“Thank you for the warning,” Byron said, tucking his notebook into his jacket pocket.
“By all means.” He turned to leave the room. “Oh, and if you were wondering, your secret is safe with me, ‘Mr. Sherard.’”
***
They rejoined Walker in the hall downstairs.
“Sorry about Bertie. I couldn’t think of an excuse to keep him down here.”
“Thank you for trying,” Byron said, leading the way back to the study.
“Did you find anything?”
“We didn’t have much of a chance,” Mira said with a sigh. “Though I’m not sure there was anything to find.”
“I doubt we’ll have another opportunity to search,” Byron said. “It’s dashed difficult to work as a civilian. So much sneaking and subterfuge, excuses and lies.”
“Now you know how I felt when I first started working with you,” Mira said. “Do you think we could ask Monty to search the room for us?”
“Perhaps . . .”
“It was awfully decent of you to let him off like that,” Walker said.
Byron shook his head. “He’s already proved that he’s more useful here than behind prison bars. Besides, based on what I wrote in my journal, the mastermind of the duo was Aaron Dennis. Monty only went along with it because it was convenient. If he really has left the criminal life behind, I’d hate to put an end to that.”
The door opened again, this time with Liza coming in. Walker stood.
“You look positively exhausted.”
Liza sighed. “I just don’t know what to do to help Maureen. She’s calmed down, finally, but it really has been a shock to her.”
Mira fidgeted with her hands. “Reliving the past is always difficult.”
“Yes, well,” Liza said. “Admiral Hoddle took her home.”
“He mentioned that he would. I asked if we could bring her with us to church tomorrow, and he agreed,” Mira said. “Do you think she’s all right for the moment?”
“Much better than before,” Liza said. “Earlier it was as if she couldn’t hear me at all. Like she was in an entirely different place.”
Mira caught Byron’s gaze. They both knew what that was like.
February 10, 1889
“I really didn’t mean to cause ascene,” Maureen said, taking a sip from her teacup. She was still incredibly pale and a little shaky, but overall, she seemed to be doing better. She, Mira, and Liza sat at a little table in a nook at Number Five Henrietta Street, a tea tray shared between them.
“It’s entirely understandable,” Liza said. “Considering the circumstances.”
“Truth be told, I hardly remember it.” Maureen set the cup down, averting her eyes from the group. “I am sorry to hear that your aunt is unwell, Liza.”
“Oh, she’ll rally soon enough. Especially with Mother looking after her.”
What Liza didn’t say was that Aunt Eleanor was still reeling from the discovery of the body, felt as if it were a harbinger of doom, and refused to leave the house. Which left Mira and Liza in the awkward position of being unable to go anywhere with their suitors. At least until they came to some compromise with Mrs. Renaldi or found another chaperone.
“That window lets in such good light,” Mira said, changing the subject. “This room would be a joy to paint in.”
“You’re an artist, Miss Blayse?” Maureen asked. “I don’t believe I knew that.”
Liza laughed. “She has graphite on her hands more oftenthan not. Haven’t you noticed?”
