I had no way of knowing whether Mr. Fielding was even about, and he wasn’t expecting me. Cynthia hoisted her satchel, and we went into the churchyard through a tall gate that squeaked.

The iron fence encircled the church, shutting it firmly away from the street beyond it. Urchins in ill-made clothing played some game on the road that involved throwing small rocks, and they jeered at us through the bars. Cynthia glanced at them in curiosity, but I took no notice. If we paid them too much mind, they might start chucking the stones at us.

A path led around the church to a small house I assumed was the vicarage. As it was a Friday, nearing noon by now, any vicar would be at home, consuming his lunch. A housekeeper with a round face and wisps of white hair across her chin began to tartly tell us just that—the vicar was at his meal and wouldn’t be disturbed.

“If you’ve come about his charitable works, I’m afraid you’ll have to make an appointment or see him after evensong. He’s very busy, is our Mr. Fielding.” She said it fondly and proudly.

“Please tell him Mrs. Holloway has come about the matter we spoke of on Tuesday last,” I said. “We will wait.”

The woman did not look surprised that I spoke instead of the gentleman behind me. Church and charitable work was usually the purview of the ladies.

Hurried footsteps sounded behind the housekeeper, and a moment later Mr. Fielding appeared behind her, beaming a smile at us. “Mrs. Holloway.” He greeted me as though he’d been looking forward to this meeting all week. “This is indeed a pleasant event.”

Mr. Fielding held a napkin but was formally dressed in a suit with a black shirtfront and white collar. “Come in, come in. No matter, Mrs. Hodder. Mrs. Holloway is helping me on business of great importance. Lay a place for her and her friend, if you please.”

“A cup of tea will do nicely,” I said quickly. “No need for more.”

Vicars, especially those of an East End parish, were notoriously poor, their livings meager. I did not wish to eat food the housekeeper might be saving for her supper.

“Just as you like.” Mr. Fielding ushered us into a dining room a few feet from the front door. It was a cozy space, barely accommodating a small dining table, a short sideboard, and a corner cupboard.

Mrs. Hodder, with less stiffness, brought out two extra cups and saucers, set them on the table, and lifted a fat white teapot to pour a stream of very dark tea into the cups. She gave us curious glances, but left us to it when Mr. Fielding signaled her to go.