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Housekeepers always knew more about their employers than maids did. As it was a Sunday, it was likely her half day, and she might be free to speak with them.

Once at Liverpool Street Station, they took a cab to Hanbury Street, the location the London Directory had listed for the bakery. Hobson’s, as it was called, occupied a street corner, where a short line of customers stood outside the bakery doors. Though antiquated, Sunday closing laws made it strictly illegal to bake or sell bread commercially on the Sabbath; however, smaller shops often opened for a few hours, defying these regulations. Certain shops, Leo supposed, received protection against police interference too. From the Angels, for instance.

The yeasty and malted scents of freshly baked bread wafting from the shop as its door opened and shut made Leo’s stomach grumble; she never did get a bite to eat the night before, and the toasted bread she’d had for breakfast hadn’t done much to fill her.

“Have there been any leads from the sketches that ran in newspapers and the Police Gazette?” she asked as they joined the line of customers. “Or the pubs in the area of Creed Lane where Mr. Lawlor may have last eaten?”

“None,” he answered. “Drake also took the sketches to some chemists around Mayfair to see if either man could be remembered as having purchased laudanum or arsenic.” Jasper shook his head firmly at what the result had been.

“The doctor must have gotten the substances somewhere,” Leo said, peering into the bakery window.

It was a pocket-sized shop, only able to hold two customers at a time. When they finally stepped inside, Leo shivered at the sudden warmth. A woman stood at the counter, taking orders and payment, while behind her in a kitchen open to view, a man and a young boy minded the racks of bread and the large stone hearth, where more loaves were baking. The woman eyed them without a smile, even though she’d given one to the lady in line before them. Leo and Jasper were unfamiliar, and Jasper did have the distinct look of a police officer.

“Good morning,” Leo began quietly, cautious of the person behind them in the shop. “Are you Mrs. Hobson?”

“Aye, that’s right. Do ye want somethin’?”

“We’d like to ask about a woman who works here, Tabitha Pierce.”

Mrs. Hobson, who appeared to be about forty years old, visibly went on her guard. “What ‘bout ‘er?”

“She hasn’t been seen in several days,” Jasper said. “We believe she might be in some danger, and we’d like to find her.”

Mrs. Hobson glanced toward the back of the shop, where the man—tall, barrel-chested, and ruddy-cheeked—was filling a basket with rolls. She faced forward and, leaning against the flour-dusted counter, said low and harshly, “Order two currant buns.”

“Excuse me?” Jasper asked as the man turned a curious glare toward the front of the shop.

“Just order ‘em, quick,” she pleaded through gritted teeth, her glare no longer suspicious, but frightened.

Leo cleared her throat. “Two currant buns, please.”

The woman left the counter for a stand of racks and baskets, and the man in the kitchen turned back to his work. Leo crossed a glance with Jasper, intrigued by Mrs. Hobson’s furtive actions. She returned a moment later, shoving a paper-wrapped bundle across the counter. “That’ll be a penny.”

Frowning, Jasper reached into his pocket for the coin and paid. The woman jutted her chin, as if to order them to move aside. Leo took the wrapped bundle, and as the next customer in line was assisted, she and Jasper made their way from the shop, bewildered. Once outside, the package warmed Leo’s hand against the chilled morning air.

“What was that about?” Jasper muttered. “We didn’t come all this way to buy two currant buns. I’m going back in.”

Leo grasped his elbow. “You’ll draw too much attention to yourself.”

He sighed but stood back as the door opened, and one customer exchanged for the next. Leo’s stomach complained again, and she opened the brown-paper wrapping. “We may as well eat.”

But when she looked down at the contents of the bundle, she saw they’d been given one currant bun, not two. The purpose behind it became clear just as the door to the bakery opened again.

“Oh good, I’ve caught ye!” Mrs. Hobson said loudly before the door shut behind her. She held in her hand another wrapped package—the second currant bun she’d intentionally forgotten to give them.

Lowering her voice, she said, “I’ve got a minute before me ‘usband gets ‘spicious. Yer a copper, ain’t ye?” she asked Jasper.

“Inspector Reid from Scotland Yard,” he admitted.

“Why’re ye askin’ ‘bout Tabitha?”

“We merely wish to speak to her,” Leo answered. “Have you seen her recently?”

Mrs. Hobson sighed. “She ‘asn’t been in fer over a week. It ain’t like ‘er. Tabitha’s worked fer me two years now. When she didn’t show fer a few days, I went ‘round to ‘er place.”

“She wasn’t at home?” Leo asked.

Mary Hobson shook her head. “Desmond said she were abed, feelin’ poorly, but ‘e were actin’ odd. A few days later, a bloke came ‘round, askin’ ‘bout Tabitha. Wantin’ to know if I’d seen ‘er. I told ‘im to shove off. When I went to Desmond again, ‘e told me to mind me own business.”