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Only one young lady occupied the space, kneeling in front of one of the raised beds with her back to them. She tipped a look over her shoulder as they approached.

“Visitors to see you, Beatrice,” their student escort said.

“Thank you, Hattie.” Miss Longfellow dusted off her gardening gloves and slipped them from her hands as she turned to face them.

A few strands of brown hair clung to her flushed cheeks, and the smock she wore over a dark gown indicated that she was in the habit of wiping her dirt-crusted gloves on the fabric.

“Miss Longfellow?” Gideon asked.

She nodded as her dark gaze took appraised them, subjecting them to an intense scrutiny.

“I am Detective Inspector Pierce from Scotland Yard.”

“Oh.” The word emerged on a breath, and some of the color in her cheeks seemed to seep away. “You’ve come about Iris, then?”

“We have, yes.” He gestured to Electra. “This is Miss Electra Poole, who is assisting my investigation.”

The young woman’s eyes fluttered closed a moment. “Then you haven’t found her,” she said in a low, shuddery tone. “Of course you would not be here if you had.”

“We have not found her yet,” Gideon told her, “but we do have a few questions if you can spare us the time.”

“Of course.” She lifted a fluttering hand toward the rear of the conservatory. “There is something I must tell you. Come quickly.”

Gideon exchanged a look of surprise with Electra.

With that, the young lady turned on her heel and rushed down the path between plant beds. “There is an office where we can speak privately, though it won’t afford us much space,” she called back over her shoulder.

“That will do.” Electra spoke softly, as if noting, as he had, how suddenly unsettled the young lady had become.

Miss Longfellow led them deeper into the glass-walled space to a room separated by its own walls of glass and a door. She was right. The space was tight, with two chairs, one three-legged stool, and two long shelves attached to opposite walls that were clearly used as desk space. They were both covered in ledgers, gardening tools, and more of the labels he’d seen on spikes in every bed of plants.

They took the chairs, but Miss Longfellow remained standing, glancing around the crowded space. “As I said. Not much room and I suppose it is a bit of a mess.”

Electra surveyed the cluttered workspaces. “An organized mess, it seems.”

“We do have a system, though it may not be apparent,” she said congenially. Then her gaze turned Gideon’s way and she dropped onto the stool in front of them, hands pressed against her lap. “I don’t know if this will assist you to find her, Inspector, but I have debated confessing it since her father wrote to me, asking if I knew where Iris had gone.”

Gideon’s own pulse had begun to quicken. He withdrew his notebook as he held Miss Longfellow’s gaze. She was breathing quickly, and there was a desperation in her eyes that made him think she was on the verge of panic.

“What is it you need to confess, Miss Longfellow?”

She licked her lips. Swallowed as if around a lump in her throat. “There was a man who troubled Iris,” she started, her voice tremulous. “She would not tell me his name. Indeed, she seemed hesitant to tell me of her concerns at all.”

She bit her lip and eyed them both. “She was terribly fretful about her friend who had disappeared, you see, and said she was selfish for wallowing in her own worries.”

“When did you last speak to Miss Delacourt?” Gideon asked.

“Saturday.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Two days before the day she did not return home.”

“Please explain about the troublesome gentleman.”

“There was something happening with Iris, but I don’t even know the full extent of it because she was so reticent to share.”

If she didn’t seem so eager to divulge the details, it would feel as if she was prevaricating.

“What was this something, Miss Longfellow? Be as specific as you are able.”

Gideon noticed that she was scratching at her arm. A nervous habit, as if trying to soothe herself or expel anxious energy.