demanded to Lewis’s back as we joined the crush of traffic on Regent Street.

“McAdam told me to keep an eye out for you, love,” Lewis said over his shoulder, his beaky nose silhouetted against the night. “I spied you sprinting out of your house, your collar around your ears, and decided you needed a way out of the neighborhood.”

“Well, thank you, even if Mr. McAdam is presumptuous. Cheapside, please.”

Lewis chuckled. “Right you are, missus.”

He sped us alarmingly close to the larger carriages as we skimmed along Regent Street toward Piccadilly. Lewis was competent at the reins, but I shrank into the seat, hoping I made it to Joanna’s unscathed.

Lewis conveyed me there without mishap and saluted me sunnily when I descended.

“A shilling, is it?” I asked, reaching into my pocket.

“McAdam already gave me the fare,” Lewis informed me as he turned the cab. His horse, a large, patient bay, rotated the front of his body around his nearly motionless back legs until the cab faced the way we’d come.

“Mr. McAdam does not pay my way,” I informed Lewis. I thrust out the shilling, but Lewis slapped the reins to the horse and rolled away, ignoring me completely.

Burying my irritation, I hastened to Joanna’s house, letting the anticipation of sleeping in the same house as Grace flood me instead.

Carrie opened the door a crack and peered out cautiously when I knocked, then heaved a breath of relief. “Oh, it’s you, missus. Thank the good Lord.”

She stood aside so I could enter, then shut the door quickly and slammed the bolt across it.

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