Leaving the Bishop of London’s private office an hour or so later, Will decided a visit to Bat and Rosemary’s house in Duke Street was in order. If anyone in London could help put the pieces of the puzzle together it was them.

“Edgar Wright?” said Bat.

He handed Will back Edgar Wright’s calling card. Bat pursed his lips and Will sat silent while his cousin wracked his brains.

“The name is familiar, but I'm not entirely sure why. I can ask at White's tomorrow if you can wait.”

Will raised an eyebrow.

“Not venturing to the club tonight?” he asked.

“I still visit it on occasion in the evenings, but I have other commitments and more compelling distractions these days,” replied Bat.

A tap at the door preceded the arrival of Lady Shale. Rosemary entered the room carrying a baby.

She immediately captured her husband’s attention. The sparkle in Bat’s eyes served to remind Will of the joyful distraction that having a wife bestowed upon a man.

Bat rose from his chair by the fire and took hold of the baby.

“Come to your papa,” he said.

Will watched the blissful domestic scene, feeling more discomfort that he had expected at such a warm and happy family home.

“So, have you made progress in the search for your missing lady?” asked Rosemary.

“Well she is not dead, which I would consider a major step forward. I saw her at St. Paul’s not two hours ago. And while I was there I believe I met her brother,” replied Will.

He handed Edgar Wright's calling card to the countess. She briefly examined it.

“I don't know him or his wife personally, but I do recall having met Miranda Wright once at a party. There was something odd about the family.”

A look of recognition appeared on Rosemary's face, followed by a sly grin.

“There was a sister. I don’t remember her name, but Eve would likely know it. I think she may have come out the same season as Eve did.”

Her words sent a thrill rippling down Will's spine. The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall rapidly into place. It would not take much now to unravel the rest of the Hattie mystery.

Nothing was better than an unexpected breakthrough. The first tantalizing crack in an enemy's skillfully crafted plan always held a certain alluring promise. Once he saw the thin outline, Will would set to work weakening the facade of Hattie’s story. Soon the whole structure she had built would come crashing down around her.

Then he would know the truth.

He sat back in the chair, shocked at the passion which had roared to life within him. The realization that this had little to do with running Hattie to ground; and nearly everything to do with her having rejected him, hit Will hard.

Bloody hell.

The emotions causing turmoil in his mind were nothing like what he had felt when on the hunt for French agents and English traitors. Even the taste in his mouth was not the same.

Hattie was not his prey.

“What I don’t understand is what she was doing at Evensong. If Edgar is indeed her brother why didn’t she speak to him? I watched her. She was beset with indecision. Time and time again she started to walk toward them, and each time she stopped herself and retreated.”

Rosemary walked over to where Will sat and took a seat next to him. She took hold of his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“This behavior is most unlike you Will. You saved this girl and saw her safely returned to England. Why then are you still so concerned about who she is?” she asked.

As a former spy, Lady Shale was as perceptive as Will was in reading the undercurrent in a conversation.

He looked at her, sensing that once the questions began, they would not stop until he had told them everything. He was tired of keeping everything in his life to himself.

“Because on the boat back to England, Hattie and I shared a cabin. Suffice to say events occurred during that time which demand a settlement of marriage.”

Rosemary let out a low whistle. Will took her meaning as one of disapproval.

“I didn’t ruin her. Her blackguard of a fiancé had already seen to that. And no, I didn’t set out to seduce her either. In fact, she was the one who made the offer. I entered into the arrangement with every intention of marrying Hattie as soon as we got to London. I still do,” he replied.

The room fell silent, apart from the gurgling of the baby.

Rosemary leaned over and playfully ruffled Will’s hair.

“You my dearest Will are in love. It is written as plain as day on your face. We couldn’t be happier. You deserve it.”

Bat sagely nodded. When he and Rosemary were first married, he had fought tooth and nail not to fall in love with his wife. Will had been the one to convince him that he was fighting a losing battle. The earl had been madly in love with his wife ever since.

Will looked at his friends and softly chuckled. There was nothing else he could do.

* * *

Hattie had been so close to finally reaching out to Edgar, but at the last minute her courage had failed. Her long walk from Newport Street all the way to Ludgate Hill and back had resulted in nothing except sore feet and a long walk home in the early evening rain.

It had been the first time in nearly two years since she had been inside the cathedral. Once it had been her father's favourite place for Sunday worship, now he viewed it as an ostentatious display of ill-gotten wealth.

“They should tear all the fine buildings down and use the stone to build new homes for the poor.” Hattie could count on her father making that particular remark every time they left the house and ventured near the finer homes close to Hyde Park.

Aldred Wright had argued the redistribution of wealth as one of the fundamental duties of the new church. Edgar however had not shared such radical views.

Week after week the arguments between her father and her brother had raged. Edgar had not taken up the new-found faith of his parents, preferring the traditional church. What had started out as a mere difference of opinion eventually became a gulf of differing beliefs.

Eventually Edgar and Miranda stopped making regular visits to the house, coming only on high days and some holidays. After the final exchange of harsh words, they stopped visiting altogether.

Reaching home in Newport Street, Hattie slumped despondently onto the wooden bench in the lower kitchen. She was grateful when Mr. Little did not bother to ask how things had gone on her trip to St. Paul’s.

After a small supper of a cold pork pie, Hattie climbed the stairs and went to bed. She was out of ideas as to how she could resolve her current predicament.