Though the foreman’s warning had infiltrated, Louisa had paid little attention to it. Now she understood what he meant about people going missing. The narrow alleys between buildings in this part of Bristol were gray and grim, and even if nothing untoward happened to a person, it would be easy to get lost and never emerge again.

A film of dirt clung to everything—the walls, the windows, even the ragged clothing hanging from lines strung between the buildings. Children huddled together in doorways, garments hangings from boney bodies while weary parents with a sheen of hopelessness in their eyes stood behind them, their gazes tracking Louisa and Knight’s movements.

She was no stranger to poverty—it existed in the bigger towns in Cornwall—and she had hardly grown up wealthy. Many a day, she’d been forced to go hungry. But her life had been full of fresh air and the opportunity to escape into the countryside and forget the hunger pangs for a while.

Knight took her arm and looped it through his. As much as his proximity made her breathless, she was grateful for his protection. Crime had to be rife in this area.

“This is it—Broad Street.” He nodded at the worn sign nailed to one of the gray stone buildings.

“We shall have to ask someone if they know Mrs. Stanton.”

Knight nodded toward a woman sitting on a doorstep, weaving reeds into a basket shape. “I shall—”

Louisa tugged on his arm to hold him back. “I shall go and ask. You will probably frighten the life out of her.”

He gave a resigned nod and released her arm. Louisa fished in her pocket for one of the few coins she had on her person and folded it into her palm. “Excuse me?”

The woman ignored her, dirty face wrinkled in concentration. Louisa revealed the coin and the woman peered up and narrowed her gaze.

“Do you know where Mrs. Stanton lives?”

“Aye, just down there. The house on the corner.” The woman waved a hand farther down the alley then thrust the hand out, palm open.

Louisa placed the coin in her palm, which vanished into the woman’s clutch before Louisa could say thank you. The woman turned her attention back to the basket so Louisa returned to Knight and led him toward the house the woman had motioned to.

The dwelling barely counted as a house in Louisa’s estimation. Split into two by a set of stairs on the outside leading to another front door, it was narrow, with one window for each story. Louisa knocked on the door, whispering to Knight to stand back. If anyone saw him in their doorway, they would never answer.

Several faces pressed against the grimy glass and the door squeaked open an inch or so, allowing Louisa to just about view the woman behind it.

“Mrs. Stanton? My name is Louisa Carter. I’m hoping you can help me—”

Mrs. Stanton went to push the door shut, but Knight rushed forward and shoved his boot in the gap. “We know where your husband is, Mrs. Stanton.”

The woman eased open the door and eyed them both. Thin and young—younger than Louisa—Mrs. Stanton’s clothes hung off her body. A child clung to one leg and Louisa heard a baby crying in the background. With stringy red hair hanging in a loose braid around her face, dark circles ringed her eyes and premature flecks of white were already showing in her hair.

“You have spoken to Hugh?” she asked, her voice tremulous.

“Can we come in?” Louisa asked.

Mrs. Stanton ran her gaze up and down Knight.

“He is harmless, I promise,” Louisa said with a smile.

“As you will.” Mrs. Stanton stepped back, allowing them access to the cramped room.

A bed occupied one side of the room and a table with two chairs took up most of the space. Only one candle was lit on a wall sconce, so it took Louisa’s eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness before she spotted the rest of the children.  Two sat on the bed while another two boys were fighting in one corner.

“Mrs. Stanton—”

The din of the baby crying and the children fighting prevented her from saying anything further.

“Fight outside,” she ordered the two boys and scooped up a squalling baby from a crib on the floor, rocking it until it quietened. The two boys scampered out and the noise in the room decreased enough for Louisa to be heard.

“I met your husband in Cornwall. At least I think he is your husband. He was going by another name,” Louisa explained. “Mrs. Stanton, can you tell me if your husband said anything to you before he left?”

“Call me Abigail,” she said as she sank onto one of the chairs. “Mrs. Stanton makes me sound old.”

Louisa sat opposite her while Knight attempted to slink into the shadows by the door, but one of the boys on the bed jumped down and walked over to him, holding up his arms. “Up!” the little boy demanded.

Abigail gave a weak smile. “George likes to be high up and you are very tall.”

Knight looked between Louisa, Abigail, and the boy then gave a huff. Reaching down, he picked up the boy with ease and held him at chest height. George wrapped his arms around Knight’s neck, and Louisa had to prevent a smile appearing on her lips at Knight’s startled expression.

“I don’t know what Hugh is up to,” Abigail admitted. “He’s...he’s been distant lately. Drinking a lot, spending money on whores.” She shrugged. “He always made sure we had food on the table, though. Always.” She jabbed a finger against the table.

“Did he tell you where he was going?” Louisa asked.

Abigail rubbed her brow. “He muttered something about coming across a fortune. I didn’t think he’d leave us, though.” She looked up at the little boy in Knight’s arms. “I don’t know how much longer we can survive without income.”

Louisa met Knight’s grim gaze. If Ralph—or perhaps she should call him Hugh as she was growing certain that was who he was—wanted to take over the inn, there was no chance he was coming back, and from the sounds of his behavior, he had little intention of aiding Abigail at all.

“Would he have told anyone else about his plans?” Knight pressed.

“Maybe Eli Jones. They’re always together.” Abigail pursed her lips. “He’s a bad influence on my Hugh.”

Louisa nodded sympathetically. “Where can we find him?”

“The Boar’s Head usually. It’s not far from here.” Abigail jabbed a thumb to her left and glanced over Louisa. “I wouldn’t step foot in there if I were you.”

Louisa didn’t answer. If that was where she could find out more information, then that was where she had to go. Knight lowered the boy down, giving his hair a ruffle. His large hand on the boy’s head made Louisa smile. The man had a soft spot for children it seemed.

“We should get going,” commented Knight, apparently spotting Louisa’s desire to find this Eli.

Louisa nodded and rose. “Thank you for your time, Abigail.”

“Will you help me get him back?” pleaded Abigail.

Unsure how to respond, Louisa glanced at Knight. The woman was better off without him, but she and the children would also starve. What sort of a man abandoned his wife and young children with no word and no way to survive?

A man who would try to take an inn that did not belong to him, she supposed.

Drawing out a handful of coins from his inner pocket, Knight dropped them onto the table in front of Abigail. “Look for a new husband,” he said. “Yours will not be back.”

Louisa waited until they were outside before drawing him to one side. “Did you have to be so...so forthright?”

Knight lifted a shoulder. “He won’t return. And if he does, the bastard does not deserve a second chance.”

“She seems to care for him.”

He met her gaze. “People often care for those they should not.”

She looked away, her stomach twisting. Was that a warning? She could not tell, but the words repeated through her mind as they made their way to The Boar’s Head, which was indeed as close as Abigail had suggested. Was she starting to care for Knight?

She stole a peek at him. His casual attire and stubbled jaw line were not an uncommon sight in her inn. Being a smuggler hardly called for one to be perfectly groomed. Yet that mild inkling of curiosity about him had increased. Now she not only wondered what it would be like to run a hand across that jaw but also how it would feel against her thighs or her breasts. Their night together had been so hard and fast she’d hardly been able to process it.

And now she wanted more.

She forced her attention to the pub in front of them. Wide with four windows tucked into the eaves of the tiled roof, the outside had once been whitewashed but the color was flecking away to reveal the chunky stone beneath and what white remained was clouded by dirt. The windows were rimmed with chipped black frames. Outside, a man lolled against one of the walls, a cup clasped tight in one hand as though terrified of being parted from it in his drunken state.

“I should have thrown you over my shoulder and taken you back to the carriage,” Knight grumbled.

Lifting a brow, she stared up at him. “You can still try.”

He huffed. “Not if I want to keep my—” He hesitated.

“Your?”

“Balls,” he muttered.

Louisa laughed. “There’s still time, Lewis Knight. There’s still time.”