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“I’m not certain.”

They watched as the young man spoke to an older gentleman with a graying beard and bald pate. He wore spectacles too, thinner ones which perched at the edge of his nose. He nodded once sharply.

Mr. Seaton walked to a corner, retrieved his coat, and then he joined them in the lobby once more.

“I’ve spoken to my supervisor. I asked him if I may take an early lunch, and he agreed. We could go to the park across the way or there is a tea shop nearby which may be quiet at this hour.”

“Let us try the tea shop,” Gideon told him.

The young man led them out the doors, across the street, and along the path through a square overhung by oak trees, whose acorns and leaves had littered the ground in lovely burnished colors.

They emerged onto the parallel street, followed him to the cross street, and when he turned a corner, he ushered them into a lightly occupied tea shop. Several tables were vacant, and Gideon pointed to one along the far wall, far away from the few customers clustered around tables.

Lovely pastel paintings dotted the wall, and each small table was set with doilies and teacups already laid out.

“Shall we sit?” Seaton asked, gesturing toward the chairs, his eyes on Electra, as if offering her the first choice.

Once she sat, the gentlemen followed suit. Gideon was near enough that their elbows brushed, and Seaton sat across from them.

“I met Iris here on occasion,” he told them in a grave tone, almost as if making a confession. But still all Electra could sense from the young man was terror.

It was so potent that it made her own chest feel tight. But when he’d mentioned Iris, she’d sensed a flare of affection too.

A young woman bustled over and asked them which flavor of tea they preferred, jasmine, orange pekoe, bergamot, or any others on the list of black, green, and herbal teas.

Once they’d chosen, the young man seemed to be trying to form words, his lips moving but nothing quite emerging.

“I keep waiting to hear from her,” Seaton finally rasped out.

“What do you mean?” Gideon asked.

“That she’s well. That she’s returned.”

“Where do you think she has gone, Mr. Seaton?”

“I don’t know!” His raised voice drew looks from the shop’s other patrons. He glanced around and his cheeks colored slightly. “I wish I knew. Believe me. It’s as if…” Seaton pressed a fist to his mouth, then lowered it. “I cannot fully breathe not knowing where she is.”

Electra noted how pale the young man looked. And in the tea shop’s gaslight, she could see circles under his sad blue eyes.

“You believe she’s gone off someplace,” Gideon pressed. “That one day she will simply return of her own accord?”

“I only know that she’s gone. But if you mean, do I know where she’s gone? No. If I knew where, I would have gone there. Believe me.”

“Why would she leave, Mr. Seaton?”

“I can’t think of a single reason,” he said, blinking as he shot them each a look and then lowered his gaze to the tabletop.

Electra sensed deception, or perhaps reticence, in the young man.

The lady server appeared with a tea tray and poured a cup for each of them, leaving a bowl of sugar, a pitcher of cream, and plates of lemons and biscuits on the table before she departed.

Seaton added cream and sugar to his tea and took a sip, then fidgeted with the cup after replacing it in its saucer.

“The only thing that seemed to trouble her was the death of Miss Collier. It was all she spoke about the last time I saw her.”

“When was that, Mr. Seaton?” Gideon asked.

Since Calliope Collier’s death was reported on Friday and Miss Delacourt disappeared the following Monday, it had to have been recently.