We remained home only long enough for Matt to use his watch and rest again. Not wanting a lecture, I avoided Miss Glass by reading in my room. The afternoon had grown long by the time Matt and I arrived at New Scotland Yard, and the shadows cast by the palatial orange and white building stretched across Victoria Embankment to the Thames.

Usually we visited Commissioner Munro at the police headquarters, but not this time. Matt wanted to speak to Detective Inspector Brockwell, a plodding yet thorough policeman whom Matt admired. I couldn't decide what to make of him, however. While I appreciated his dogged determination to get to the truth, I worried that he saw Matt as an outlaw and would arrest him one day. The police had arrested him before, almost costing him his life when he couldn't access his watch in the prison cell. I didn't trust them not to do it again. With Sheriff Payne whispering in the commissioner's ear about Matt's misdeeds in America, my concerns were justified. So far, the commissioner had chosen to believe us when we told him that Payne couldn't be trusted, but for how long? How many times would he overlook our tendency to attract trouble, particularly when we couldn't explain it thanks to the secrecy surrounding Matt's magic watch?

"What can I do for you?" asked Detective Inspector Brockwell. We sat in his small, windowless office at the back of the building. It was nothing like Commissioner Munro's office on the top floor overlooking the river. Aside from the lack of view and space, it also lacked orderliness. Like Brockwell himself, his office was untidy. Papers were scattered across the desk and chair and spilled onto the floor. A lopsided portrait of the queen hung on the wall with a map of London pinned beneath it. The bookshelf was largely empty, yet books piled up in the corner of the room.

Matt plucked the papers off one of the chairs and offered me the seat. I took it and he placed the stack near my feet since there was nowhere else for them to go. He remained standing at my side.

"India and I are investigating a case of a missing nun from the Convent of the Sacred Heart in Chelsea," Matt began.

Every word saw the inspector's eyebrows rise higher until they almost met his hairline at the mention of the convent. "You're investigating a crime? Why?"

"One of the nuns asked us to look into it. It's been bothering her, and she'd like a resolution after all these years."

"How many years?"

"Twenty-seven."

"Twenty-seven," Brockwell repeated flatly. "That number again."

"Pardon?" I asked.

"It seems to come up frequently, of late. Dr. Millroy's death occurred twenty-seven years ago, after he was involved in a suspicious death, also at that time." He scratched his bushy sideburns with deliberate strokes that I was convinced he slowed on purpose to annoy me.

It did not seem to annoy Matt. "I doubt the good nuns from the Order of the Sacred Heart had anything to do with those crimes," he said.

I pressed my lips together to suppress my smile.

Brockwell stopped scratching. "I don't believe in coincidences."

While Brockwell knew the specifics surrounding Dr. Millroy's death, he did not know the wider story of the doctor's magical abilities or how his illegitimate son may have inherited those abilities and might be the only person alive that could save Matt. Brockwell had made it very clear he did not believe in magic. A non-believer wouldn't understand our desperate need to find Phineas Millroy. He might even get in the way of us finding him if he thought Matt guilty of the crimes Sheriff Payne accused him of. It was best if Brockwell was kept in the dark as much as possible.

"Then you're a fool," Matt said.

I closed my eyes. Calling the inspector a fool when we required his help wasn't a good idea.

"How so?" the inspector asked.

"Coincidence can be understood by the study of probability theory. Mathematically speaking, it's not unlikely that two disparate events will occur in the same years when taking into account the ages of the nun, Millroy, and anyone else involved in both cases."

Brockwell put up his hands in surrender. "Get to your point, Glass. What do you want from me?"

"I want you to check the police archives for any reports of the mother superior's disappearance from the convent twenty-seven years ago. According to Sister Clare, it was out of character and she did not tell anyone where she was going. She has not been seen or heard from since."

"And this Sister Clare came to you and asked you to investigate?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I was there to make a donation and happened to mention that I'm a private inquiry agent," Matt said without hesitation. "Perhaps it was the first opportunity she's had to discuss it with an investigator in all this time."

Brockwell scratched his sideburns again. "Or perhaps something triggered her memory while you happened to be at the convent offering a donation. Sizable, was it?"

"I don't like your tone," Matt said darkly.

"Will you help us, Inspector?" I asked before he could get even closer to the truth. "There's no need for you to trouble yourself beyond a quick check of the archives. It's unlikely to be a police matter."

"You think the mother superior left of her own accord?"

"It seems the most likely scenario."

"You will inform me if you suspect something illegal." When Matt didn't respond, Brockwell added, "Miss Steele?"

"Of course," I said. "Are your archives kept in this building?"

"Some, but this might be a case for the local Chelsea branch."

When he didn't rise, Matt said, "We can wait while you check."

"I'll send word when I've found a record of the investigation, if there is one."

"By the end of today?"

Brockwell checked his pocket watch. "It's almost five, Mr. Glass. Hopefully I'll have something by tomorrow."

"Midday."

Brockwell gave a non-committal grunt then walked with us out of his office. "Jack Sweet's trial will be soon," he said. "If he pleads not guilty, you will both be called to testify. I am sorry for the trouble and anxiety, Miss Steele."

"I'm happy to testify if it helps," I said. "I'm not worried about being called to speak in front of a jury."

"You are very brave." He suddenly grasped my hand and patted it. The intimate gesture took me by surprise, as did his smile. This serious man hardly ever smiled. "I've never met a woman with such steely nerves as you, pardon the pun."

I smiled back. "Thank you, Inspector. It must seem odd that we attract more trouble than most, but it's a relief to know that you don't think us guilty of anything untoward. Sheriff Payne would have you believe otherwise, but he cannot be trusted."

"As you say."

"Good day, Inspector," Matt said briskly. He put out his arm for me to take then led me back through the building and outside. "What a nerve!"

I frowned at him. "Brockwell?"

"I don't like the way he smiled at you."

"It was just a smile," I said, stepping into the carriage.

"He patted your hand. That makes it more than just a smile."

"It's called flirting, Matt. You should know all about it, considering you're quite the expert."

He settled on the seat opposite. "I am not."

"You are and you know it."

He tugged on his cuffs and stared out the rear window. I thought the matter ended, but as we neared Mayfair, he said, "Next time we visit Scotland Yard, you're staying home."

---

Duke and Cyclops arrived home just before dinner and reported on their success in the sitting room where Matt and I sat with Miss Glass. She had insisted we tell her about our day as she was tired of looking through magazines.

"We fixed the roof," Duke said, rubbing his shoulder. "There were a few broken tiles. We found some spares in the outbuildings. It weren't too much trouble and Sister Bernadette was real grateful. She didn't want to climb up there herself."

"I'm surprised she doesn't think God will stop her from falling," Miss Glass said with a sniff.

"How grateful was she?" Matt asked. "Did you manage to get any more information out of her?"

"We didn't want to be too nosey, as you suggested," Cyclops said. "But we did learn something that might be useful. The priest who takes their confessions is the same one from twenty-seven years ago. If one of the nuns knew something, or did something, they might have told Father Antonio in the sanctuary of the confessional."

"He's unlikely to tell us anything he heard in confidence," I said. "It'll be sacrosanct."

"Aye, but Matt's good at reading people. If he asks the right questions, he might learn something."

I sighed. "It's better than nothing."

"He can be found at St. Mary's in the same street as the convent," Duke said.

Matt lowered his head into his hand and ruffled his hair. When he straightened, he did not smooth his hair back into place. I sat on my hands so as not to do it for him.

"You look tired, Matthew," Miss Glass said. "Why not rest before dinner?"

"I don't need to."

She cocked her head to the side. "You tell him, India."

"Give me the watch." I held out my hand. "Let me speak Chronos's spell into it and see if I can extend the magic again."

He heaved a sigh but complied. I caressed the back of the case, stroking the smooth silver with my thumb as I spoke the extending spell. It warmed and a faint purplish light flared before extinguishing. I handed it back to Matt.

"Use it in your room then lie down for a little," I said. "Don't argue," I added when he opened his mouth. "You're not needed here."

"Bully," he muttered, tossing me a tired smile.

I watched him go then sank into the armchair.

"He's getting worse," Cyclops said.

Miss Glass's hand pressed to her chest and she blinked damp eyes. "My poor boy."

I stood and crouched before her. "We're very close to finding someone who can help him. Very close." I did not mention the possibility that Phineas Millroy might not have inherited his father's magic, nor did I mention the very real possibility he could be dead or out of the country. I couldn't bear to discuss either of those scenarios; Miss Glass's delicate mind might shut down altogether.

She gave a small nod and returned to the magazine on her lap.

Cyclops and Duke left to clean up before dinner. I raced out after them, catching up to Cyclops on the stairs. "I saw Catherine Mason today," I said. "She asked after you."

His step slowed but he forged ahead without glancing at me. "Ain't no concern of mine."

"I can see that you're pleased she enquired about you so don't try to hide it. She's unhappy. She feels stifled at home, and she can see her life stretching out before her in a monotonous stream of housekeeping." I tapped his arm. When he didn't respond, I poked him. "You have the capacity to make her happy—and yourself at the same time."

"I told you why I can't," he snapped. Cyclops never snapped. I'd hit a raw nerve.

"I don't like your reason. I don't agree with it. If you're worried about her safety in America, then don't return."

"Easy to say, not so easy to do."

"I disagree. You have a choice, Cyclops. One of them easy, and one of them is hard but not impossible. Don't shy away from the hard one when it will make you both happier."

He stopped and rounded on me. I folded my arms and glared right back. "Seems to me you're taking the easy way too, India."

My arms dropped to my sides and I stared at his back as he walked off up the stairs. It wasn't until he'd disappeared from sight that I thought of a retort.

I heard the front door open and Bristow greet Willie. I decided to join her instead of dwelling on Cyclops's words.

"India," she declared with a smile. "How was your afternoon?"

"Fine, thank you. I see from your good mood that yours went well."

She handed her battered cowboy hat to Bristow, who took it between thumb and forefinger. "Well enough, and that's all I'll say. Don't try to get anything out of me because you won't."

I held my hands up as I joined her, then leaned closer. "I don't need to question you since I know you have a lover," I whispered.

Her smile vanished. "What do you know?"

"That you're always happy lately and that you're blushing now."

She slapped her hands to her cheeks. "I am not!"

"And that your hair is down when you left with it pinned up earlier."

She touched her hair at her shoulder. It tumbled down her back in long, thick tangles.

"You have the look of a woman who has recently had a fumble in the hay with a fellow. Or perhaps a store room at the hospital."

Her cheeks lost some of their heat and her shoulders relaxed. "How would you know? You ever taken a turn with a lover in a storeroom?"

"I've never had a lover," I shot back, not in the least concerned what she thought of me. "Eddie doesn't count."

"He sure don't. That little turd ain't worthy of you. He ain't worthy of any woman. I reckon he wouldn't even know what to do with one if he got her into a storeroom."

"Probably ask her to fetch a broom and clean up the mess he made of his life."

We both laughed. Then she put her arm around me and dragged me into the library.

"I need a drink. Come and have one with me and shut the door, India. But one more mention of lovers and hospitals and I'll call Bristow and tell him you've been drinking before dinner again."

"Please, spare me his lecture."

---

Matt couldn't settle the following morning as he waited for word from Brockwell. He paced into and out of rooms, stared out the front windows to the street, and struggled to make conversation. It worried his aunt, so I offered to walk with her in Hyde Park as a distraction. Hopefully by the time we returned, Brockwell's information, or lack of, would be known.

But it wasn't Brockwell we saw upon our return to the Park Street house. It was Lord and Lady Rycroft, alighting from their carriage. While Matt's aunt visited from time to time with her daughters in tow, his uncle rarely did. His presence didn't bode well.

"Let's keep walking," Miss Glass said. "Perhaps they'll leave if I'm not at home."

"Or perhaps it's Matt they wish to see," I said. "In which case, we ought to be there to support him. I suspect they'll want to discuss Patience's situation."

"I do want to know if Lord Cox has found out about her indiscretion." After a hesitation, she quickened her pace. "You're right. We cannot leave Matthew to bear the brunt. Come along, India."

We met them in the entrance hall where Bristow was in the process of taking Lord Rycroft's hat and walking stick. They greeted Miss Glass formally and even spared a brisk "Good morning," for me, although neither met my gaze.

"Is Matthew at home?" Lady Rycroft asked. "We must speak with him urgently."

"Come through to the drawing room," I said since Miss Glass made no move to invite them to stay. "Bristow, have tea sent in. I'll fetch Matt."

I didn't have to look far. He met me on the stairs as I went up. "Your aunt and uncle are here." I reached out to straighten his tie then quickly pulled back. "Have you heard from Brockwell?"

"No. I was considering going to him instead."

"After this meeting."

"You are joining me in there, aren't you, India?"

"If you wish."

"I most certainly wish it." He gave me a wry smile. "With you there, they might restrain themselves."

"Do you think they're here because of Patience and Lord Cox?"

"I have no doubt about it."

Miss Glass's head was bowed when we entered the drawing room, her hands demurely folded in her lap. Lord Rycroft stood over her, the fat beneath his chin folded into thick layers as he scowled. They could not be less alike. She was thin where he was broad; she had gray hair and most of his was still black; she was submissive while he was domineering. It was easy to forget they were brother and sister.

"Do you understand, Letitia?" Lord Rycroft demanded.

She gave a small nod.

"Say it. Say you understand so that I know you heard me."

"Rycroft," Matt cut in with a scowl of his own for his uncle. "Aunt Letitia doesn't appear to be up to your questioning. May I help?"

Lord Rycroft regarded Matt down his nose. Since Matt was taller, it meant he had to tilt his head back quite a way. "It's of no concern to you."

"When you're in my house and my aunt looks afraid, it becomes my concern."

Lord Rycroft continued to glare at his nephew and Matt glared right back. It took the arrival of Bristow with tea things to break the standoff. I poured and handed out cups, hardly breathing until Lord Rycroft finally sat.

"Richard ordered me to travel with Beatrice and the girls to the estate in preparation for the wedding," Miss Glass said, looking up from her lap. All the color gained from our walk had drained from her face, and her eyes had lost their brightness.

"Do you want to go with them or come later with me?" Matt asked.

"She doesn't have a choice," Lord Rycroft said, setting down his teacup without taking a sip. "She's going with Beatrice. It's for the best."

"For whom?"

"For everyone! She's Patience's aunt. She'll be needed."

His wife rolled her eyes. "It's the best place for her," she said. "You can't keep an eye on her here, Matthew. You're too busy. She needs companionship and security or she'll just wander off again like last time."

"Last time she wandered off, she was with you," Matt shot back. "She returned here, as I recall."

Lady Rycroft sniffed. "Yes, well, it just goes to show that she must be watched at all times."

"She doesn't wander off when she's here alone, and she has India for company a lot of the time."

Fortunately Miss Glass did not dilute his argument by mentioning I was rarely at home lately.

"She's no trouble," I added.

Lord and Lady Rycroft ignored me. "Very well then, stay here," Lady Rycroft mumbled into her cup.

Her husband turned his icy glare onto her. "Beatrice," he hissed. "We agreed."

"It's all well and good for you, Richard, you're coming later. You're quite happy to saddle me with the responsibility of caring for her in the meantime. What if she wanders off again? She could go into the woods or the lake. Imagine if she turns up in the village talking nonsense. I'll never live it down."

"If you force me to leave London with you, that's precisely what I'll do," Miss Glass said with a pinched smile for her sister-in-law.

I wanted to applaud her for speaking up. Alas, her courage was short lived. She bowed her head again when her brother snapped, "That's enough, Letitia."

"So it's settled," Matt said. "Aunt Letitia will travel with me. We'll arrive the day before the wedding."

"Oh no," Lady Rycroft said. "You must come at least three days before. My girls will be desolated if you deprive them of your company, Matthew."

He looked slightly panicked at the prospect. I wasn't sure whether to smile or be panicked too.

"That's if there is a wedding," she added with a loaded glance at her husband.

"That brings us to the main reason for our visit," he said, puffing out his barrel chest. "But I won't discuss it in front of the companion." He didn't look at me so I felt no compulsion to leave the room.

"India stays," Matt said. "If you have something to say to me, say it in front of her."

Lord Rycroft's lips puckered and pursed with his indignation. When Matt didn't back down, he clicked his tongue. "Hope told us everything about a certain sheriff acquaintance of yours and his attempt to blackmail my family. I will not stand for it, do you hear me? I will not stand for it. Clean up your mess before word gets back to Lord Cox."

"I cannot control what Sheriff Payne does or says," Matt said.

"You can and you will! Do as he demands, for God's sake!"

"He has made no demands of me. If I knew where to find him, I'd attempt to convince him to stay away, but I don't know where he is."

"Then find out." A vein in Lord Rycroft's neck bulged. His collar looked far too tight, all of a sudden. "The situation is precarious. Patience is hardly a fine catch at her age, but for some reason, Cox wants to marry her. Suppose it has something to do with his children needing a mother, although that's nothing a good governess couldn’t solve."

"Perhaps he loves her and will overlook her past," Matt said.

Lady Rycroft's nostrils flared. "Don't be absurd," her husband muttered.

I had often thought myself less fortunate than the privileged Patience Glasses of this world, but listening to her own parents speak about her made me glad I wasn't born to that class. She was nothing more than a tradable object to them, as expendable as a horse unfit for racing.

"You must fix this, Matthew, before it's too late," Lady Rycroft said. "This family is counting on you."

"I'll do my best, but I can't stop Payne if I can't find him."

"Try harder! If the wedding is called off, all the girls will suffer. Even Hope will find it difficult to secure a husband if the scandal gets out. They'll all be ruined. The girls won't be able to show their faces in London for at least two seasons, and by then it'll be too late!" She set down her teacup and pressed the edge of the turban at her temples. "This situation is unbearable, and it's your fault, Matthew."

"It is not," Miss Glass said huffily. "Patience should have been more careful. A young lady's reputation is her most valuable possession. Lose it and lose her chance of a secure future. Patience was gullible enough to believe that reprobate cared for her, but she was young. As her mother, you ought to have warned her about such men, Beatrice. It is your fault that she's in this predicament now, not Matthew's."

Lady Rycroft's features contracted so tightly her lips almost disappeared altogether. "You dare to accuse Patience of not being careful with her reputation! You, of all people! Are you going to let her speak about your daughter like that, Richard, when she is no better?"

Miss Glass's fingers splayed on her lap. She looked away. "Patience's situation is not the same as mine."

"Isn't it?" Lady Rycroft grasped the chair arm and leaned forward. "You both had intrigues with unsuitable men. At least Penelope saved your reputation before you could do anything too foolish."

Penelope. That was the friend Miss Glass had been visiting with Lady Rycroft last week when she had a turn and walked away without telling anyone. And to think, Miss Glass had a liaison with an unsuitable man yet she didn't like the notion of Matt and me being together. Well well.

"Enough!" roared Lord Rycroft. "Do you really need to air your dirty laundry in front of our nephew, Letitia?"

Miss Glass blinked quickly then took up her teacup and saucer. Her hands shook as she sipped.

Lady Rycroft shot a triumphant look at her sister-in-law, which only made Miss Glass blink harder. Poor thing. I wished I were sitting next to her to offer comfort and show Lady Rycroft that Miss Glass had supporters.

"I have to ask you both to leave," Matt said. "You can't come here and insult Aunt Letitia—"

"She insulted me first!" Lady Rycroft declared.

"Listen," Matt said, his voice strained. "I am sorry for Patience, but I can't stop Payne from speaking to Lord Cox. Perhaps he loves her and will forgive her."

Lady Rycroft made a scoffing sound. "How can he marry her if the indiscretion becomes public?"

"Precisely," her husband said. "He'll be ridiculed if he goes through with it. No one will think ill of him for ending the engagement, not even me."

"A little indiscretion in a woman's past shouldn't taint her future," Matt snapped.

"Clearly things are different in America," Lord Rycroft said with a vehemence that set all of his chins wobbling. "We English have morals. And Patience is not merely a woman, she is a lady. There is a difference."

Matt squeezed the bridge of his nose. He was tired and frustrated, and he clearly wanted his relatives gone. I wished I knew how to get rid of them for him, but I was at a loss. They wouldn't listen to me.

"If Payne tells Lord Cox about my daughter's past," Lord Rycroft said, "then you must set it to rights. Do you understand? If her future is lost because that man wishes you ill, then you have a responsibility to her, Matthew. Is that clear?"

He sighed. "It is. And I agree."

"Richard," Miss Glass said carefully, "in what way are you expecting Matthew to set it to rights?"

"Recompense will be discussed if and when the need arises." Lord Rycroft stood and buttoned up his jacket. "Come, Beatrice." He almost walked out ahead of his wife, but stopped at the door to allow her to go through first.

We three did not follow. The front door closed then Bristow and Peter the footman quickly collected the tea things. No one spoke until they left.

"Do you think Payne is cruel enough that he'll ruin Patience to get to you?" I asked Matt.

He nodded. "It's a cowardly, low act so yes, he would. I expect him to go to Lord Cox soon, unless…"

"Unless what?" both Miss Glass and I said.

Matt merely shrugged.

"If you could stop him, you would have already done so," Miss Glass said. "My foolish brother ought to understand that. The real question is, what will Richard do when Lord Cox breaks off the engagement?"

"If he ends it," I told her. "He might love her too much to let her go."

"Dear India, your idealism does you credit, but the truth is, Lord Cox is not marrying Patience for love. Love within a marriage may be a possibility where you come from, but not for us. It's simply the way it is."

It didn't have to be, I wanted to grumble at her, but I held my tongue.

"I'll set up Patience and the other girls if necessary," Matt said, standing. "I'll even give them the estate to live in, if I ever inherit it."

"You certainly will not," Miss Glass said, also rising. "The estate is for Lord Rycroft, and you will be Lord Rycroft one day."

"Perhaps."

"Don't talk like that. Your health will improve." She stalked out of the drawing room, leaving behind a sense of hopelessness. Despite what she said, she was worried.

The entrance of Cyclops with a letter was a welcome distraction from my grim thoughts. "This just arrived," he said, handing it to Matt.

"It's from Brockwell, finally." Matt read on, then added, "He found a report on the missing mother superior."

"Good," I said. "That's something. What did the police do?"

"Nothing. The statement was retracted and the disappearance was never investigated."

"Retracted by whom?"

"Father Antonio, the priest for the parish then and now." He showed me the letter. "He reported Mother Alfreda missing the day after she disappeared."

"Sister Clare went to him," I said, reading ahead. "She's the mother superior's assistant. She expressed her concerns that Mother Alfreda had not been seen since nine PM. She did not appear all the next day and was not in her cell. They searched the convent and grounds, but there was no trace of her and no one knew where she'd gone."

"Then, the day after he reports her disappearance," Matt went on, "he told the police that the nuns heard from her. Apparently she sent word explaining she needed to leave the convent for personal reasons and would not be returning."

"She broke her vows." Cyclops shook his head slowly. "Must have been strong reasons."

"You think it's the truth?" I asked him. "You think she really did just leave of her own accord?"

"He's a priest, he ain't going to lie to the police."

Matt took back the letter and scanned it again. "Then why did Sister Clare not know about Mother Alfreda being found? Why did she mention the disappearance to us and not state that Mother Alfreda sent word later that she'd left of her own free will?"

I sat heavily on the sofa. Cyclops sat beside me, staring unblinking at the carpet. "The priest lied," he murmured. "That ain't right."

I squeezed his arm. "He must have had his reasons."

"But he's a priest."

"And human," Matt said. "Humans are not perfect."

I tried to catch his eye to determine if he was upset about something other than the priest lying, but he didn't meet my gaze. He sank into an armchair with a deep sigh and rubbed his forehead.

"We'll pay Father Antonio a visit after luncheon," I said. "Hopefully we can get some answers out of him."

"Don't know why a lying priest will suddenly tell us the truth," Cyclops mumbled. "I ain't Catholic, but I always thought them upstanding folk who don't lie or cheat." Clearly he didn't have a good grasp of European history.

"You're right," Matt said. "If Father Antonio lied all those years ago, he won't tell us anything now. What about the nun who left the convent around the same time? If she left because she was unhappy or had a falling out with the other nuns, she might be more amenable to talking to us."

"An excellent idea," I said, warming to it. "Sister Francesca, her religious name was. She'd go by her given name, now. How do we find her if we don't even know her name?"

"We ask the convent," Cyclops said. "We say we're her relatives and need to find her to give her news of an inheritance or something. Send Willie, since they already know the rest of us."

"You'll lie to the nuns?" Matt teased. "And you such a God-fearing man."

"If it's good enough for their priest to lie on a police report, then it's good enough for me." He crossed his arms and gave an emphatic humph.

"Willie isn't here and she also has an American accent," I said. "They'll know she's associated with us."

"I'll go." Miss Glass swanned into the room, her fierce mood of earlier nowhere in evidence. "They don't know me, and I'm not Catholic, so it's all right if I need to tell a falsehood to save your life, Matthew."

"I don't know," Matt hedged. "It'll require steely nerves."

"I am quite capable, thank you. Now, off to your room with you. You look terrible."

He kissed her cheek as he passed. "Thank you, Aunt. I'm glad you're on my side in this."

"I am on your side in all things."

His gaze flicked to me and his lips flattened before he strode out. Miss Glass looked as if she would upbraid me, as if Matt's disinterest in discussing marriage to suitable ladies was my fault. I suppose it was, in a way.

I quickly excused myself and left the room before she decided to speak.

---

Miss Glass performed admirably and returned to the carriage with a name and address for the former nun known as Sister Francesca. We drove her back to Park Street and then continued on to Bermondsey across the river. I smelled the tanning and leather factories before I saw them. Thick black smoke spewed from their chimneys, making the sky darker and grittier here than Mayfair. The faces we passed were just as dark and gritty with dirt and soot. It must be impossible to keep clothing, houses and skin clean, and I felt a pang of sympathy for housewives and their endless laundering. Imagine having to work all day in one of those factories then come home and face the cleaning. I wouldn't blame them for not bothering.

Bermondsey didn't look like a kind place for a friendless former nun who suddenly had to make her own way in the world. At least she was used to hard work and meager living, but the putrid smell smothering the streets would take time to get used to.

According to the convent, Miss Abigail Pilcher rented a room in a two up, two down row house on Spa Road. As with the rest of the houses lining the street, it was simple, functional and in need of repair. Two children sat on the stoop. Their hair resembled abandoned nests and their feet were bare. They stopped drawing in the mud with their fingers to watch our arrival through wary eyes.

"Does Miss Abigail Pilcher still live here?" Matt asked them.

The boy shook his head.

"Damn it," Matt muttered.

The children didn't so much as blink at his foul language.

"Is your mother home?" I asked.

Both shook their heads.

"Are there any adults here now?"

The door behind them opened and a woman with a bent back and whiskery chin peered out. "Get away from my grandchildren," she snapped.

"We don't want your grandchildren." Matt plucked a coin out of his pocket. "My name is Matthew Glass and this is Miss Steele. May we speak with you?"

She palmed the coin but did not invite us in or offer her name. "Are you lost?"

"We're looking for Miss Abigail Pilcher. She used to live in this building twenty-seven years ago."

The woman's eyes screwed up and she leaned forward to study Matt's face. "Are you that priest?"

"Which priest?"

"The one what used to visit her."

"I'm not a priest, merely a relative searching for her. My parents lost contact with Cousin Abigail when she entered the convent. They didn't agree with her choice, you see, being C of E themselves."

"Rightly so too. I never did trust Micks, and after I learned she used to be a nun, well, I trusted 'em even less. That's what happens when you pick the wrong side."

Matt held up his hands for her to slow down. "What do you mean, that's what happens? Did something terrible happen to Abigail? Is she dead?"

"Could be, by now. She moved on about ten years ago, when her son got himself a supervisor's job at a factory."

"She has an adult son?" I asked, hope surging. Why hadn't we considered that she had taken Phineas and passed him off as her own? "How old would he be now?"

The woman's mouth twisted this way and that. "Twenty-seven, if you say that's how long ago she moved in. She was close to her time when she came here."

My heart sank. "She was pregnant? The baby wasn't already a few weeks old?"

"She had her babe two or three months later." She chuckled a brittle laugh, revealing more gum than teeth. "Question is, how does a nun get in the family way?"