Page 6 of Speculations in Sin

Cynthia closed the door behind us and sat on the horsehair Belter chair. “Now then, out with it. Is your daughter all right?”

Her voice softened as she spoke. As when Tess had expressed concerned, my barriers crumbled, and tears wet my eyes.

“Grace is well.” I blinked quickly. Weeping about this would help nothing. “But Joanna—Mrs. Millburn—my greatest friend. She—”

“Oh dear.” Cynthia leaned to me, resting a smooth hand on my knee. “Is she ill?”

I shook my head vigorously, realizing I was already making a mess of explaining. “She is well in body, as are her husband and all her children. But poor Sam. He’s been accused of all sorts and might lose his post.”

The story came tumbling out. I did not know any more than what Joanna had told me, but I explained what I understood. Telling Cynthia was different from blurting out Joanna’s problems to any random person. Cynthia had lived with deception and tragedy and knew how to keep her silence.

She listened with sympathy, then sat back in indignation when I’d finished. “Good Lord. Of course the great merchant lordships will make a humble clerk take all the blame for their difficulties. As though one in a minor position could destroy a lofty bank.”

I rubbed my sweating palms against my skirts, my agitation pumped high. “It is gracious of you to believe he is innocent.”

“It is not graciousness. You have known Mr. Millburn for many years, and you are a very good judge of character. If youstate that he is innocent, then he is. The difficulty is proving someone else has done this embezzling, to preserve Mr. Millburn’s reputation. Is that right?”

“Exactly.” My gratitude made me even more shaky. “Joanna is most upset. I promised to help, but I know next to nothing about banks. Or even what sort of thing Mr. Millburn does in his job.”

“Which bank is it?” Cynthia asked. “Not the Bank of England, is it?”

“No, an international bank. It’s called Daalman’s Bank, which is a merchant bank, whatever that is. The original owners were from the Netherlands, Joanna once told me.”

“Mmm. I’ve heard of it. They’re not a bank a man walks into to withdraw his cash for a holiday in Brighton. Daalman’s does investments, speculations, that sort of thing. It’s called a bank because it does take some deposits, but it trades with other banks and funds merchant voyages to India and other far-flung places. Been around for ages.”

“Do you know much about them?” I asked hopefully.

“Of course not. Most of these grand establishments of the City won’t let a lady walk into them—at least not one unaccompanied by her father, uncle, husband, or some other overbearing male member of her household. But Uncle Neville probably knows all about them. I’ll ask.”

My eyes widened in alarm. “Please, do not involve Mr. Bywater in this—”

“I don’t mean I’ll tell him about your chum’s husband’s misfortunes,” Cynthia interrupted me. “I will pretend to take an interest in banking and quiz him. Uncle Neville likes when I ask about that sort of thing. He actually does believe a woman should know about finance, to keep from being takenadvantage of. Auntie believes a woman’s husband should be in charge of all that, but Uncle’s job has showed him that many a wife has been duped by an unscrupulous or incompetent husband.” She huffed a laugh. “Uncle is not so much forward-thinking as practical.”

“What does your uncle do in the City exactly?” I asked, my curiosity swimming through my worry.

Cynthia crossed one leg over the other, her skirts rippling. “From what I understand, he coerces ordinarily sensible people to part with their money, which he gives to others who promise to pay out a token every year for letting them use it. That is my description of a stockbroker, anyway. Apparently, Uncle is rather good at it. He receives a percentage of the money that goes back and forth, so whether an investment is good or bad, he doesn’t lose. That is, until every investment goes bad, and then no one trusts him anymore.”

“Rather a risky occupation, I’d think.”

“It is, indeed. Which is why Uncle takes solace in your excellent meals and the wine my brother-in-law laid in that Davis pours into his glass the instant he arrives home. Where on earth is Davis, by the way?” Cynthia glanced at the door as though she could see through it and across the hall to the butler’s pantry.

“That I do not know.” My worry about him returned. “He went out while I was gone this afternoon, and no one seems to know where.”

“I do hope the man did not have any mishaps,” Cynthia said. “Mrs. Redfern is nearly in hysterics—well, hysterics for Mrs. Redfern. Which means she is more brusque than usual. I suppose if Davis does not return, we’ll have to summon the police.”

“I would prefer to try other means first,” I said quickly. I hadresources who could hunt through London for him if need be. I knew Mr. Davis would never forgive me if I asked the police to track him down.

“I understand. Davis is a very private man.” Cynthia sighed and sat in silence a moment. “Tell you what though. I wager Thanos would know something about this embezzlement business. He might understand how the funds were taken and possibly who did it. He’ll probably uncover the whole thing simply by sitting in his office at the Polytechnic and thinking it through. He is a genius at numbers.” Her nose wrinkled in a wry smile. “At the same time, he can never remember to have his landlady darn his socks. She finds them, she tells me, with as many holes as Swiss cheese.” She chuckled.

I wondered if Cynthia realized that if she and Mr. Thanos someday wed, she’d be expected to do all his darning. From her innocent amusement, I thought perhaps not. I then wondered if Cynthia knew how to darn at all.

“I would welcome Mr. Thanos’s opinion,” I said.

“Then it’s settled.” Cynthia brought her hands together in one clap. “I will pretend I am interested in investing and ask Uncle all about Daalman’s Bank. On my next outing to the Polytechnic, I’ll buttonhole Thanos and have him lecture me.”

Cynthia now assisted Mr. Thanos in his position as tutor at the Polytechnic in Cavendish Square. She spoke casually about it, but I knew she looked forward to her afternoons there.

“I’d best be taking myself back above stairs,” Cynthia said, rising reluctantly. “Don’t want Auntie hunting high and low for me and then blaming you. Never worry, Mrs. H. We’ll find out the truth, and your friend will come to no harm.”

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