"Hide," I whispered, pushing Matt toward a stack of crates.

He wouldn't go. He caught me and trapped me against his chest. He must have put the lamp down because he held me with both hands. "I have a different plan," he whispered back. "We ain't done nothing!" he called out to the constable. "Don't arrest us, sir!"

So he planned on talking his way out of it. Knowing Matt, he could do it.

His fingers touched my throat, feeling their way in the dark to my collar. He undid a button on my dress, then another and another, and followed suit with my chemise.

So that was his plan. I helped him with my outer clothing until my corset was exposed. His fingers left me and I heard fabric rustle as he saw to his own attire. I decided to go a step further and tug my corset down to expose the swell of my breasts.

The constable's lamplight fell on us. I blinked and lifted a hand to shield my eyes, knowing the movement would draw attention to my state of undress. From the woman's gasp, I knew I'd succeeded. The light was too bright to tell if the constable and Mr. Woolley were shocked.

Matt noticed me too. He hastily buttoned up my dress, his gaze averted. Whether he meant to skim his knuckles across my bare flesh was impossible to tell. Thank goodness the light wasn't strong enough to see my reddening face.

The policeman lowered his lamp. "It's just two lovers, not thieves."

"Even so!" It was the pinch-lipped matron from the front door. "Fraternizing is against the shelter's policy! It's strictly forbidden."

Mr. Woolley came into view alongside her. He stretched his neck forward, peering into the dimness at us. I lowered my face, but Matt did not.

"We ain't frat'nizing," Matt snapped. "We're married."

"Married or not, it is still fraternizing!" Matron's clipped words bounced off the walls.

"It ain't illegal," Matt declared. "Ain't that right, Constable?"

"He's right," the constable said. "This is not a public place, and if they are married…"

"This is outrageous." Matron turned to Mr. Woolley and jerked her head at us. "Well? What say you about this…this immorality, sir?"

Mr. Woolley stepped down and approached us. He ignored me but strode straight up to Matt. I watched them through my lowered lids, eyeing one another. Was Matt mad? He ought to look away before Woolley recognized him. My heart hammered wildly, willing Matt to back down. Finally he did. I hazarded a glance at Mr. Woolley. He looked pleased to have won the contest of wills, but there was no recognition in his eyes, thank God.

"We're sorry, sir," Matt mumbled into his chest. "Anne frets without me, see, so I told her to meet me down here. It's quiet with just the mice for company. Cold, mind, but we got each other for warmth."

"Frets?" Mr. Woolley asked with a tilt of his head.

"Aye, sir. She gets all shaky and whimpery like a puppy without her master."

A puppy without her master! I refrained from rolling my eyes, just.

"I see," Mr. Woolley said.

"She's a good wife," Matt went on. I was beginning to think he was enjoying this. "Agreeable and eager to please." He was definitely enjoying this. "I don't like that in a wife so much, though. Prefer me a fiery girl to a meek one, but I can't cast my Anne out for being what she is, and what she is is silly in love with me. Ain't that right, Anne?" His beard twitched with his smirk.

Well. Since he wasn't afraid of being recognized, I wouldn't be either, although I kept my face averted. "I didn't know you liked your women-folk fiery, William," I said, matching Matt's accent as best as I could. "Now that I do, things'll change." I took his hand and led him up the stairs past the others. "First up, you're going to take that job in the sewers what you turned down, then you're visiting the barber with your first wages and shaving off that ugly beard."

We marched down the corridor and out through the women's dormitory then the men's. We left Mr. Woolley and the constable behind, but Matron kept up. Perhaps she wanted to make sure we well and truly departed. We'd left our lamp behind in the cellar but it didn't matter. All that mattered was our freedom.

"Good riddance," Matron said as we descended the front steps to the street. The door slammed behind us.

Matt circled his arm around me and drew me into his side. He chuckled softly and kissed the top of my head. "Well done, Mrs. McTavish. That was quite the performance."

I should have pulled away but did not. It felt warm against his body, and safe. "My accent was awful. I'm sure they'll realize and come after us at any moment."

His arm tightened and his quiet laugh echoed in the foggy air. "With a name like McTavish, we should have tried a Scottish accent. Next time."

"My acting talents do not stretch to Scots. I'll have to pretend to be mute."

"Then I won't get the pleasure of your biting wit. You managed to put me in my place with a few choice words."

"I'm not sure Matron appreciated my outburst. I swear her lips pinched so hard they almost disappeared."

"Matron has very odd ideas about men and women. She'd probably faint if she interrupted us actually fraternizing."

"I don't know if anything would make Matron faint. She seemed rather stoic. I wonder if she blushes."

"Her cheeks wouldn't dare."

I laughed and he squeezed me again. His pace slowed, and I glanced up at him only to see him turned toward me. It was too dark to make out his expression, thankfully. I didn't want to see his desire. I'd made my mind up to dissuade him from liking me in that way, but so far I was doing a terrible job of it. Indeed, how could I dissuade him when I enjoyed being with him? That mountain seemed too high to climb right now with my blood thrumming from the excitement of the night and our closeness.

"India," he said, all seriousness. Too serious. He touched my jaw and angled my face just so. Then he brushed his lips against mine.

I pulled away. I needed to fill the silence but I couldn't think of anything to say. I wasn't sure I could speak anyway. My body trembled and my voice would too, betraying me. I could not let him know my true thoughts on the matter of us being together. Not yet. Not until he was well enough to walk away from me and from England.

Thank god Cyclops moved out of the shadows and opened the coach door. Both he and Matt sat with me inside. I did not try to talk to either man and avoided looking at Matt the entire journey.

He spoke quietly with Cyclops, telling him how we'd fared at the shelter. There was no laughter in his voice now, no sense of fun or adventure.

Duke drove directly to the mews. I waited as Matt and Cyclops helped him and the sleepy stably boy unhitch the horse in the coach house and settle it in the stables.

"Well?" Duke asked as we trudged back to the house. "Did you find Wilson's name in the records?"

"No," Matt said.

Cyclops lifted the lamp to see our faces. "Want to try another shelter?"

"I don't see the point. Finding out about Wilson isn't going to help us find the killer or the diary."

"Unless the killer murdered Dr. Millroy in retaliation for experimenting on Mr. Wilson," I said. "And Wilson's records point us in the direction of his previous address, and any family he may have had."

"He had no family or friends," Matt said. "So Chronos believed."

"Ain't that a sad state," Duke murmured.

"Chronos could have been mistaken," I said.

"I doubt he was." Matt kicked the cobblestones. "It was a pointless exercise. I wish we hadn't bothered."

Cyclops and Duke exchanged glances then looked to me with brows raised in question. I merely forged ahead.

We entered the house via the basement service entrance. Duke was about to shut the door when a man carrying a lamp descended the steps from the street level.

"Wait for me." It was Willie, not a man. She grinned at us and slapped Duke on the shoulder in a friendly greeting.

He stepped aside to let her through. "You're only getting home now?"

"Aye, and that ain't your business, Duke." She pushed past him and hooked my arm with hers. "How'd your investigation go?"

"We learned nothing about the vagrant," I said. "Where have you been?"

"Here and there."

"Playing poker?" Matt asked.

"Didn't I just say it were none of your business?" she said hotly. "That goes for all of you."

"It is Matt's business if he has to get you out of trouble again," Duke shot back.

"I ain't gambling." She strode ahead, her lamp swaying with her steps. "Christ, can't a woman do nothing around here without everyone poking their goddamned noses in?"

Duke made to go after her but stopped. "She's right," he said to me. "It ain't my business if she's got herself a man."

I walked slowly with Duke as Matt and Cyclops said their goodnights and headed off with Willie. "Are you sure it's not your business?" I asked him gently.

He merely shrugged. "It ain't like that between us."

"It could be if you told her how you feel."

He shook his head. "I can't. I don't even know how I feel."

"Try to explain it to me then. It might help you work out how to approach her."

"Let's see." He blew out a breath. "She's frustrating and irritating. She says and does foolish things that make me want to yell at her one second and kiss her the next."

I smiled. "So you desire her."

"I s'pose. But what would happen if I did kiss her? Everything would change between us, that's what. I don't know if I want it to change. I like the way we've always been."

"You're just afraid of being rejected. Or perhaps you're afraid of change."

"Could be. I didn't want to leave America because I was worried about being out of place here. And now I'm here, I don't know if I want to return."

That was quite a statement, and not one I expected to hear from any of Matt's party. They always seemed so determined to return home as soon as Matt's watch was fixed.

"I don't like the thought of her seeing another man," he added. "I hate that she's sharing secrets and jokes with someone else. It's always been me, see. We've been friends forever." He sighed. "Guess I always thought I was the most important man in her life, aside from Matt. Now…now I may not be, no more."

Poor Duke. I tucked my arm through his and rested my head on his shoulder. "You should tell her this."

"She'll laugh at me or tell me I'm being a sop." He did have a point. "India…will you find out if she's got a man? She might talk to you."

"I'll try, but if she confides in me and asks me not to tell you, I have to abide by her wishes." I patted his arm. "Anyway, anything's possible with Willie. For all we know, she could have been anywhere from watching a prize fight to a play."

"Then why the secrets?"

* * *

I asked Willie the following morning after a late breakfast but she refused to tell me a single thing about her nocturnal excursion.

"Tell Duke to mind his own business," she said. She also blushed. I took that as confirmation that she had indeed had a liaison with a man. I did not inform Duke.

I offered to stay with Miss Glass and not visit Mrs. Millroy with Matt, but he would have none of it. "I know you want to come," he said.

"Yes but I ought to spend time with your aunt. She seems lonely. And what if she wanders off again?"

"She won't, because she's not going out with my Aunt Beatrice again. I've asked Willie and Duke to take turns sitting with her. They also need to interview a new coachman. There's a man coming today. Cyclops will drive us."

Dr. Millroy’s widow lived only a few minutes away by carriage. We could have walked but Matt used the excuse of the incessant drizzling rain to drive. I did wonder if he simply wanted to spend as little time with me as possible after the awkwardness of last night's journey home. Conversation was stilted between us, and it ground to a complete halt before we arrived.

I found it difficult to even look at him. It was hard seeing him still so tired, even after sleeping for several hours, but it was even harder facing him knowing that he had feelings for me.

Me!

I'd lain in bed, tossing and turning as I tried not to picture myself walking down the aisle toward him. Tried and failed. It was impossible not to dream about a life with him and impossible not to be thrilled that he might want it too. Impossible not to be sad that it would never happen.

"We can do this without feeling awkward around one another," Matt said, interrupting my self-pitying.

I nodded and smiled. "Of course we can. We have an important task at hand. Will you try to charm her or will I try to comfort her?"

"We'll see how she reacts when we mention the mistress."

I wasn't looking forward to that part.

Fortunately, Mrs. Millroy lived in the same house she'd lived in during her marriage to Dr. Millroy. Chronos had given us the address but he'd not checked to see if she still lived there. Her house was located in an area known for high rents and within easy walking distance to her deceased husband's surgery on Savile Row. I was pleased to know she hadn't been forced out due to reduced circumstances following his death.

"Are you Mrs. Millroy?" Matt asked the slender, well-dressed, gray-haired woman who opened the door upon his knock.

"Yes. And who are you?" Her rounded vowels reminded me of Miss Glass and her ilk. She dressed like Miss Glass too, in a well-cut tailored day dress that showed off her cinched waist and narrow chest. She made me feel plump by comparison.

"My name is Matthew Glass and this is my partner, Miss Steele. We're private inquiry agents assisting the police in the matter of your late husband's murder."

A pronouncement of that magnitude, made so many years after the event, would have sent me reeling if I were in her position. But she merely lifted one thin, patchy eyebrow. "I see."

Matt smiled but it wasn't convincing. He already knew his charms wouldn't work on her. "May we come in, Mrs. Millroy? This isn't a matter for the front porch."

She responded to his more business-like approach by opening the door wider. Inside, it wasn't much warmer than out. No rug covered the blue and white tiles in the entrance hall and the fireplace in the sitting room was clean of ashes. Someone had sat in here very recently, however, if the dirty teacup on the table and blanket tossed over the chair arm were an indication.

Mrs. Millroy folded the blanket and invited us to sit on the faded sofa. Like the entrance hall, the sitting room was rather bare. Aside from a lovely Wedgewood vase, the few other knick knacks looked like the sort one could buy from a barrow in Petticoat Lane. "I would offer you tea," she said stiffly, "but my housekeeper has the day off."

She'd given her the day off mid-week? How generous. "Mrs. Millroy, we know these questions will be difficult for you," I said, "but we have to ask them."

"Why? Why do the police want to find out who killed my husband now? He died years ago."

"It's something they do from time to time."

"Nonsense. I am not a fool, Miss Steele." She may look thin and old but she had a sturdy mind and spirit. It would take more than two people asking questions about her husband's death to knock her off balance.

"Someone has come forward with new evidence," Matt lied.

"What evidence?"

"We're not at liberty to say, but Commissioner Munro doesn't have the staff to send a detective so he asked us. We've assisted him on other investigations with some success."

Her nostrils flared. "So that's how much significance he lends to my husband's murder, is it? Not enough to send his detective, but just enough to pass the problem on to someone else. I assume he hopes you'll find nothing and James's death will once again be confined to the archives where it gathers dust with the hundreds of other crimes that go unsolved in this city." She clicked her tongue. "Typical."

"We can see that it upsets you," I said gently. "And rightly so. It must have been an awful time and the lack of resolution means you've not been able to grieve properly for him."

She barked out a bitter laugh. "Is that a joke?"

"Er, no."

"Miss Steele." She angled her knees toward me and clasped her hands in her lap. "You are correct in that it was an awful time, but not because of my husband's murder. That almost came as a relief."

I leaned forward, as intrigued as I was appalled. "Go on."

"I know you already know, so there is no need to pretend ignorance. The police found out all the sordid facts. They even suspected she did it at one point, but they told me they had no proof. Perhaps I was even a suspect. I ought to have been, but they did not tell me so."

I did not tell her that she was one of our suspects still.

"You're referring to your husband's mistress," Matt said. Thank goodness he took over the conversation because I felt quite unable to confront her about it now that the time had come.

She gave a stiff nod.

"You were questioned at the time of his murder," Matt went on. "Indeed, it was you who mentioned he had a mistress and son, but you didn't say how long you'd known about them."

"I suspected for some time but only knew for certain a month before his death."

"How?"

"He told me." She smoothed her hands over her knees. "Well, I confronted him and he told me. He often came home late from his rooms. That was nothing new. Then he started coming home smelling of expensive perfume. Not every night, but enough to cause suspicion. I didn't confront him immediately. I assumed it would stop of its own accord. It was not the first time I suspected him of having liaisons with trollops, but this time…well, the perfume was always the same."

"How long did you wait before confronting him?" I asked.

"More than a year. When he began denying me certain things, that's when I decided enough was enough."

"Denying you?" Matt prompted.

"New curtains, a holiday at the seaside, the best cuts of meat, that sort of thing. All of a sudden, we seemed not to have enough money. So I asked him outright if he kept another woman. He told me he did, and that she had recently given birth to a son." Her shoulders sagged, but just for a moment then she quickly recovered her erectness.

"You have no children of your own," I said gently.

"That is neither here nor there. The fact is, my husband kept another house and another family."

"Do you know their names?" Matt asked.

"He took that information to his grave. Not even his lawyer knew."

"The child was not provided for in his will?"

She thrust out her chin. "Why should he be? He was not James's legitimate child. He has no claims to anything. I do." She once again smoothed her hands along her skirt. "Anyway, James didn't leave much in his will. It's my assumption that he spent a lot on the woman before his death. So perhaps you ought to look there for his murderer, Mr. Glass."

"I would, but I don't know where there is."

"As a private inquiry agent, that is your job to find out."

"Why would she kill him if he was giving her money?" I asked. "It doesn't make sense."

She lifted one shoulder. "Perhaps he was going to leave her. Perhaps he was seeing someone else, or she was. Or perhaps they argued about any number of other things. There are many reasons, Miss Steele. If you put your mind to it, you might come up with some all on your own."

I bristled. Well there was no need for rudeness.

"What else can you tell us about the night of his murder?" Matt asked.

"Nothing. I was here, as I told the police."

"Dr. Millroy was found in Bright Court, Whitechapel. Do you know why he was there?"

"No. He had no clients in Whitechapel, no friends or acquaintances that I knew of. I can only speculate that he was visiting his mistress and child. Either that or he kept another secret from me. Perhaps you ought to ask the residents if any remember him."

"We have."

She raised her brow. "And?"

"And our inquiries continue."

Her gaze narrowed. "I would like to be kept informed of anything you learn."

I was inclined to tell her no, but Matt got in first. "We'll be sure to inform you of anything that you need to know."

Her lips flattened. It wasn't quite what she'd asked for, but he'd worded it so that she could not argue.

"Does the name Nell Sweet mean anything to you?" Matt asked.

Her eyes flashed. "Is that her name?"

"What about Chronos?"

Mrs. Millroy stiffened.

"The name is familiar to you," Matt went on.

"Yes," she said. "Of course it's not his real name. I only knew him as Chronos. He was a watchmaker and an acquaintance of my husband's. Do you think…" She shifted her weight in the chair. "Do you think he had something to do with James's murder?"

"No," I said at the same time Matt said, "Possibly."

I glared at him but he ignored me. He looked directly at Mrs. Millroy, and she looked straight back as if his gaze mesmerized her.

"Your husband was a magician," Matt went on. He was a like steam engine, gathering speed as he stormed down the hill, smashing through any barriers in his wake. I would not want to be a barrier on the tracks right now. Mrs. Millroy had better answer him truthfully because he would not stop until he was satisfied.

She gave a small nod. "He was. As was the watchmaker Chronos, but I suspect you already know that."

"Did your husband have any family?" Matt pressed.

"A cousin, but I don't know much about him except that he's dead now and had no children. He was also a doctor and lived for some time in America. Whether he was a magician or not, I couldn't tell you."

Dr. Parsons was the cousin, but neither Matt nor I offered up the information.

"And you already know we had no children together," she went on. "Of course, James's bastard might be magical but I don't know where to begin looking for him. Is that the real reason you're here? To find a doctor magician?" Her lips twisted as if the notion disgusted her. "You're all the same. You don't really want to find his killer, do you? So are you sick? Is one of you dying?"

"Scotland Yard sent us," I told her. "Ask Commissioner Munro or Detective Inspector Brockwell if you want verification."

"The Surgeon's Guild knew your husband was magical," Matt pushed on. "They found out just before his death and confronted him. Perhaps they killed him."

Her lips parted in a silent gasp. Her gaze searched his then fell to her hands. Those hands suddenly became very busy, wringing in her lap. "They wouldn't do such a thing. They're doctors. They don't murder people."

"You told them he was a magician, didn't you?" Matt asked.

Her eyes gave her away before she closed them and gave the slightest nod. "It wasn't anyone from the guild. It can't have been. Dr. Ritter is head of the London Hospital now, a very respectable man."

"How did he react when you told him?"

She frowned then rubbed her forehead with her left hand. She wore no wedding ring. "It was odd. He wasn't shocked. He seemed relieved. I think he was jealous of James's skill, and magic explained that skill. Doctors value their education above anything else, you see. It matters to them where a physician or surgeon studied and who he studied under. Learning that James's skill was innate, not learned, made Dr. Ritter feel more like his equal when before he had not."

"Did you tell anyone else about your husband's magic?" Matt asked.

She shook her head. "Only the guild." She looked pleased with herself, and I knew she'd done it as retribution for her husband's infidelities. Part of me forgave her for it.

"And the Watchmaker's Guild?" I asked. "Did you tell them about Chronos's magic?"

She studied her linked hands. "Dr. Ritter informed the Watchmaker's Guild. When I explained about the experiment performed on the vagrant, Dr. Ritter asked for the name of the second magician so I told him about Chronos. Since I didn't know his real name, I described his appearance. He said he was obliged to inform the Watchmaker's Guild's master. It was nothing to do with me."

"You got him into awful trouble!" I cried. "How could you do that to someone you hardly knew simply because you wanted revenge on your husband?"

"Chronos had a hand in a man's death, Miss Steele. That's why I did it. He didn't deserve to get away with it. Although he did, in a way, by dying." She was all blotchy red cheeks, white lips and flared nostrils, like a raging bull. "I heard Chronos died shortly after James, so neither of them paid for the crime they committed on that poor man. His family never received justice."

"He had no family," Matt said.

"Are you sure?"

Matt and I exchanged glances. "We were informed that he was a homeless man named Mr. Wilson with no friends or family. He was dying with no hope of recovery."

"Some of that may be true, but unlike you, I don't trust my source." Mrs. Millroy looked as if she was about to lay down a winning poker hand. "My husband was a liar, and a self-centered, boastful man with loose morals. He came home every evening from his rooms and lied to my face for more than a year when I asked if he'd worked late. That is not the act of a trustworthy man."

"Do you have any proof that the vagrant had a family?" Matt asked.

"I spoke to the man myself. I was visiting James at his Savile Row rooms one evening, hoping to catch him not there so I could confront him. He was there, however, with Chronos. That was the first and only time I met the watchmaker. I guessed what they were up to, since James had talked of such an experiment for years, but had never met a watchmaker magician before. When I saw the ill man lying on the bed, I knew what they were going to do that night." She shook her head but did not look too upset by the memory. It was more of a narration from a distant observer than participant. "I spoke to the man very briefly before James ordered me away. He said his name was Wilson and that he had a child and a wife but had lost them. I supposed that to mean they died, but I could have been mistaken. He was very confused, his words difficult to understand, but I think he had spent time in a doss house and planned to return there later that night." Another shake of her head. "He believed Chronos and James would cure him."

"But they did not," I said heavily.

"Apparently the magic was imperfect. But that's by the by, Miss Steele. The point you appear not to grasp is they ended that man's life sooner than God intended."

"You don't know that."

"And you don't know otherwise."

She had me there.

"Why are you interested in whether the man had a family now anyway?" she asked Matt. "He is irrelevant to my husband's murder."

"His family may have sought revenge against your husband," Matt said.

"James was murdered by his mistress or someone associated with her. Another lover, an avenging family member… Look for her and you'll find the killer."

"You seem convinced. Why?"

"It's not sour grapes, if that's what you're thinking."

Matt held up his hands in surrender.

"It's common sense, that's all," she said. "If not her, then an opportunistic thief who went too far."

"So you don't know anything about her?" I said. "Did he ever let her name slip, or that of his son?"

"No."

"Did he ever go somewhere he should not have been?"

"Bright Court on the night of his death," she offered with an arched look that implied I was stupid.

"You think his mistress lived in one of London's vilest slums?" I wanted to give her an equally arched look but managed to keep my features schooled.

She shrugged. "It's unlikely. He valued cleanliness above all things. Cleanliness and good teeth."

Old Nell's teeth may have been better years ago, but Whitechapel had filth oozing from every crumbling brick. That hadn't changed in twenty-seven years, despite attempts to clean up the slums by the authorities.

"What about his patients?" Matt said thoughtfully. "Did he ever discuss them with you?"

"He used to, in the beginning," she said quietly. "In later years, we grew apart and he stopped confiding in me unless I asked a direct question. He was always something of a charming man with women. Coupled with his magic, it meant he had patients queuing to see him."

"What about employees?" Matt asked. "Did he have someone to take appointments, type letters et cetera?"

"Of course. I did it in the beginning, but as he grew more successful I decided my time was better spent in the home. He employed two women over the course of the remainder of his life. One married and left his employment, and Miss Chilton, the second one, was with him until the end. And no, she was not his mistress. She was a spinster of about thirty years. I lost contact with her after James's death. She did not have a child, to him or anyone else, during that time. I would have noticed."

Matt pulled out a notepad and pencil from his jacket pocket. "May I have her full name and last known address, please."

"Miss Abigail Chilton." She retrieved a portable writing desk from a shelf in the corner and set it down on the table. She plucked a small book from it and flipped the pages until she found the one she wanted. "She lived at number twenty-three Theberton Street, Islington. Whether she lives there still, I cannot be certain."

Matt wrote the address in his notebook. "What of the patient records?" he asked without looking up. "Did you keep them?"

She slammed the writing desk shut. "I destroyed them. Why would I keep them?"

Damnation. They could have been useful if the mistress was a patient of Dr. Millroy's.

"What about his diary?" Matt asked.

She paused mid-step, the writing desk in hand, before continuing on. She carefully deposited the desk on the shelf again, taking her time. "So you do want his magic. And I thought you were telling me the truth and wanted to bring that woman to justice."

"The diary wasn't found on his body," Matt persisted. "If he had it with him, his killer must have taken it. But you already knew that, Mrs. Millroy. Is it possible he didn't have his diary with him that night? Did he leave it here by any chance, or in his Savile Row rooms?"

"It wasn't here, and I did not find it among the paperwork at his rooms when Miss Chilton and I cleaned them out. He always kept it on his person. I told the police that much, but I did not tell them what secrets he kept in it. You seem to have guessed, however, that he wrote his spells in it, among other things."

"Spells? Plural?" I asked in wonder. Chronos knew of only one.

"I don't know how many. He couldn't get most to work."

"Why not?"

"I'm not a magician, Miss Steele, but I believe it had something to do with not knowing the right way of saying the words. They were complex, foreign."

"The spells in that diary were passed down from his ancestors," I said. "Correct?"

"Are you implying that James was killed for the diary and the spells in it?" she asked, not answering me.

"It's a possibility."

"I disagree."

"Why?"

"Because very few people knew about the importance of the diary. Only me and probably Chronos. My husband was careful. He did not discuss magic with many people and certainly none in his profession. The guilds are powerful and dangerous, and they do not like magicians. He would never take such a risk except with someone he trusted completely."

"He trusted you and you betrayed him, Mrs. Millroy," Matt said, the thread of steel in his voice clear as day. "You told the Surgeon's Guild about the experiment and his magic."

"He killed a man! He had to be stopped."

Matt closed his hands into fists on his knees then spread out his fingers, as if he were releasing his frustrations.

"The question is," she said to him, "how do you know about the diary? Who told you?"

Someone coughed and footsteps sounded on the steps leading upstairs. Mrs. Millroy suddenly stood and stalked to the sitting room door.

"Morning Mrs. Millroy," came a man's voice, followed by another cough. "I heard voices."

"I have callers," she told him.

He came into view, peering over her head at us. He was a young man with blond hair in need of a comb and clothes that looked as if he'd slept in them. He waved cheerfully at us then stifled a yawn.

"Any breakfast?" he said to Mrs. Millroy.

"I told you, breakfast is served before nine. You'll find porridge in the kitchen but it will be cold."

He groaned. "Porridge again? And cold? You do recall that I'm paying you for bed and breakfast." He stormed away, expressing his dislike of a cold breakfast with every thumping step.

"My lodger," she told us.

Now I knew why she claimed her maid was off mid-week. It was likely she kept no maid anymore and had taken in lodgers to help her financial situation. It also explained the threadbare nature of the furnishings. Despite her haughty manner, she was struggling like thousands of other widows in the city.

"Thank you for your assistance, Mrs. Millroy," Matt said, extending his hand to her. "I know it hasn't been easy for you to talk to us, but I assure you we are determined to find your husband's killer."

She shook his hand and even looked pleased to do so. "And bring her to justice," she added.

She saw us out and Matt gave Cyclops the address for Miss Chilton.

"Clearly Mrs. Millroy thinks the mistress is guilty," I said.

Matt smiled. "What gave you that idea?"

"I'm excellent at reading the signs." He laughed. "I found it difficult to like her," I added. "Sympathize, yes, but not like. Does that make me an awful person? As a woman, shouldn't I be on her side? Her husband did wrong her terribly."

"You're the best person I know, India," he said, that smile never wavering. "Mrs. Millroy doesn't deserve to be liked because her husband treated her terribly. Pitied, but not liked. So what do you think about what she said?"

"She was honest, perhaps brutally so."

"She could be an excellent liar."

"True, but why lie?"

"To point the finger at the mistress."

I nodded, slowly. "Do you think the vagrant had a family, as she claimed? Why would she lie about that?"

"I can't think of a reason. It seems Wilson's wife and child died before him, though."

"Poor man. No wonder he lost his way. Probably his will to live too."

Matt sucked in a breath and wagged a finger at me. "If that's so, why did he agree to participate in the magicians' scheme? That speaks of desperation to live, not to die."

"Yes," I said, nodding. "I see your point. Perhaps he didn't mean his family died when he told Mrs. Millroy they were lost. Perhaps he meant…what?"

Matt shrugged. "That is a good question."

* * *

Miss Chilton no longer resided on Theberton Street. The new lodgers had never heard of her but they'd only lived there five years. One of the near neighbors had lived in the street longer and recalled Miss Chilton married and moved away.

I felt deflated when I climbed back into the carriage, but Matt was a little more hopeful.

"We can check the marriage register at the local parish churches," he said. "It's likely she got married in one of them."

"The General Register Office will have the records," I told him.

"Then I'll put my lawyer onto it while we continue our investigation elsewhere. We're on the right path, India. I sense it."

I sensed nothing, but I smiled along with him so as not to dampen his good mood.

Cyclops drove us home but we didn't reach the door before it burst open and Willie ran down the stairs, Duke on her heels. He wasn't running after her to stop her, however. He was eager to get to us too.

Willie shoved a newspaper at Matt. It was a copy of The Weekly Gazette, opened to an inside page. Her breaths were so ragged that she couldn't speak, only stab her finger at an article headed MAGIC: PROOF IT EXISTS.

Written by Oscar Barratt.

"India," Duke muttered, "what have you done?"