“Not only the police will come,” Daniel continued.
I thought of the tall man with the icy gaze. “Your Mr. Monaghan will be with them.”
“I do not want him to know about you.”
“I understand.” I’d never spoken to the man, but I sensed that Mr. Monaghan, if he knew of our friendship, might use me to tighten his hold over Daniel. “The duke and duchess, never mind the servants, will tell the police about me.”
“Yes, but I can deflect Monaghan’s attention from you, and Errol will help me. Now, you must be gone.”
“Indeed.” I glanced at myself, mourning the ruin of the lovely silk. “I cannot go home in this state.” I’d decided where I would seek refuge, but Daniel did not ask me. He trusted me to take care of myself, which gave me a warm feeling through my shock. “I will need a hansom,” I continued. “Or I might be arrested walking about like this, or at least stopped by a concerned person.”
I started to turn away, but Daniel pulled me back. I landed against him, my bloody frock ruining his cashmere coat.
“Damnation, Kat.” He kissed me. It was a hard kiss, Daniel’s mouth a point of heat. I clung to him, feeling his solid strength, and let him kiss me for as long as he liked.
* * *
* * *
When Daniel at last ushered me out of the house, a hansom, with Lewis driving, waited. I supposed Daniel had signaled him too. Daniel helped me into it, his tender expression evaporating and the forbidding one returning as he made once more for the house.
I did not envy the duke and duchess. The duke might be a lofty man, but he was about to face Mr. Monaghan, who I gathered would not care one whit about the duke’s status.
I asked Lewis to please take me to Upper Brook Street. I found Cynthia there with Miss Townsend and Bobby, as I’d suspected I would.
The three ladies were horrified at my injury and fussed over me with flattering attention. Bobby capably cleaned the wound and dressed it with a pad of cloth. Miss Townsend, who held the basin of water for her, waved away the destruction of the gown and said she’d give me another.
I scarcely wanted it. My days of playing a well-bred young lady were finished.
Cynthia had brought my work frock that I’d left at Mr. Thanos’s, and she helped me into it, careful of my wound. The cut wasn’t deep, Bobby said, and would soon heal, if I took care. I had enough knowledge of poultices and the benefits of clean water that I knew I could keep it from becoming septic.
Exhausted, I took my basket, which Cynthia had also brought, and walked home. Miss Townsend wanted to fetch another hansom for me, but I said it would look more natural if I arrived on foot, basket over my arm, as though I’d simply run out to a shop. Besides, it wasn’t far.
Cynthia accompanied me. Though she wore a frock tonight, she walked with a free stride, her skirt cut to hang straight, with no bustle or crinoline.
It was with relief I stepped into my own kitchen, set down my basket, and hung up my coat. Elsie washed dishes with fervor, anxious to finish so she could go to bed. Tess stirred flour and water that would ferment overnight for bread dough in the morning. Mr. Davis was removing his coat, ready to sit at the kitchen table with his lump of meat pie, while the footmen and maids chattered loudly in the servants’ hall. Mrs. Redfern shushed those who grew too voluble.
I inhaled the scents of roasted meat, thickened gravy, piles of herbs and greens, carbolic from Elsie’s sink, and the underlying mellow tang of fresh-baked bread that never quite went away.
I belonged here, I knew as I donned my apron and moved to the larder. I was not hungry, as I’d eaten at the Berkeley Square house, though that unsatisfactory meal seemed a long time ago. A portion of meat pie waited under a cloth, and I cut a piece and put it on a crockery plate. The plain food would taste good at the moment.
As I turned to leave, my gaze fell on the crates behind which I’d hidden the rhododendron clippings. I bent to peer at them, but they seemed untouched.
Carrying the plate back to the kitchen in shaking hands, I entered to hear Mr. Davis say, “A clerk at Mansion House has gone and stolen one pound eleven from his employers.” He clicked his tongue. “What is the world coming to?”
Tess finished stirring the flour mixture and returned to the table, wiping her hands. Her eyes held curiosity, but she would not ask me where James had rushed me to in front of Mr. Davis and the others.
“I done the greens.” Tess pointed to three small baskets on the sideboard with lettuce, more of the carrot tops, and mixtures of fresh herbs in them. “All rinsed and the dirt shaken out. I didn’t tear them up yet, ’cause I remembered you said they stayed crisp and bright if you don’t until the last minute.”
“Well done, Tess,” I said with true approval. “Thank you.”
“Bit of a dustup at the dining table,” Mr. Davis said, raising his head from the newspaper. “Mrs. Bywater has been insisting Lady Clifford take the first helping of everything, saying you must lay the best pieces of fish or meat on top. I suppose she believed you even put the best ladleful of soup on top as well. Mr. Bywater said that was rot and the bottom piece was no different from the first. I was called upon to give my opinion.”
I sat down at the table, my legs no longer wanting to hold me. If I kept on in this state, I’d fall to weeping. I held myself together with effort. “And what did you answer, Mr. Davis?”
“That of course every slice of meat and spoonful of custard you prepare is as excellent as the last. But it was proper that Lady Clifford, as the highest-ranking lady guest, should of course have first choice.” Mr. Davis turned a page of the paper. “That satisfied all present. The upstairs was pleased with me tonight.” He snorted. “As if you would bury a bad piece of meat at the bottom of the platter. You’d take it out and not serve it at all.”
I scarcely heard this last. As I studied the baskets overflowing with fragrant greens, and Mr. Davis began to read aloud how the Mahdi in the Sudan was trying to throw all Egyptians out of his realm, it came to me exactly how someone could have poisoned the dinner at Lady Covington’s house. And likely was still doing it.
26
In the morning, I saw absolutely nothing in the newspaper about the duke and duchess, nor any mention of a disturbance in Berkeley Square. Whatever Daniel’s Mr. Monaghan had done, he’d been very discreet.
In any case, dukes didn’t get hauled to Newgate, nor made to trot through the tunnel connecting it with the Old Bailey to stand in the dock in front of an ordinary crowd. Dukes were tried in the House of Lords, if they came to trial at all. A man with as much wealth, power, and influence as the Duke of Daventry might never be forced to publicly admit he helped his wife with her vengeance against the English government.