Page 21 of A Measure of Menace

“Thanos knows a few of the club members, luckily,” he said as he resumed eating. “Mates from his university days. I remember them myself—they’re not bad chaps, if vague, and would have no idea what to do if their funds were cut off. Thanos went to visit them earlier tonight to ask casually about Lord Clifford. I have not seen him since he left here, so I don’t yet know what they told him.”

“Do his mates remember you from university?” I asked in curiosity.

Daniel’s smile turned wry. “No, but I don’t expect them to. They know me as a friend of Thanos, which in their opinion, is enough.”

Daniel had worked odd jobs at Cambridge, sneaking into lectures when he could. Thanos had noticed and offered to share his books and tutor him. Daniel had never forgotten his kindness.

I grew indignant with the other gentlemen for not noticing Daniel, and decided it was fortunate Mr. Thanos was questioning them and not me.

“As for the others,” Daniel went on, “I agree they need to be interviewed, and not by the police. You should leave them to me, though I know you’ll argue.”

“Not at all,” I said briskly. “I told you, I prefer to be with Grace. But I wish to know every last detail of what they say.”

The corners of Daniel’s eyes crinkled. “I would expect nothing less.”

As he resumed his meal with enjoyment, a strange and unexpected longing came over me. We ought to be sitting cozily in our own kitchen, a tiny one, with Grace and James asleep in their bedchambers in the house above us. Daniel and I would linger over supper and tea, and then do the washing up, because I’d never leave a kitchen untidy. After that, we’d adjourn to our own chamber, and …

My face went as hot, as though I’d thrust it too close to boiling water. Daniel, absorbed in the meal, didn’t notice, thank heavens.

I managed to school my expression by the time he looked up. I smiled at him over my teacup, which he answered with a puzzled expression.

When Daniel moved to kiss me goodnight at the back door, I kept it brief, adding to his puzzlement. I promised I’d see him in the morning, and then took myself to bed.

I lay awake much of the night, trying to decide why I’d so vividly imagined the scene with Daniel, and why it had felt so natural.

I was tinting marriage with a rosy glow, I decided as I finally drifted off. In reality, I’d be working alone in a hot kitchen with a too-small stove that didn’t draw smoke well, while Daniel stayed away for long stretches on his police work.

My life was perfectly fine as it was, I told myself. I was paid for my skills, and tomorrow I would see Grace. Thoughts of Grace at last let me relax into sleep, but regret followed me. If I lived in the cramped house with Daniel, I could be with Grace every day, instead of only during weekly visits.

But that was my lot, and I would make the best of it. I always did.

When I departed the kitchen after breakfast the next morning, clad in my nicest frock and hat, I found Daniel waiting for me at the eastern end of Mount Street. He lounged against railings of a respectable house there, resembling the layabout many thought him.

He fell into step with me as I passed and tucked my hand under his arm. I forced my thoughts away from what I’d envisioned the night before as Daniel led me onward at a brisk pace.

“You did not say much more last night,” I said as we skirted the corner of Berkley Square and made our way toward Piccadilly. “Too busy eating, I suppose.” I hadn’t wanted to discuss my wayward thoughts, so I hadn’t said much either.

“It was an excellent meal,” Daniel said. “I wanted to give it my full attention. Your sauce was superb.” He kissed his fingers to the sky.

“You evade the question with flattery.” Not that I minded. “You never told me what you thought of Lord Clifford’s story.”

Daniel shrugged. “Plausible, all the way around. I would like to know exactly where he was wandering between the Strand, the tavern, and Kensington, and what he hoped to gain speaking to Dougherty, apart from money, I mean, if anything. I have already asked my friend Lewis to find what cabs took him to and fro and exactly from where to where.”

Daniel knew almost everyone on London’s streets, friend or foe, including a cabby called Lewis, who seemingly did whatever Daniel asked of him.

We had to press ourselves close together when we reached Regent’s Circus, which teemed with traffic, curtailing conversation. We turned down the even busier thoroughfare of Haymarket, to Cockspur Street, passed through Trafalgar Square, and emerged into the Strand.

Not until we drew close to Mobley’s place of business did Daniel speak again. “Parkin, Mobley’s partner, returned to London late last night. Sergeant Scott wasted no time dragging him to the Yard. Scott didn’t want to talk to me this morning, but I managed to pry out of Constable Wallace that the man swears he was in Manchester since Saturday, attending a family wedding, no less. Scott has already wired multiple people in Manchester to confirm this. On the off chance, I ducked into Mobley’s office after leaving the Yard and found Parkin there.”

“Was he, now?” I eyed the building ahead of us that Lord Clifford and I had entered yesterday.

“Yes, at eight this morning. He seems upset that Mobley is gone, saying Mobley was the brains behind the business. He vows to carry on, but he’s not certain he can.”

“What about Lord Clifford’s debt?”

“Parkin believes anything owed Mobley was owed the business itself, so the debt is still valid. However, he’s more amenable to discussing terms than Mobley was.”

Not the answer I’d hoped for. Even if Lord Clifford was given more time to pay, the usurious nature of the moneylenders meant he’d have to come up with still more cash on top of what he already owed.

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