Mr. Davis sighed. “Lady Cynthia is an honest and good-hearted girl. Such a pity about her relations.”
“I agree.” I paused, thinking through all that I’d learned about Lady Covington and her family as well as Mr. Thanos’s revelations. “Do you recall, Mr. Davis, an account of a train accident about some years ago? It would have been in all the newspapers, presumably. I’m not certain exactly when. Or even where.”
“You mean the one in Oxfordshire?” Mr. Davis closed the wine cellar’s door and locked it with a key on a chain attached to his waistcoat. “About seven years, as I recall, if it’s the same accident. There are so many, unfortunately. But you are speaking about Lord Covington’s railway.”
“Indeed, I am,” I said in surprise.
“I heard Lord Clifford discussing it in the dining room,” Mr. Davis explained. “He brought it up, as Lady Cynthia has been staying at the Covington house. Not the sort of conversation I’d think agreeable over the fish course, but Mr. Bywater seemed interested. I had a friend who had meant to travel on that very train from Oxford to London and decided at the last minute to go the following day. Made his hair white when he read the accounts, he said.”
“Lady Covington’s first husband perished in that crash. Do you remember if Baron Covington was blamed?”
Mr. Davis scratched his head then absently straightened his hairpiece. “It was a bad one, as I recall. Killed, oh, seventy-five people, and maimed others for life. Apparently, a set of wheels failed on one car. The brakeman tried to stop the train, but the brakes weren’t connected from car to car, and the back carriages uncoupled. Those were all right—they glided to a stop, but the front five or six carriages kept going while the bad wheels pulled them off the track. Twisted the carriages right around before the engineer noticed and could halt. By then it was wreckage, with people trapped.” He shivered. “Horrible. Lord Covington’s company was sued by many and almost was shut down, but apparently, they talked their way into staying in business. Promises to make improvements, payments for the funerals of those who didn’t survive, pensions for the injured.”
“Terrible,” I said feelingly. Trains were practical and had their uses, but they were unpredictable machines.
“Covington’s railway line did truncate,” Mr. Davis went on. “They lost the western region, I believe, and now their trains run mostly in the south and southeast.”
Such as the trains I’d taken to Sydenham to visit the Crystal Palace. I shivered. “I imagine few wanted to travel on their line after that.”
“Not necessarily. Most of us don’t know who owns the trains we board, or care, as long as they take us in the right direction. And people forget, or reason that trains are safer now. Which is true. Improvements were made to connect brakes across cars because of that wreck.”
I wondered, though, about the victims, or those who’d lost loved ones. Did they forget? Harriet and Jonathan had lost their father, though why they’d blame their mother or try to murder her for it, I did not know.
“Thank you, Mr. Davis. You have been very helpful.”
Mr. Davis tapped his temple with his forefinger. “You’d be surprised what’s up here, Mrs. Holloway, after a lifetime of experience and reading my newspapers.”
We parted, me with wine ready to use with my beef. I braised it and added potatoes and carrots, a hearty meal, such as Mr. Bywater liked. In deference to Lady Clifford’s preference for lighter eating, I made a salad and clear soup to be served alongside it.
While I shoveled the night’s loaf of bread into the oven, James turned up.
“I’m famished.” He gazed in longing at a pan of beef Tess stirred with a long spoon and the strawberry tart waiting on the dresser. “Went all the way to Surrey and back to deliver your note.”
“Sit down there.” I pointed to the end of the table. “Tess, cut off a bit of the ham left over from luncheon and a spoonful of hash. The lad needs feeding.”
Tess grinned and disappeared to carry out my orders.
“Your father understands what I wrote him?” I asked.
James nodded. “Seems to. Was right angry at Uncle Errol. Heard the two of them having a bit of a barney.”
A barney was a loud quarrel. “I hope the Duke of Daventry didn’t hear them.”
“Nah, they were out in the park a long way from the house, by themselves. Standing still, like any two gentlemen enjoying nature, but hammering away at each other. With words, I mean.”
“As long as Mr. Fielding agrees to help.”
“I think he will. He was long faced when they came back to me, and said he knew you were behind everything. I don’t know what it’s all about, but I said I reckoned that was true.”
“Good.” I gave a decided nod. “I hope Mr. Fielding plays his part and all goes well.” The duke was a dangerous man, I was coming to understand, but Daniel and Mr. Fielding were too. The one not prepared to deal with real danger was Cynthia’s father.
Tess brought the ham and hash and set it in front of James. James lost all interest in machinations between me and his father and tucked in.
Lost in thought, I finished preparing the beef and the rest of the meal.
After the upstairs had eaten their supper, Mr. Davis returned to the kitchen and told me what had been discussed at table—Lord Clifford declared he’d return to Surrey in the morning for the Duke of Daventry’s house party that continued through the weekend. Lady Clifford had decided that she preferred the theatre and other outings to walking in the country, and would remain in London.
Lady Cynthia had expressed her wish to return to Lady Covington’s to help her through her difficulties, and would leave in the morning. There was no talk at all, Mr. Davis said gleefully, of Lady Cynthia and marriage.
Good, I thought with satisfaction. Lord Clifford was holding up his end of the bargain.
In the morning, Tess took her day out. I sent her off with extra crullers to give to Caleb, to express my thanks for his help.
I learned, however, that Caleb hadn’t been as discreet as he could have been. When Tess returned late that afternoon, Caleb entered with her, and behind him came Inspector McGregor.
21
Few things unnerved me more than a policeman in my kitchen. When my husband had died at sea, a policeman had come to the house where I’d worked as an assistant cook. The police sergeant had found one of my letters to my husband and realized I’d borne his daughter. The sergeant had not visited me to break the news gently, but to demand to know if I had any of my husband’s possessions, which by rights belonged to his wife.
Since I’d believed I was his wife, the report had been a double blow.