The

Gilded Lily

Nicole Rayburn Historical Mysteries

Book 5

By Irina Shapiro

Copyright

© 2023 by Irina Shapiro

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the author. 

All characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people (except those who are actual historical figures) are purely coincidental.

Cover created by MiblArt

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Epilogue

Notes

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Prologue

The room was completely dark, freezing rain lashing against the windows and the wind howling like a keening woman. It felt as if they were the only two people left alive in the world, adrift on a tiny vessel lost at sea. She wished they were. It wasn’t nature they had to fear but people, individuals whose goodwill could vanish and whose anger and prejudice could turn ugly in a matter of moments. It was people who made the rules and people who enforced them, even if they sometimes hid behind loftier ideals and stone walls.

She angrily wiped her tears away, her hand subconsciously going to her still-flat belly. They’d been so discreet, so careful, but now it would all come out and there’d be no turning back. The only option was to get away and hide out somewhere until the baby was born, but then what? She could never leave her baby, not even if she were sure it’d be loved and cared for. Once again, she was faced with an unthinkable choice, and this time, there were no viable options, only sacrifices.

Turning around, she buried her face in her lover’s shoulder, and he drew her close, his voice a bare whisper carried on the icy draft streaming from the ill-fitting window.

“I can take care of it.”

She knew what he meant. They’d spoken of it earlier, and she had flat-out refused. What he was suggesting went against everything she had been raised to believe, and she recoiled at the prospect, but it was the only alternative that would allow her to remain. To be with him. Forever.

“All right,” she whispered back, and felt his hot tears mingle with her own.

He hadn’t made the suggestion lightly. He’d thought it through. Had wrestled with his conscience and had surrendered his every belief to stay with her. He’d never say so aloud, but he’d just sold his soul to the Devil.

Chapter 1

Nicole

November 2022

I breathed a sigh of relief when the workmen finally finished. As with any project, it had taken longer than was strictly necessary to complete the job, but here I was at last, in my very own study. The past few months had been a whirlwind with the release of my latest book, The Lost Tower, the promotional interviews and appearances, and the purchase of the house that had enabled us to finally move out of my cramped flat and into our own home. Kyle and I now each had our own workspace, Ava had her own bedroom, and we even had a sizable garden where we could set up a swing for Ava and have drinks on summer evenings.

Sitting at my newly delivered desk, I leaned back in the ergonomic chair and surveyed my little kingdom. According to the specs we had found, this room had been the library at one time, but in its last incarnation, it had been the owner’s gym, complete with a Peloton bike and a rowing machine. Even though the room had been repurposed and modernized over time, it had retained something of its Victorian opulence, evident in the crown moldings, walnut wainscot that the previous owner clearly hadn’t been able to bring himself to rip out, and the fussy mantel hewn from pale green Italian marble, which turned out to have a long, deep crack down the side. I would have gladly replaced the mantel with an identical piece, but the quote had been astronomical, so Kyle and I had decided to go with something a bit more practical and less ostentatious. I had to admit that although the fireplace didn’t look as grand as the original, it fit the room perfectly and reflected something of its new owners.

I turned back to my laptop, and that was when I saw it. The mason had mentioned that he had found something wedged between the wall and the mantel when he’d taken off the cracked piece and had left the item on my desk. I picked up the object and examined it carefully, turning it over in my hands. It was a small leather folder. Although old and cracked, it was easy to see that it must have been beautiful in its day. The black leather was embossed with a silver pattern, the ends protected by metal fittings. Even before I opened it, I knew exactly what I was looking at. It was a photograph frame, the kind popular in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries and, although not valuable in itself, usually of great sentimental value to its owner.

I gingerly opened the cover. The inside was as elaborate as the outside, the leather tooled and embossed on one side and the oval photograph framed by a pattern of delicate filigreed silver. Perhaps because the case had been wedged behind the mantel and remained shut for decades, the interior had remained well preserved. The silver wasn’t tarnished, and the glass covering the photograph was clear and clean. I couldn’t help but smile at the young woman that looked back at me. She was in her late teens or early twenties, and judging by her hairstyle and what I could see of the lacy, ruffled neckline of her gown, I thought the photograph had been taken toward the end of the nineteenth century.

It hadn’t been the custom to smile for photographs in Victorian England, but the young woman looked as if she were trying to hold in a giggle, and her eyes danced with mirth. It was difficult to make out their color, but I thought they might have been light brown or maybe a deep shade of blue. Her dark curls were elaborately arranged, and I thought this picture may have been taken to commemorate a coming-out ball or an engagement, although if the latter were the case, the young woman’s intended would probably appear in the photograph.

I carefully extracted the photograph from the frame and turned it over. The ink still looked fresh, and I had no difficulty making out the inscription on the back.

Lily Redmond

March 15, 1888

With all my love.

Redmond. I thought I had heard the name before, but it was a common enough name, and I had no reason to think there was anything sinister about a lost photograph. Of course, now I was curious, and although I should have been working on the final edits for an article for a literary magazine, here I was, staring at a photograph of a Victorian debutante and wondering what had become of her. And with good reason. If Lily Redmond had been around twenty in 1888 and made it to old age, she would have lived through epic events. She would be long gone by now, but perhaps she had living descendants who would like to have this photograph of their ancestor returned.

I lifted the case and felt a slight movement inside, as if something had shifted. For one mad moment, I thought something was living inside the leather pocket but immediately dismissed the idea. The only thing small enough to fit would be an insect or a butterfly, and they would have suffocated. I turned on the torch on my mobile and shone the light inside the snug opening, surprised to see the light reflected back at me. I set the phone aside and reached in, my fingers settling on the links of a chain. It must have shifted when I’d removed the photograph. I very carefully extracted the object, afraid to break it if I pulled too hard.

The chain slithered onto the polished surface of the desk. It was delicate, the silver links so tiny as to be almost impossible to make out with the naked eye. The chain was threaded through a St. Christopher medal, which was still as bright and shiny as it must have been at the time it had been hidden inside the folio. I reverently ran my finger over the engraved image. St. Christopher was the patron saint of travelers, but some also believed he was a protector, and they gave the medal to those they loved and wished to keep safe. Had Lily needed protecting? Had she gone somewhere? But if the medal had belonged to her, why was it here, stuck behind the mantel for over a hundred years? Had no one realized the photograph had gone missing? Had someone shoved it behind the marble slab on purpose, possibly in anger?

Eager to find an answer, I went to work. The first thing I did was Google the name Redmond in conjunction with our new address. Several entries popped up, and I studied them eagerly, glad to have a starting point. But what really surprised me was the number of entries containing the surname Redmond. There had to be several hundred. Of course, many of them, probably most, would not be relevant, but I was certain I’d find a few that would be helpful. The one that jumped out at me was a link to The Daily Telegraph.

I was reading a very interesting article when I heard the front door and then Ava’s piping voice as she called out for me. I sent the article to the printer and closed down my search, but I would return to it later.

“Hello, darling,” I said as I hurried out to the foyer and scooped her up. “Did you have a good time with Grandma Rita and Grandpa Michael?” These days I had to be very specific when referring to extended family since suddenly there were so many more of them. Even though my own parents were long gone, Kyle now had two dads and Ava had two sets of grandparents, both of whom loved her to bits. She also had two new aunts, Emily, who was occasionally called Emma, and Edie, who thought the sun shone out of Ava’s adorable little bum and showered her with gifts.

Ava nodded happily. “Chips,” she announced as she yanked off her hat and threw it on the floor. Chips was Ava’s favorite food. I probably should have expected this. I had craved chips so desperately during my pregnancy, Kyle and I had actually started calling the baby Chippie as a joke, since we hadn’t yet picked out a proper name.

“Lovely,” I said, suddenly remembering that I hadn’t eaten.

“How’s the new mantel?” Kyle asked as he peeked into the room. “Are you pleased?”

“Very. It fits the room. Not as perfectly as the Italian marble we passed on, but close enough. The workmen found something when they removed the old piece.”

“What did they find?”

“Tell you later,” I promised.

It was once I got Ava down for her afternoon nap and made cheese on toast and a mug of tea that I was ready to show Kyle my find. He wasn’t hungry, since he’d eaten at his parents’ house, but he sat across from me, eager to hear what I had discovered.

“This house was once owned by the Redmond family. They weren’t the original owners, but they were the ones to live here the longest,” I told Kyle excitedly. “Then, in 1921, it was sold to the Whartons, who sold it on in the 1960s to the Riddells.” We had purchased the house from Joanna Riddell, who had just bought a lovely cottage in Somerset, where she planned to open a gourmet cheese shop.

“I’m sure most houses in London have changed hands many times,” Kyle said. He was watching me with amusement, as if waiting for the punchline to a joke I had just begun to tell.

“There’s no trace of the Redmonds after 1921.”

“That’s not unusual, Nic. Families die out all the time, especially when they lose their children to wars.”

I shook my head stubbornly. “I did a quick search on Lily Redmond and found nothing. No trace.”

“She might have died shortly after that photo was taken. Also not unusual, given the mortality rate in those days.”

“There would be an obituary.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“Because the Redmonds were titled, and where there’s noble blood, there’s always an obvious paper trail. If there was a paper trail here, then someone has torched it. I think there’s a story here, Kyle. A fascinating story.”

“Nic, I know you’re in search of ideas for a new project, but do you think you might be reading into this just a little bit?” Kyle asked, smiling at me in a way that was meant to convey that he understood and sympathized. It wasn’t as easy to find an idea for a new book as some authors would have you believe.

“No, because I also found this,” I announced triumphantly. I pulled the folded sheet of paper from my pocket and handed it to Kyle.

He quickly scanned the page I had printed and read the header. “Scotland Yard issues an appeal for information in the disappearance of a young woman.”

“Keep reading,” I said smugly.

Miss Lillian Redmond was last seen on April 7, 1888, by a cabbie who took her to Leicester Square. The man, who wishes to remain anonymous, saw her walking away as he drove on. Miss Redmond told him she was there to meet a friend, but the friend in question maintains that no meeting was planned.

If you have any information or believe you might have seen Miss Redmond, please contact Scotland Yard immediately.

Beneath the brief article was a photograph of the missing woman. It was the same picture as the one in the leather frame that lay on the worktop next to my empty plate.

“Lillian Redmond disappeared a month after this photo was taken,” I said. “I found no further references to her online. There was no follow-up article or a court case connected to her disappearance.”

“She might have turned up,” Kyle replied. “If she was safe and well, there would be no need to follow-up.”

“That makes perfect sense, but there’s the timing.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Kyle said, preempting my theory. “The first of the Whitechapel murders, believed to be committed by Jack the Ripper, was said to have been committed on April third of that year, but if Lillian Redmond was a possible victim, her name would have been bandied about in the press, especially once more victims were identified.”

“Unless her father made certain that she wasn’t mentioned in the same breath as those poor women who’d been assaulted and eviscerated. It’s also quite possible that Lillian was never included in the list of the victims because her body was never found, so there was no obvious connection to the Whitechapel murders.”

Kyle shook his head in disagreement. “They were never quite sure how many people Jack the Ripper had murdered before the canonical five that he became synonymous with, and although there was some debate about whether the first two victims were murdered by him, they were still included in the list because the media was looking to sensationalize the murders and increase circulation of their publications through fearmongering. If Lillian Redmond had any connection to the killings, no matter how tenuous, her name would have come up.”

“There was a long stretch between the first and the second Whitechapel murder,” I pointed out. I had written a blog post about Jack the Ripper a few years back for an online magazine, and the details were slowly coming back to me. “Emma Elizabeth Smith was attacked on April third. She is believed to be the first Whitechapel murder victim. The second victim was Martha Tabram, who was killed on August seventh, 1888. That’s a four-month hiatus. Jack the Ripper’s canonical five victims were murdered in fairly quick succession, with the first victim killed on August thirty-first, less than a month after Martha Tabram, and the second a week later. It is not possible that there were other Ripper victims between April and August of that year?”

“Anything is possible. But what would Lillian Redmond be doing in Whitechapel on her own and at night?” Kyle asked.

“Who knows? Maybe she was taken there by a person she trusted, or maybe she was a do-gooder and went to Whitechapel because someone needed her help.”

“Even if that were true, I don’t think you’ll find any evidence to back up this theory. Not at this stage. There are people who have devoted their entire professional lives to studying Jack the Ripper and trying to devise a psychological profile that would account for his actions.”

“I’m not looking to prove that Lillian was an undocumented victim of Jack the Ripper,” I said, inwardly shuddering at the possibility. Lily Redmond was long gone and could no longer feel any pain, but I couldn’t bear to think that she’d suffered so horribly before she died. I didn’t want that for the lovely young girl, whose intelligent gaze and irrepressible smile would haunt me for the rest of my days if I didn’t figure out what had happened to her. “I’m only saying that given the number of attacks on women that year alone, it’s very possible she was the victim of a brutal crime.”

Kyle nodded. “It is possible. A young, beautiful woman is always a target, in any day and age.”

“Are you saying that unattractive women are less likely to be murdered?” I asked, only half teasing.

“I’m not saying anything,” Kyle replied, clearly not willing to engage in a debate. “Anything can happen to anyone at any time, be they attractive or not. I was referring specifically to Lillian Redmond, and she was young and attractive,” Kyle said. “Now stop dissecting my words and get to work. I believe you have a historical mystery on your hands, Ms. Rayburn.”

I nodded, my mind already on my research. I had never written anything about the Victorian period besides the post on Jack the Ripper, so I wouldn’t be able to piggyback on my previous research. I’d have to start from scratch, but I didn’t mind. I loved stories about the Victorians, mostly because they were such an eccentric lot, with their obsession with propriety and reputation, and their well-documented fixation on death and the rituals of mourning. This was a story I looked forward to tackling. Right after I had dealt with all the annoying minutiae of being self-published. Now that I didn’t have an agent or a traditional publisher, much of the administrative duties fell to me, and I had to plow through a deluge of emails, offering me everything from foreign translations to publishing deals to film adaptations from shady production companies no one had ever heard of.

I deleted most inquiries without replying, but once in a while there was something that caught my interest and warranted further study, like the huge Czech book chain that had recently bought translation rights to three of my books, and the Turkish television network that was interested in adapting The Hanging Tree and turning it into a three-part series. Both were completely legit and an opportunity to bring my work to people who’d otherwise never hear of me because they didn’t speak English.

“Actually, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about as well,” Kyle said. He shot me the sort of look that warned me that this was going to be one of those conversations.

“Is something wrong?”

“Not wrong, no,” Kyle began. “Look, Nic, I know we agreed that we wouldn’t send Ava to nursery school until she was three and take turns looking after her during the day, but to be honest, I’m struggling. Working at home with a toddler who needs round-the-clock attention is proving more difficult than I anticipated.”

“What are you suggesting?” I asked, my stomach twisting into a knot. I knew Kyle had a valid point. My productivity was suffering as well, but I simply wasn’t ready to entrust Ava to strangers.

“I spoke to Sean this morning.”

Kyle called his biological father Dad to his face, but when speaking to me, he referred to his dads by name in order to differentiate between the two. Rita Walsh was still Mum, and Sean’s wife was just Carla. It made it easier for all involved not to get confused and ask for constant clarification.

“What does Sean have to do with this?” I asked defensively.

“Sean mentioned that Edie lost her day job. Ava adores Edie, and Edie could use the extra income. It could be a win-win situation for everyone involved.”

As much as I wanted to argue and tell Kyle that it was a terrible suggestion, the idea actually had merit. Of Kyle’s three sisters, I secretly liked Edie best. Whereas Cassie and Emily were busy with their own lives, Edie was still in search of her path. She’d dropped out of uni after the second year and had worked a number of daytime jobs while pursuing her singing career. Although a talented performer whose sound reminded me of Nora Jones, Edie had to make a name for herself in a field that was as overcrowded as it was competitive. She managed to book gigs in small, up-and-coming clubs most weekends, but she had yet to get noticed by anyone who might help her to achieve the next step that would catapult her to that big break.

“Edie can mind Ava for a few hours in the mornings and give us an opportunity to work uninterrupted,” Kyle said. “She’s completely trustworthy, and she adores Ava.”

“And is Edie open to this, or did you and Sean decide on this course of action without even speaking to her?”

Kyle gave me a sheepish look. “I rang Edie after I spoke to Sean. I wasn’t going to bring it up if she wasn’t interested.”

“I take it she’s on board?”

“She said she’d love to look after Ava.”

“And did you discuss salary?”

My ex-literary agent had advised me never to have any business dealings with relations, and although I didn’t always take her advice, on this score, she was spot on. Money and family were best kept separate.

“All sorted,” Kyle assured me. “You won’t have to deal with any of that. Do you want to give it a trial run? Edie is available tomorrow morning. She can collect Ava after breakfast, take her to the park, then give her lunch and put her down for a nap. That would give us at least six hours to work.”

I nodded. “All right. I’ll ring Edie and discuss the details with her.”

“Smashing,” Kyle exclaimed. “She’ll be so happy.”

“Not too shabby for a day’s work. A new mantel, a trustworthy nanny, and a new story idea,” I said.

“A good day, indeed,” Kyle agreed. “Now we just need to get some actual writing done.”

Chapter 2

Since Ava was still asleep, I returned to my lovely new study and got stuck in. Now that I was no longer under contract with a traditional publisher, my process was somewhat different since I was now in charge of everything from editing to cover design to audiobook narration. I was still getting used to the added responsibility but couldn’t complain about the benefits. For one, I didn’t have to run my ideas past anyone unless I wanted to, and Kyle was my first port of call.

I also brainstormed with my developmental editor and Miranda McRae, whom I had met at Stiles Castle while researching The Lost Tower. Miranda was a new mom, but her partner, Caroline, took care of little Archie while Miranda ran her consultancy business. She had her finger on the pulse of all things trending and would no doubt offer some useful advice, but I wasn’t quite ready to consult her yet. For now, I needed to focus on more extensive research into the Redmond family and see if I could discover something about Lily herself, but when I emerged three hours later, I was still none the wiser.

“Were you able to find anything?” Kyle asked.

“I was, but I don’t know what to make of it.”

“How do you mean?”

“There are at least three dozen entries that mention a Redmond for the appropriate time period. The problem is, I can’t make out if they all pertain to the same person.”

“Sorry, I don’t follow.”

“There are references to Lord Redmond, Dr. Redmond, Superintendent Redmond, Captain Redmond, and several entries that refer to the Redmond and Haze Detective Agency. Without given names or ages of Lily’s family members, it’s impossible to determine the relevance of the information.”

“What do the entries pertain to?” Kyle asked.

“Most of them have to do with various criminal cases. And there are two that go on to describe pioneering surgeries performed by Dr. Redmond at St. George’s Hospital, which is odd in itself.”

“Why is that odd?”

“British surgeons are not called doctor, so the surgeon would be referred to as Mr. Redmond, not Dr. Redmond. And there’s nothing about Lily or Lillian. She had to be related to at least one of these men, but there’s no way to determine whether any of these Redmonds were her father, husband, brother, or cousin.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“I was hoping to find some information on the family and narrow down the results before diving into the genealogical sites, but it doesn’t seem that I’m very likely to learn anything from a general search.”

Kyle looked thoughtful. “Perhaps you should start with Superintendent Redmond. There could be many doctors or soldiers who bear the same name, but how many superintendents could there have been?”

I shook my head. “I tried that already. I found a Wikipedia entry that lists all past Scotland Yard superintendents and their tenures in office. Superintendent Redmond is there, but that doesn’t tell me anything about his private life. There are also numerous references to cases he oversaw, but again, nothing very specific about the man himself.”

“What about Jonah?” Kyle asked. “Do you think he might be able to help?”

“I’ll certainly ask him, but I don’t think Jonah’s knowledge extends to London. He’s more interested in local history.”

Kyle nodded. “London is a long way from Derbyshire. And Daniel Burgess?”

Both the Reverend Jonah Hargreaves and Daniel Burgess, a professor of history at Leeds University, had been instrumental in helping me find information pertaining to previous projects, but I didn’t think they would be able to help me this time.

“Daniel’s hobby horse is the Tudor period.”

“Still, doesn’t hurt to ask. They can put you in contact with someone who might be able to help.”

“I’ll shoot them an email tonight,” I promised. “And tomorrow, while Ava is out with Edie, I’m going to do a deep dive into the ancestry sites.”

Kyle nodded. “Those sites have proved useful in the past. I’m sure you’ll be able to at least narrow down the personal connections, if not discover exactly what happened to these people.”

“It would be odd if the wife, sister, or daughter of a Scotland Yard superintendent had gone missing and nothing more was said about the case.”

“Perhaps there was nothing left to say,” Kyle said, but I found I couldn’t agree.

There was always something to say, especially where the newspapers were concerned and there was money to be made. I could imagine several possible headlines, called out by young newsboys who screamed themselves hoarse in an effort to sell their daily allotment of newspapers before the next edition hit the streets. And a missing relation of a Scotland Yard superintendent would certainly be something worth screaming about.

Missing young woman turns up unharmed.

Missing woman found dead.

No trace of missing woman.

Perhaps I was being overly suspicious, my mind conjuring up a conspiracy where there was none, but the lack of follow-up carried the whiff of a media gag order.

Chapter 3

“We are going to have an amazing time,” Edie gushed as I settled Ava in her pushchair and handed over the baby bag containing everything from clean nappies to wet wipes and snacks. Edie looked at me, her hazel eyes earnest. “Thank you for this, Nicole. I honestly couldn’t bear to look for another job in the service sector just now.”

“I thought you liked working with people,” I said.

Edie was so sweet and friendly, it was impossible to imagine that she’d have a hard time with anyone, but I supposed that even a twenty-something might have limited patience when it came to rude or short-tempered customers.

“I used to,” Edie said wistfully. “I liked meeting different people and not being stuck in some windowless cubicle, staring at a computer screen and doing endless grunt work, but things have changed. People have changed.”

“In what way?”

Edie shrugged, her blond ponytail bouncing. “The pandemic had an effect on everyone. For some people, it was a wake-up call, and they’re doing more to find happiness and fulfillment. For others, it was a warning bell tolling their destruction. Their safe, orderly lives were disrupted, and there was fuck all they could do about it. It made them realize just how little control they actually have over what happens to them.” Edie sighed resignedly. “People are frightened, and short-tempered, and angry. Some think it’s only a matter of time until something even worse happens. Others want to blame the government and anyone who doesn’t share their fatalistic worldview. A customer hurled his coffee at me when he realized the price had gone up once again. That’s hardly my fault, is it? I don’t make those decisions, but he was furious and needed someone to take his anger out on.”

I stared at Edie, shocked. “And you were sacked because of that?”

Edie let out a peal of laughter. “No. I was sacked because I called him things I really shouldn’t repeat in front of my sweet little niece.”

“That will do it,” I agreed.

“Well, he was a total wanker, wasn’t he? What sort of person throws hot coffee in your face and then pretends that the whole thing is your fault? I think I’m ready to take a break from the aggrieved masses,” Edie said. “Besides, I really didn’t care for the new assistant manager they’d hired.”

“What was his problem?” I asked.

“Her,” Edie corrected me. “She was good at her job but had this way of asking everyone really intrusive questions. In her defense, I think it’s a cultural thing and people share personal information more freely where she comes from. She just thought she was being friendly and interested, but some of her inquiries bordered on prying.”

“Where’s she from?”

“Eastern Europe. Anna was always banging on about how she was going to be a doctor in Poland, but she had to come to England and find work to help support her family.”

“It’s not easy to make a life in a new country,” I said, secretly feeling sorry for Anna.

“No, it isn’t, but it’s not fair to lay your disappointments on your coworkers. Or to interrogate them about their family. She was constantly asking about Dad and about his role in the police. She asked if he had the power to reopen an investigation.”

“Why would she want to know that?”

“Her younger sister ran away.”

“Did Anna think something had happened to her?” I asked.

Edie shrugged. “She couldn’t accept that her sister would choose some bloke she’d just met over her. I mean, I get it. She is alone in a foreign country, and her only family ran out on her. But it’s not like my life is so perfect,” Edie said, and her eyes welled up with tears.

“Edie, is something wrong?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t overstepping.

She shook her head. “Sorry. I’m just feeling emotional. Things have been a bit crap lately.”

“I’m sorry. People always think it’s so wonderful to be young, but it’s not easy to find your life, is it?”

“No, it’s not. But Emily is doing well for herself,” Edie said wistfully. “It’s not common knowledge yet, but Emily and Ian plan to get engaged once he finishes his residency.”

“Do you think they’ll settle in Scotland?”

Emily and her boyfriend were currently living in Edinburgh, where Ian was doing his residency in cardiothoracic surgery, and Emily was working as a physio at the same hospital.

Edie shrugged. “Who knows? They might. Emily loves it there. Let’s see what she has to say after her first winter. Probably cold enough to freeze your tits off.” Edie looked really sad, her narrow shoulders drooping with misery. “I wish Emily would come back. I can’t bear to lose another person I love.”

“What do you mean, Edie? Whom have you lost?” I asked.

“I thought Kieran and I might…” Edie’s voice trailed off. “Well, never mind that. Total overshare. I’m here to help, so you get to work, and Ava and I will get on our way.” She gave Ava a watery smile. “Are you ready to go, sweet pea?”

Ava smiled back. “Wing?” she asked.

Edie looked to me for an explanation.

“She wants to go on the swing.”

“Of course we’ll go on the swing,” Edie promised. “And the slide. And whatever else we can find. Say bye to Mummy.”

Ava gave me a halfhearted wave, and they were off.

I made myself a cup of tea and headed toward my study, where I had left my mobile. There was a missed call from Jonah and an email from Daniel. I decided to ring Jonah first. It’d been a while since we’d spoken, and I was eager to catch up. Jonah had been struggling since we met up in Carlisle last autumn, and I didn’t expect his situation to get any easier, not when his wife’s business had taken off and she was suddenly the main earner and was no longer able to work around Jonah’s schedule.

“Nicole,” Jonah said, pleasure in his voice. “How are you?”

“Not too bad.”

“Are you all settled in your new home?”

“We are, and greatly enjoying having more space. I love my new study, and we actually have room in the cupboards,” I added. “Imagine that. Now we can acquire more junk we don’t really need. And how are you getting on?”

There was the briefest of pauses. “Managing,” Jonah said quietly. I waited, giving him the chance to explain. Jonah sighed. “Tanya has suggested a trial separation.”

“Oh, Jonah, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“It’s been a long time coming, I reckon. She no longer wants to be a vicar’s wife. In fact, her online business has grown so much, she wants to open a brick-and-mortar shop. Not something she can successfully do in our sleepy little village. Tanya is thinking long-term success, and for that, she needs a more densely populated area.”

“Is there no way forward for you?” I asked carefully.

I didn’t want to pry into Jonah’s personal life, but it always saddened me to hear about the demise of a marriage, especially when one half of the couple was someone as kind and caring as Jonah. He was handsome too. With his unruly dark hair and soulful gaze, Jonah always made me think of Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights. If left to his own devices, Jonah wouldn’t remain single for long, at least not if the unmarried ladies in his parishes had something to say about it.

“We’ve agreed to try marriage counseling, for Natalie’s sake, but I’m afraid Tanya is set on her course of action. She says she gave up her dreams to support me, and if I want our marriage to have a fighting chance, it’s my turn to do the same.”

“Are you completely opposed to the idea of relocating?”

“I made a lifelong commitment when I applied to the seminary. Tanya knew what she was taking on when she married me. I have a responsibility to my parishioners, and I can’t just walk away from my vocation and become a businessman, which in this case would mean delivering orders to Tanya’s customers, since there isn’t much else I could do in that sort of establishment. And the parishes I serve would be left without a vicar, at least for the foreseeable. It’s not easy to find a replacement these days. There are shortages in every sector. But I love my family, and I’m not willing to give up,” Jonah added with a heavy sigh.

“I do hope you find a way to work out your differences,” I said.

“Yeah, me too. But please, tell me about your new idea. I’d much rather talk about that than my personal trials and tribulations.”

I quickly filled Jonah in on my research into Lillian Redmond and the possible connection to Scotland Yard and the Whitechapel murders.

Jonah sighed again. “I wish I could help, but as your know, my knowledge is more localized, and frankly, I detest stories about Jack the Ripper. It seems callous that even after all this time, the entertainment industry is still profiting from the deaths of those poor women. I think they’ve earned the right to rest in peace, and as for that depraved sadist, I don’t think he deserves any more notoriety than he got during his lifetime.”

“You know how it is when it comes to history. Nothing is off limits, and some stories still make for good entertainment.”

Jonah went momentarily quiet. “Is that what your book will be about? Jack the Ripper?”

“Only if I find a tangible connection,” I replied.

I agreed with Jonah in theory, but in reality, it was impossible not to bestow attention on those who had committed evil deeds. History was made up of great acts of courage, everyday struggles, and tragedies that could not be relegated to the annals of history without ever being mentioned again for fear of glorifying the perpetrators. History was there to learn from and to protect. Even now, there were plenty of people who would be better off quietly erased from the face of the earth before they could do more damage, but life didn’t work that way, did it? As a historian, it was my responsibility to report the truth, albeit in my case, dressed up as fiction. If Lily Redmond had been a victim of the Whitechapel murders, then I would not shy away from suggesting as much.

Jonah sighed. “I’m sorry, Nicole. I’d like to help, but at the moment, my head is not in the right place.”

“I completely understand,” I said. “Jonah, if there’s anything you need, or if you just want to talk, I’m always here to listen.”

“I appreciate that, but I think this is something I need to work out on my own.”

We said our goodbyes and ended the call. I felt terrible for Jonah, but if I were honest, I wasn’t really surprised. Perhaps if Tanya had never started her online business, she might have been happy to remain a vicar’s wife, but she had tasted not only success but financial freedom and was no longer willing to live her life around Jonah’s numerous and often intrusive obligations. Jonah was covering three parishes and was always on call, day and night, should any of his parishioners need him. For years, his family had come second, and Tanya had had enough.

I set my mobile on silent and opened up the email from Daniel Burgess. Daniel’s emails had always resembled the handwritten letters of the past, and I enjoyed reading them.

Dear Nicole,

Always a pleasure to hear from you. Your idea sounds intriguing, but I’m afraid Victorian London, popular as it is in film and literature, is not my area of expertise. I do know of someone who might be able to help. Rhonda Dearlove is a friend from uni who is now based in London. She’s a writer and film producer and has recently worked on a television series about the Forty Elephants gang that was active in London from the late eighteen hundreds until well into the twentieth century. I, for one, can’t wait to see it.

Rhonda is not only an expert on all things Victorian, but she also loves a challenge and will be glad to help.

Do let me know what you find out. Can’t wait to hear what happened to Lily.

Kind regards,

Daniel

Daniel had included a mobile number and email address. I wasn’t going to ring Rhonda out of the blue and ask for her help, but an exploratory email was just the thing. I composed a polite email, then Googled Rhonda Dearlove. I didn’t need to verify her credentials. Daniel’s endorsement was good enough for me, but I liked to put a face to the name. There were several photographs online, taken at various cinematic events. Rhonda had an open, friendly face and a warm smile. Her dark blond hair fell to her shoulders, and she wore very little makeup, just a bit of mascara to offset her blue-green eyes, and pale pink lip gloss. I liked that she didn’t try to cover up the freckles that sprinkled her nose or try to hide her plumpness beneath slimming black outfits. I thought she was probably someone I would get on with and hoped she’d get back to me soon.

Having returned to my research, I was disappointed to find that the genealogical sites weren’t very illuminating. I was able to discover the bare minimum about the Redmond family, and if the information was correct, the name had died out with Lily’s brother Adam, who had one daughter. Penelope Redmond never married, like so many women of her generation who either lost sweethearts to the battlefields of the Great War or were left single due to the shortage of eligible men. Since Penelope didn’t have any descendants, I wasn’t really interested in her or Adam’s widow. They had no bearing on my case.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t find anything about Lillian Redmond beyond her parentage and date of birth. No date of death was recorded, so it stood to reason that she had never been found. But what had happened to her? Where had she gone after the cabbie had dropped her off at Leicester Square? And who was the friend she’d claimed she was to meet? Male or female? Friend or lover? Ally or enemy in disguise? Could the cabbie have been lying and been the person responsible for Lily’s disappearance? Perhaps that was the reason he had wished to remain anonymous. And why would Superintendent Redmond, who had to be Lily’s father, abandon the search?

Of course, now that I had a premise, I could write my own story, but I preferred to work with facts. Both because I genuinely wanted to know what had happened to my characters in real life, and because the truth was often much more interesting than fiction that was frequently tailored to fit into the popular tropes. There was always some degree of speculation and pure invention, but when writing about real people, there was also respect. I wanted to give them their due, and when possible, a voice.

I wasn’t about to give up on my research, but I was due a break. I reached for my mobile and placed a call to Sean Cadogan. Kyle’s biological father was also the chief constable of the Metropolitan Police Service and was a wealth of information on all things Scotland Yard. Although always busy, Sean rarely ignored phone calls from family and picked up on the third ring.

“Nicole, lovely to hear from you. And thank you for giving Edie a chance. She was so excited to see Ava this morning.”

“Ava was happy to see her as well,” I said. “I think they’re going to have a really nice time together.”

“Is Kyle all right?” Sean asked carefully. I didn’t often call him, and one didn’t have to be a seasoned policeman to realize I had something I wanted to speak to him about.

“Kyle is fine. I actually have a quick question, if you have a moment to talk.”

“How can I help?”

“I’m doing some research into a new project and came across mention of Superintendent Redmond of Scotland Yard. He and his family lived in our house in the late eighteen hundreds. Have you heard of him, by any chance?”

Sean chuckled. “I have. Superintendent Redmond is remembered fondly in these hallowed halls.”

“Really? For what reason?”

Sean paused. “I’m sorry, but I have a meeting I must take in two minutes. If you’re not busy later on, I can come by. Carla has plans with her sister, but I’d love to visit with my granddaughter, and I can bring you some information on the superintendent.”

“That would be amazing. Maybe you could join us for dinner? I can ask Edie to stay, so she can join us as well.”

“It’s settled, then,” Sean said. “I’ll see you around six.”

I glanced at the clock on my phone. I had time to pop out to the shops and get something for dinner. Sean was strict about what he ate and only allowed himself meat once a week due to high cholesterol and skyrocketing triglycerides. It would have to be fish. I could make salmon with jasmine rice and steamed vegetables. Buoyed by the prospect of learning something about Superintendent Redmond, I called out to Kyle that I was stepping out and left.

Chapter 4

Every time I saw Sean Cadogan, I was reminded afresh how much Kyle looked like his dad. Sean was in essence Kyle with a few more lines and gray hairs. Even their body language was similar, and I often wondered how difficult it had to be for the man who’d raised Kyle to see the two together. Kyle’s mother never commented on the resemblance and tried to avoid seeing Sean at all costs, but sometimes the three parents did come together, as they had at Ava’s first birthday party. I was grateful to them for keeping things civil and putting Kyle’s feelings first, instead of giving in to any lingering acrimony from the days when Sean Cadogan had been Rita’s partner in the Met and Michael had still hoped that the boy he loved was his own.

Sean had changed out of his uniform and was wearing a dark green jersey and jeans. He made a beeline for Ava, who was smiling up at him from her high chair, and lifted her into his arms, rubbing his nose against hers until she giggled.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he crooned, and Ava crooned right back.

“Hewwo.” At fourteen months, she was just starting to talk and put her own spin on every word.

“How did the trial run go?” Sean asked, addressing both me and Kyle as he settled Ava in his lap.

“Great,” Kyle said. “But Edie couldn’t stay for dinner. She already had plans.”

“With Kieran?” Sean asked, his expression growing stony.

“Yes. Why?” Kyle asked.

“Edie can do better than a waster like him.”

“I think all dads are meant to think that about their daughters’ boyfriends,” Kyle joked.

Sean shook his head stubbornly. “I’m not being overprotective, son. There’s just something about Kieran that sets my teeth on edge.”

“Does he have form?” Kyle asked. “I know you checked.”

“He’s never been arrested, but that doesn’t mean he’s never done anything underhanded or borderline illegal.”

“Give him a chance, Dad. Edie seems to really like him.”

Sean shrugged. “I’m trying to keep an open mind.”

“What does Carla think of him?” I asked.

“The jury’s still out.”

Ava had already eaten, so I settled her back in her high chair and gave her a biscuit to gnaw on so she wouldn’t feel left out while we had our dinner. She liked to sit at the table and watched us intently, as if we were a television program.

Once I had served the meal and everyone had helped themselves, Sean turned to me. “So, Superintendent Redmond. How did his name come up?”

I once again explained about the photograph and the St. Christopher. Sean listened attentively and nodded.

“Strange coincidence that he lived in this house,” Sean said. “Jason Redmond was not the first superintendent of Scotland Yard, but he was one of the most noteworthy,” he added with a smile. “For one, he was American.”

“Was he really?” Kyle asked, putting his fork down in surprise.

“Yes, the only American to ever hold the post.”

“So this couldn’t have been the same person as the Lord Redmond who owned this house,” I said.

“Oh, it is,” Sean replied. “Jason Redmond was of noble birth, even though he had grown up in America and didn’t grace the shores of England until he came over to claim his inheritance.”

“And was he superintendent for long?” Kyle asked.

“More than ten years. He introduced some important changes to the way crime scenes were processed and how evidence was collected. The reason for this was that he was a university-trained surgeon and had been a captain in the Union Army during the American Civil War. He possessed a unique skillset that enabled him to identify procedural mistakes that had often led to bungled investigations and lack of convictions.”

Kyle gave me a meaningful look. “Well, that answers some of your questions, I think,” he said.

“How did he wind up in charge of Scotland Yard if he was a surgeon?” I asked, fascinated by the many facets of the man’s character. “Surely he’d have had to work his way up the ladder to achieve such a plum post.”

“He had initially offered his services as a pathologist pro bono, and as a result had a hand in solving some of the trickier cases that cropped up before his tenure as superintendent. The serving superintendent at the time, John Ransome, who went on to become commissioner after the longest-serving commissioner in Scotland Yard history finally retired, had held Jason Redmond in high regard. He tried time and time again to secure Lord Redmond’s services full time. John Ransome was an ambitious, clever man who was able to spot an opportunity and turn it to his own advantage.”

“And Jason Redmond just gave up surgery and joined the Yard?” Kyle asked.

“No. Something had happened. I’m not sure what exactly, but he was no longer able to operate. And he wasn’t the sort of man to lead an idle existence.”

“How do you know all that?” I asked. I was sure this wasn’t part of the assigned reading for incoming recruits.

Sean grinned. “You’re not the only one who likes history, and the inception of the police service and its evolution is a particular interest of mine. Makes for interesting reading if you have the time.”

“I’m sure it does,” I said, and meant it.

“Those Victorian coppers revolutionized policing,” Sean said with obvious admiration. “They had nothing to work with but their intelligence and instinct. There was no forensic data, no postmortem tests and tox screens, and no electronic trails to follow. Just their powers of observation and a willingness to put themselves in endless danger. Most of them weren’t even armed.”

“You think it was that much easier to get away with a crime?” I asked.

 “Without a doubt. Luck was on the criminal’s side in those days. If the perp was endowed with even a shred of intelligence, they could get away with just about anything. And if the police managed to figure out who the culprit was, which wasn’t nearly as often as the historical mysteries that are so popular these days would have you believe, it was very easy to simply disappear. A person could change their name and melt into the night. As long as they had enough money to keep a low profile for a while, they were safe from the law. No bank or credit card activity, or phone records to trip them up. And no CCTV on every corner to capture their faces and whereabouts. It was a criminal’s paradise. It really is a wonder those coppers made as many arrests as they did and got enough hard evidence to secure convictions.”

“I will be sure to look into the history of the service if I decide to pursue this idea,” I replied. “Would you happen to know anything about Lily? I believe she was Lord Redmond’s daughter.”

Sean nodded. “Lillian Redmond went missing in the spring of 1888. The prevailing theory at the time was that she was targeted by one of the tougher gangs to send a message to her father and instill fear in coppers who weren’t taking bribes to turn a blind eye. ‘Hit us too hard, and we’ll hit you back where it hurts most.’”

“She was never found, was she?” I asked quietly.

“The one case Jason Redmond failed to solve,” Sean confirmed. “He retired not long afterward.”

“How heartbreaking,” I said. “Not knowing what happened to your child must be in its very own class of torment.”

“It is,” Sean said. “And it happens more often than you might think, even more so today.”

No one said anything because there wasn’t anything to say.

Chapter 5

“What’s your plan for today?” Kyle asked the following morning, once Edie and Ava set off for their walk.

“I’m going to search The Daily Telegraph archive. Superintendent Redmond was a public figure who must have been mentioned on a regular basis in connection with ongoing cases. These references might not come up in an online search, but I think I can find some information if I look at the actual newspapers. And if I find nothing, I’ll move on to other publications that would have reported on criminal activity in London.”

“That’s a good idea. What’s your timeframe?”

“I think I’ll start with February 1888, continue on until Lily’s disappearance, and then see if there are any further references in the months to come. What about you?”

“I’m doing research on the Wars of the Roses,” Kyle said.

“Really? Why?”

Kyle’s bestselling DI Kelly Shaw series took place in and around London and was firmly set in the modern day. The main character had been inspired by Kyle’s mother Rita and her experiences as a detective inspector with the Metropolitan Police, and the name was an anagram of Kyle’s own.

“Kelly’s new case will revolve around a missing artifact from the fifteenth century, perhaps an ancient reliquary that contained a priceless relic that was kept under lock and key at Bermondsey Abbey until it vanished without a trace and was said to have been stolen on behalf of the Earl of Warwick.”

“And would this relic be making an unexpected reappearance in present-day London and result in several baffling, possibly ritualistic deaths that could only be explained by someone who understands the true nature of the conspiracy?”

“You bet,” Kyle said, and wiggled his eyebrows.

“I like it.”

“The priceless relic thing has been done to death, but I plan to put a whole new spin on the motive for the murders.”

“Sounds promising. So where are you off to?”

“I have a meeting with Dr. Russell. He’s authored several books on the Wars of the Roses and also happens to be a well-respected archeologist.”

“Is he still out there in the trenches?” I asked.

“Not so much anymore. He teaches at the Institute of Archeology, and he’s agreed to speak with me.”

“I’m impressed. I read his book on the role of women during the Wars of the Roses, and I have to admit that his views were surprisingly insightful and not even a tiny bit chauvinistic. It was almost as if he’d time traveled to the fifteenth century and masqueraded as a woman of noble birth as part of his research,” I joked.

“Well, his wife is also a historian. I’m sure she had some practical suggestions.”

“Who’s his wife?”

Kyle smiled hugely, and I got the distinct impression that he had been working up to this moment. “Dr. Quinn Allenby.”

“No!” I cried. “The Dr. Quinn Allenby? The host of Echoes from the Past?”

“The very one.”

“Now there’s someone I’d love to meet.”

“So, why don’t I invite them round for a drink?” Kyle suggested.

“That’s rather forward, isn’t it? Have you even met Dr. Russell before?”

“No, but what’s the harm in trying? The worst thing that can happen is that they’ll say no.”

I considered this. I was a huge fan of Dr. Allenby’s program and would have liked to ask her a million questions about the research that had gone into each episode and her uncanny understanding of what the anonymous subjects of the series had gone through in their often brief but tragic lives. As viewers, we always tended to put celebrities on a pedestal and assume they wouldn’t want to associate with anyone who hadn’t achieved the same professional status, but Kyle and I were well known in our field, so perhaps Kyle’s suggestion wasn’t as presumptuous as it had first sounded. We wouldn’t know until we asked. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as my dad used to tell me when I was a shy teen and tried to talk myself out of doing things that would take me out of my comfort zone.

“All right,” I said. “Give it a go. And good luck with your research.”

“You too. Don’t forget to take frequent breaks and hydrate as needed. And don’t eat all the biscuits.”

“You mean you actually left me some?” I quipped.

Kyle gave me a kiss, grabbed his keys and computer bag, put on his coat, and headed out into the overcast morning.

Chapter 6

Once I was on my own, I had no excuse to dawdle, so I made myself a second cup of coffee, grabbed a few biscuits, just in case I should need fortification, and got to work. I hit paydirt sooner than I had expected. There was an article that not only featured a quote from Superintendent Redmond, but even a photograph. The image was a bit grainy, and the quality of the print had degraded over the years, but I could still get a sense of the man that looked back at me.

Jason Redmond had to have been around fifty when the photograph was taken, but even from the headshot, it was obvious that he was not only well groomed but fit. His dark hair was thick and fashionably cut, and he still boasted an enviable bone structure that wasn’t camouflaged by sagging jowls or puffy eyes. His gaze was open and intelligent, the eyes of indeterminable color in the black-and-white photo, and even though his expression was serious, it wasn’t difficult to imagine that this man was quick to smile. I could also see a resemblance to his daughter, particularly around the eyes and mouth. I wondered if they had been close and what the loss of her had done to this impressive-looking man.

Judging from further quotes I came across and actions attributed to Superintendent Redmond, he had not only been intelligent but decisive, someone who kept his eye on the immediate prize but also saw the big picture, an ability that individuals in positions of power often lacked in my experience. All this helped to build a picture of the man, but what I was really interested in was Lily, and I finally came across mention of her in an edition of The Times dated the seventh of March. The brief article was disguised as an engagement announcement but was full of speculation and innuendo. I got the feeling that whoever had written the piece hadn’t much cared for either Jason Redmond or his future son-in-law. I printed the page for future reference and reread it once the sheet slid out of the printer.

It has come to the attention of this journalist that the Honorable Lillian Redmond, 20, daughter of Superintendent Redmond of Scotland Yard, has accepted a proposal of marriage from Inspector Avery Moorcroft. Inspector Moorcroft has been billed as the rising star of policing and is highly likely (more so now that he’s marrying into the family) to replace his future father-in-law once Superintendent Redmond retires. It has also been suggested by a trusted source that Lord Redmond’s name has been put forward for the position of commissioner, but he has yet to confirm or deny this rumor. With his son-in-law at the helm, there will be nothing to prevent Lord Redmond’s appointment, but some would argue that he’s neither the most qualified nor the most highly favored candidate.

This was interesting. Despite the high praise I had come across thus far, there definitely seemed to be some rivalry within the Police Service, and the writer of the piece was clearly not in Jason Redmond’s corner. I wondered who the other possible candidate might have been and what they would have done to secure the position. I supposed it was a moot point, since Lord Redmond had retired from public life not long after his daughter’s disappearance and had never become commissioner, but one never knew how far someone would go to further their ambitions. Or whom they’d be willing to sacrifice in order to achieve their ends.

And Avery Moorcroft. That was another lead to follow. Since Lily had disappeared about a month after her twenty-first birthday, it stood to reason that the two had never made it to the altar, since I hadn’t seen a wedding announcement. Had Lily and Avery been in love, or had the union been brokered by Jason Redmond? Lily had certainly looked happy in the photograph that now occupied pride-of-place on my desk, but perhaps the reason she looked so playful was not because she was generally in a good place in her life but because she had been comfortable with the photographer. There was an intimacy in her gaze that spoke of a close personal relationship, not simply a young woman posing for a hired professional.

I reached for the case once more, pulled out the snap, and turned it over. I had hoped to find the name of a studio, but there was none, and I could tell nothing from the background since I could see so little of it. Lily appeared to be standing before a swath of fabric, which could have been a backdrop, a curtain, or even something from a theatrical production. Likewise, there was nothing distinctive about the leather folio. It was the sort of thing that might have been purchased in any shop that sold leather goods.

Perhaps the picture had been a gift for her fiancé, but the more likely scenario was that the photo had been given to Lily’s parents, since it had remained at their home. I ran a finger over the embossed leather, wondering if Jason Redmond had reverently touched this memento of his missing daughter and prayed for her safe return.

Strangely, my speculation didn’t include Lily’s mother, Katherine Redmond. Perhaps it was because I had a stronger sense of her father, having seen his photograph and read his words, but although I knew that Lady Redmond had been very much alive at the time of her daughter’s disappearance, her face remained a pale oval devoid of features. Same went for Lily’s brother, Adam. I had yet to determine whether Adam Redmond had been around when Lily went missing. Given that he had been a teenage boy, it was likely that he had been away at school, completing his education before going on to university, but one never knew. Sometimes sibling rivalry turned bitter, or maybe the two had been close and Adam had known something of what had led to his sister’s disappearance.

And there had to have been servants as well, I mused. Jason Redmond might have been a working man, but given his noble rank, his status in the Metropolitan Police, and the norms of Victorian society, a family like his would have had several people looking after their needs. There would have been a cook, a parlormaid, and a valet at the very least. Probably also a lady’s maid for his wife and daughter, and possibly other retainers who could have resided in the house we now lived in.

Might there have been servants’ quarters in the attics at one time? There certainly was enough space to house several people if they shared rooms and didn’t expect to have their own bathroom. And there had been a carriage house at the back. A coachman might have had rooms in the loft, another person who would have been intimately familiar with the comings and goings of the Redmond family. Was it really possible that no one had known anything of Lily’s disappearance?

Chapter 7

I was both nervous and excited about meeting Quinn and Gabriel Russell and probably went a little overboard with the food. It was only meant to be drinks, but I could hardly just set out a cheeseboard and a dish of olives. The coffee table was covered with small plates containing everything from a creamy burrata with roasted peppers to bitesize lamb meatballs with a yogurt sauce for dipping. When it came to entertaining, my philosophy was that more was always better. And if we had some left, then we’d just eat it the next day. We weren’t picky, and Kyle didn’t mind leftovers.

When they arrived, bearing Kyle’s favorite whiskey and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc for me, I was surprised by how ordinary they looked. Quinn, who appeared almost imposing on television, was shorter and slighter than I had expected. She had dark wavy hair that came down to her shoulders and lovely hazel eyes. She wore black trousers and a cowlneck jersey in moss green. Gabriel wore jeans and a navy-blue sweater that brought out his very blue eyes and contrasted nicely with his black hair. I thought he was probably in his early to mid-forties, but Quinn was closer to Kyle’s age, in her late thirties.

She smiled, and I instantly felt at ease. “Thank you for this,” Quinn said as I invited our guests to get comfortable in the lounge. “We were desperate for a night out. We have three children,” she explained. “They’re still young enough to need a minder but old enough to complain bitterly when left with one.”

“Did you get one in tonight?” I asked.

“My brother agreed to babysit. He brought his son along, and they have a full evening planned.”

Kyle poured the drinks while we made small talk and picked at the food until the conversation naturally veered toward the subjects we were all interested in.

“Is there really not going to be another series of Echoes from the Past?” I asked once I saw an opening. “It was my absolute favorite program.”

Quinn shook her head. “I really don’t think so.”

“It was a historian’s dream,” I said. “You made those people come alive. The costumes were superb. And the way you recreated their surroundings and incorporated the political infrastructure of the time was uncanny. Master world-building,” I added, and hoped I didn’t sound like too much of a groupie.

Gabriel, who preferred to go by Gabe, placed a gentle hand over his wife’s, and a look of deep intimacy passed between them. “It takes too much out of her, I’m afraid,” Gabe said.

“How do you mean?” Kyle asked.

I could tell that we had strayed into sensitive territory, but Quinn didn’t back away from answering. “Viewers don’t tune in to see an episode about a person who led an exemplary life and died of old age. Every one of the people I resurrected had suffered some great tragedy that ultimately led either to their own death or that of someone they’d loved. To delve so deeply into the suffering of others leaves scars.”

“I know just what you mean,” I said. “I base my books on real people and events, and I feel as if I leave a piece of my soul in each one of those stories.”

“Then you understand,” Quinn said. “Only with me, it’s more than that. I see what they saw and feel what they felt.”

“I suppose you would, given that you have to stage the reenactments,” Kyle said. “The characters become real, not just figments of your imagination. It’s like having one’s book adapted for television. Once a particular actor assumes the part, they become that person, even if you had imagined them differently up to that point.”

“Yes. Quite.” Quinn wasn’t looking at Kyle as she said this, and I saw Gabe’s grip tighten on her fingers. “Well, enough about me,” she said. “What are you working on, Nicole? I really enjoyed The Lost Tower. In fact, I have read all your books. The Hanging Tree is one of my all-time favorites. The witch hunts is one subject I have tried to avoid. I shudder to think about what happened to all those innocent women and how cruelly they were treated by people they’d known and lived among all their lives. It was truly barbaric. A shameful time in our history. But you handled it really well,” Quinn hurried to add. “And the twist at the end. I never saw that coming.”

I felt heat rising in my cheeks. Thousands of positive reviews couldn’t compare to an endorsement from someone I truly admired. “I have just begun work on a new project, but I haven’t been very successful in finding information.”

“Tell me,” Quinn said, and leaned forward eagerly. “Maybe I can help.”

“I can do better. I’ll show you,” I said.

I nipped to my study and brought back the photograph and the St. Christopher. I held the two objects out to Quinn and was surprised when she refused to touch them. I could have sworn she actually shrank back against the sofa cushions in order to avoid physical contact.

“I’m sorry,” Quinn said when she realized I had noticed her revulsion.

“It’s all right,” I replied, and laid the objects on the coffee table. I wasn’t sure what I had done wrong, but Quinn seemed uncomfortable in the extreme, and an eloquent look passed between her and Gabe. I felt as if I had intruded on a private moment between husband and wife, except I had no idea what I was witnessing.

I would have turned to Kyle to check if he’d realized that something odd had just happened, but I didn’t want to be rude. I barely knew Quinn and couldn’t begin to guess her reasons for refusing to touch the items. Perhaps she was a germaphobe and the thought of all the hands that had handled the leather case and the necklace alarmed her. Or maybe she had other, more personal reasons. If there was anything I had learned in recent years, it was that people were rarely an open book and often held beliefs and harbored fears that others found difficult to relate to. The best thing I could do would be to steer the conversation away from Lily and toward something neutral.

Having noticed the awkward silence, Quinn plunged in. “The leather frame is Victorian, isn’t it? I’ve never done an episode set in Victorian London, but I do enjoy reading about the period. Victorian murder mysteries are a guilty pleasure.”

“Have you ever heard of Superintendent Jason Redmond of Scotland Yard?” I asked.

“Is he a well-known character?” Quinn asked.

“No, he was the father of the woman in the photo. She disappeared in 1888,” I said, and nearly kicked myself for bringing the conversation right back to Lily Redmond.

“The stories I read are mostly fiction,” Quinn said, “but I would be very interested to find out more about him. And his daughter.”

Quinn looked away for a moment, and I could see strong emotions pass across her face. She seemed to have made up her mind and turned back, her gaze locking with mine. “Can I borrow these items?” she asked, then shot Gabe a sidelong glance, as if asking for his approval.

What was going on with them? Every married couple had a secret language known only to them; generally one could figure out the gist based on the body language, but these two appeared to be speaking a foreign tongue. I had no idea what I had stumbled into with my revelations about Lily’s disappearance and wished I had kept the details of the new project to myself.

I nearly dropped my wineglass when Gabe suddenly said, “Quinn is psychic. She can see into the past when holding an object that had belonged to the dead. She didn’t simply research the subjects of her series. She relived their lives.”

My mouth fell open, and I instantly shut it, unsure how to react. Like most people, when I heard the word psychic, the skeptic in me came out and I wanted to dismiss their ability, but Dr. Quinn Allenby was a respected historian and archeologist, someone I looked up to both as an author and a lover of history. As quickly as my doubts surfaced, they sank back into the deep. Quinn Allenby was no charlatan. She was a woman with a unique gift, and I was desperate to hear more.

“How does it work, if you don’t mind me asking?” I asked. “It must be absolutely incredible to see life in the past as it really was and not as we imagine it to be.”

“It is, but it’s also soul-crushing and very sobering,” Quinn replied. “The reconstructions and representations we see on television can never come near to reality. The stench alone is enough to dispel any romantic illusions a person might harbor about the past. It’s not just the animals, waste, and unwashed bodies. The smell of death worms its way into your very soul and stays there long after you’ve returned to your own time, leaving behind a despair that’s hard to shake.”

Quinn took a shuddering breath. “We see plenty of horrors in today’s world, but we’re safely removed from them. It’s almost like watching a film or playing a video game where people die and things explode, but they’re just images on the screen and you don’t feel personally threatened. But when you’re there, in the past, you can smell people’s fear and taste their joy. And you can truly understand how desperate and fleeting life was for some, and also how unfair. There was no talk of human rights or justice or even fair play. Anything went, and those with power could do anything they pleased without fear of repercussions.”

I knew that from my own research into the past, and especially the non-fiction accounts I had written before venturing into historical novels, but I could never imagine what it might be like to witness all that in person. I could see the horror in Quinn’s eyes and feel her recoil as she spoke of despair. No wonder she’d stepped away from the program. It must have been killing her.

“Is this a hereditary gift?” Kyle asked, and I could see that it was the one question Quinn had not expected, or maybe hoped would not come up.

“It is,” she replied with some reluctance. “The psychic ability is passed down from a paternal ancestor, a slave woman who was brought to Louisiana from Trinidad. I don’t know how many before me were gifted with the ability to see into the past. It wasn’t a side of themselves they publicized, for obvious reasons.”

“And is there anyone now?” I asked carefully. “Besides you, I mean.”

Quinn nodded and looked away.

“We think our son Alex has the sight, but he’s still very young, and we make sure not to hand him anything that had belonged to someone who died,” Gabe said. “There’s also Quinn’s niece, but we haven’t seen her since before the pandemic. She moved to Boston. She’s a student at the University of Massachusetts.”

“What is she studying?” I asked.

Quinn smiled dolefully. “History. Some might say she has an unfair advantage, but we must all play to our strengths.” She took a sip of wine and turned to me. “If you allow me to borrow these items, I can help with your research.”

“You mean…?” I didn’t finish the sentence, unsure how to phrase my question.

Quinn nodded. “I can take a peek.”

“Really?” I exclaimed, unable to help myself. To speculate was one thing, but to learn the truth of what had happened to Lily was an offer I simply couldn’t pass on.

“Quinn, are you sure?” Gabe asked quietly.

He looked at his wife with tender concern, but I also caught a hint of resolve, and I had the strange feeling that we had just witnessed a seismic shift in the Russells’ marriage. I wasn’t sure how I felt about being part of this altered dynamic, but I supposed that whatever had happened was none of our affair. It took but a moment, then Quinn and Gabe seemed to get on the same page.

“I’m sure,” Quinn said. “But only if you want to, Nicole.”

“I would love to collaborate with you on this project,” I said, excited but also hesitant to take advantage of this incredible gift that was being offered so freely. “And I will be sure to give you credit for whatever you discover.”

“Oh, no,” Quinn exclaimed. “I wouldn’t want to be involved in an official capacity. I am simply curious, as you are, and would like to know more.”

Kyle gave me a look that warned me not to push. Whatever Quinn was willing to share with me, I’d be happy to accept and work into my narrative.

“If you would just put the items in two separate sandwich bags,” Quinn said. “I can’t touch them with bare hands until I’m ready.”

“Of course,” I said, wondering why the photograph and the necklace had to be kept separate.

The rest of the evening passed quietly. We talked about the kids, books, and television programs we enjoyed, and the Wars of the Roses, which kept creeping into the conversation due to Kyle’s new project. By the time Quinn and Gabe left, I was sure that we’d made a real connection and that the relationship would transcend the professional, especially since it appeared that Kyle and I were the first people outside Quinn’s immediate circle to be told of her gift.

Chapter 8

Quinn

“Why, Gabe?” Quinn asked as soon as they were alone in their bedroom.

She might have cornered him sooner, but the children had still been up when they got home, and Quinn had had to help her brother Logan get his sleepy little boy into the car and make sure he had all his gear, while Gabe got their own overexcited brood to bed. Logan, having earned the status of Fun Uncle without trying very hard, had allowed the kids to watch Jurassic World Dominion and had plied them with snacks and fizzy drinks until they were practically bouncing off the walls.

“Because of Alex,” Gabe replied calmly.

He hadn’t bothered to ask what Quinn was referring to. He knew, and he had very much outed her on purpose. “If you’re ashamed of your ability, then Alex will grow up to be ashamed as well. Quinn, you are a brilliant historian, and no one can take that away from you. The fact that you’ve been endowed with this extra dimension only adds to your mystique and presents you with opportunities we mere mortals would kill for.”

“It wasn’t for you to make that decision,” Quinn snapped.

“No, it wasn’t, but you weren’t going to do it, and to be frank, you need a new project. You’ve been struggling since the start of the pandemic, understandably so, but the pandemic is over, sweetheart, and you need to find something to devote your energies to besides worry and grief.”

Quinn felt tears prick at her eyes and willed them away. The pandemic had been difficult for everyone, especially families with small children and elderly relatives, but it had hit their blended family extra hard. Gabe’s mother, Phoebe, had been the first to succumb. Losing her had been devastating, but not being able to make the arrangements and say a proper goodbye had been even worse. The next had been Quinn’s biological dad and his wife, who had been at home in New Orleans when the pandemic started. Seth and Kathy had thankfully survived, but they had been very ill and were still dealing with lingering side effects of the virus.

Quinn had thought they were all out of the woods when her biological mother, Sylvia, became ill. She had got better after the first few days but relapsed and died after a fortnight in hospital. Although Quinn grieved for Phoebe, who’d been nothing but supportive and loving toward her daughter-in-law, it had been Sylvia’s death that had undone her. Quinn and Sylvia’s relationship had been a complicated one, fraught with anger, resentment, and recriminations that went back to the day Sylvia had abandoned a newborn Quinn in a church. Quinn had forgiven her once she had understood the circumstances that had led to that decision, but since the two women had not met until Quinn was already in her thirties, they hadn’t had a strong base to build a relationship on and had still been feeling their way forward when Sylvia died. Knowing that they would never have the chance to develop the closeness Quinn had hoped for was a blow, and the only thing taking the sting out of her loss were her two half-brothers by Sylvia, whom Quinn loved and cherished.

Logan and Jude had not had an easy time of it during the pandemic either. Logan had split with his partner, Rafe, and was now raising his son on his own, and Jude’s wife, Tamzin, had miscarried their first baby. They were expecting another baby, a girl, next month, and Quinn prayed that all would be well. Still, Gabe was right. Life didn’t stand still, and it was time for Quinn to move on, both personally and professionally.

“Are you suggesting I sign on for another series of Echoes?” she asked, watching Gabe for a reaction.

“I’m suggesting that you start small and see how you feel. No one says you have to commit to another series of the program, but there are so many other things you can do. You can return to teaching. You can write. You can even sign up for a dig. We can take the kids. It would be a great opportunity for them to see what their parents do when they’re not nagging them about loading the dishwasher or putting away their stuff.”

“They know what we do,” Quinn protested.

“In theory, yes. But not in reality. Come on, Quinny. It’s been ages since we got our kit out of the cellar. Don’t you miss getting your hands dirty?”

Quinn couldn’t help but smile. Gabe knew her better than she knew herself, and a few weeks—preferably in the sun and during the summer when the children were off school—digging for ancient artifacts that had belonged to people who were long gone would really reset her internal clock.

“What do you say?” Gabe asked. He was watching her, his gaze warm with affection.

Quinn nodded. “Let’s look into it and see if we can sort something for the summer.”

Quinn felt a little guilty when she recognized Gabe’s expression for what it was. Relief. He was worried about her and trying to steer her onto a path of healing that only he could suggest. No therapist could possibly understand what Quinn needed to finally move forward and allow herself to plan for the future rather than keep rehashing the past and wishing she had done things differently.

“You liked Nicole,” Gabe observed as he got into bed and patted the space next to him in silent invitation.

“I did. It’s been a while since I met someone I made an instant connection with. I hope we can remain friends after this is over.”

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t,” Gabe said. “If there was an app for this sort of thing, I’d say you and Nicole Rayburn are a ninety-nine percent match.”

“What’s the one percent?” Quinn asked as she undressed for bed.

“She is not psychic.”

“Yes, there is that,” Quinn agreed. “Would be quite a coincidence if she were.”

Gabe chuckled. “Wouldn’t it just? Now, come to bed. You look tense, and I know just the thing that will smooth that line between your brows.” Gabe reached for a vial of lavender oil and shook a few drops onto his hands. The soothing scent wafted toward Quinn, and she tossed her trousers onto a chair and slid into bed, stretching out on her stomach in preparation for a very thorough massage. Gabe turned out the light and went to work, his ministrations eventually becoming more intimate and suggestive.

It was later, once the house was quiet and everyone was asleep, that Quinn tiptoed downstairs, settled on the sofa, and pulled the St. Christopher out of the plastic baggie Nicole had dropped it into before handing it to Quinn. A part of her recoiled at the prospect of going back in time once again, but a part of her couldn’t wait to begin.

Chapter 9

Lily

February 1888

“Goodnight, Daddy,” Lily said, and leaned down to give her father a kiss on the cheek. She tried to suppress her grin of triumph, but Jason grinned back.

“Rematch tomorrow,” he said. “I deserve a chance to redeem myself.”

They had played two games of chess, and she’d won both, an unusual occurrence. Jason was an excellent player and never gave her any quarter just because she was a woman. He’d taught her to play chess when she was small, and they still played several times a week. Lily had thought it was because Jason liked having several opponents to choose from, but she’d later realized that playing gave her an opportunity to learn to think strategically, something her father was a big proponent of, and it was also a chance for them to spend time together and talk uninterrupted. They’d always been close, closer than most fathers and daughters of Lily’s acquaintance, and if she were forced to choose between her parents, she’d have to admit that she enjoyed a closer relationship with her dad than with her mother.

Katherine Redmond was a loving and devoted parent, but as the daughter of a fire-and-brimstone vicar, she retained some of the values drummed into her by her father, at least when it came to raising a daughter, whose reputation had to be beyond reproach. Jason had always been more liberal, and more understanding. He treated Lily no differently than he treated Adam and encouraged her to speak her mind and question everything, rather than blindly accept what she was told and follow societal norms.

“You were just preoccupied, Daddy,” Lily said soothingly.

“And you exploited my weakness,” Jason joked. “Ruthless. Just like your brother.”

“Adam is hardly ruthless.”

“He is when he’s playing chess. That boy has a real competitive streak. I think he gets it from your mother.”

Lily laughed at that. Her mother was the least competitive person on earth and only wanted to make everyone happy.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, darlin’.”

Lily loved it when her father called her that. He’d arrived in England several years before she was born but had retained his American accent. Sometimes Lily thought he did that on purpose since he could easily duplicate the crisp upper-crust British accent people expected when meeting a member of the nobility. Jason was a good mimic, but he was also well aware that the American accent set him apart, kept people on their toes when dealing with him, and reminded them that not everything was as it seemed. An American-born Union Army captain could also be the scion of a noble British family, a pioneering surgeon, and a superintendent at Scotland Yard. Jason Redmond refused to be defined or boxed into any particular category, and this fluidity had earned him as many friends as it had enemies.

Jason headed upstairs, but Lily returned to the drawing room to fetch her book. She wasn’t really sleepy and thought she’d read for a while. She found her book, said goodnight to Henley, who was locking up for the night, and hurried up the stairs. She was just passing her parents’ bedroom when she heard them talking and slowed her steps. Lily wasn’t one to listen at keyholes, but she heard her name and wondered what they were discussing.

“Jason, I think we should have a party to celebrate Lily’s twenty-first,” Katherine was saying. “Joe can bring Adam from school for the weekend. I know he’ll be back for Easter, but I do miss him so.”

“I think there might be more to celebrate than just Lily’s birthday,” Jason replied, his rich baritone easier to decipher than her mother’s low voice.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Avery Moorcroft came to see me this afternoon. He asked for my blessing.”

“What did you tell him?”

Lily was surprised by the note of alarm in her mother’s voice.

“What could I tell him? It’s Lily’s decision. I thought you liked the boy,” Jason said. He sounded as surprised as Lily felt.

“I do. Avery is a fine young man, but I don’t think he and Lily are well suited.”

There was a pause, her father obviously awaiting an explanation.

“The only reason Lily ever consented to spend time with Avery is because she thought you would approve. Everything that girl does must meet with your approval.”

“Have I been so critical?” Jason asked.

“Not at all, but Lily lives to make you proud.”

“I am proud of her. Katie, what’s this about?” Jason asked gruffly.

Lily heard her mother sigh resignedly. “I worry for her, Jason. I want her to be safe.”

“And you don’t think she would be safe with Avery?”

Katherine’s silence spoke volumes. A policeman was never safe. There was many a widow and countless fatherless children to prove that. Jason himself had been hurt more than once, the last case he’d worked in person leaving him with a damaged right hand. He hadn’t been able to operate since due to nerve damage, but thankfully, the hand had healed enough so that he’d retained the use of his fingers.

Lily didn’t wait for a response and hurried down the corridor to her own bedroom. She no longer felt like reading, so she undressed, unpinned her hair, and climbed into bed. It was a clear night, and the crescent moon beyond her window was as bright as if it were powered by manmade light. The silvery glow bathed the room and made her feel more peaceful. Like her father, Lily didn’t like the curtains to be drawn at night. She liked to see the night sky, and when she had been younger, she used to count the stars until she fell asleep. Tonight, she turned her head toward the window and looked at the moon, her mind on what she’d overheard.

Avery was going to propose. The notion was as exciting as it was frightening. She liked Avery, trusted him, and knew that he would try to make her happy. But did she love him? How could she know the answer to that if she had never been in love? Did feeling safe and happy with someone amount to love? Would she like the more intimate aspects of marriage, or would she feel obligated to please Avery even if she didn’t care for the act herself?

Lily wished her mother were more forthcoming, but Katherine never discussed such things with her. Lily did know that her parents were happy and were always affectionate with each other. Theirs had been a love match. They both said so, but she could hardly interrogate either of them, even though she was sure her father wouldn’t flinch and would give her an honest answer. Perhaps if she had a reason to ask, her mother would enlighten her.

Lily smiled to herself in the dark as she imagined the family they might create. Avery was a fine young man. Katherine had said so herself. And he was her father’s protégé at the Yard, the youngest detective to make inspector. Avery was attractive, witty, and considerate. He’d make the perfect husband and father, and the prospect of marrying him made Lily feel calm and secure. But it didn’t make her deliriously happy. In fact, nothing did. Her parents had always encouraged her to follow her dreams. Had she expressed an interest in going to university, her father would have made that happen despite the limitations placed on women by society. He would have moved mountains to help her realize her dreams, but the only dream she’d ever had was not one he was willing to condone.

She wanted to be a detective. Oh, she knew she could never apply to Scotland Yard. Not even her father could offer her the position she craved, but ever since she had been old enough to comprehend what her father did, she had dreamed of starting her own agency. To do it alone would have been too daunting, but luckily, she had a friend who shared her ambitions. Charlotte Haze, the daughter of her father’s closest friend, had been her best friend since babyhood. Charlotte was clever, fun, and determined. They’d even come up with a name for their proposed business, the Redmond and Haze Detective Agency. The Haze and Redmond Detective Agency sounded odd, so Charlotte had agreed, even though Lily knew she would have liked to get top billing because she was a detective already.

Around the same time Jason Redmond had been made superintendent, Charlotte’s father had left Scotland Yard and opened his own agency. He was now a private inquiry agent, and Charlotte helped him in his work. Daniel never allowed Charlotte anywhere near anyone he considered truly dangerous, but he did discuss the cases with her and sought her help not only in clerical matters but in situations where a woman’s unobtrusive presence would work better than a man’s heavy tread. Charlotte had a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue and was a whiz at making connections her father sometimes missed.

Lily reached for the St. Christopher around her neck and stroked the cool medal with her fingers. The St. Christopher had been a gift from Charlotte. She said he was the patron saint of travelers and she hoped he’d help Lily find her way. At the moment, it seemed that Lily’s only imminent destination was Avery’s bed, and she wasn’t at all sure how she felt about that.

Chapter 10

Lily still wasn’t sure how she felt by the time she came down to breakfast the following morning. Her heart was humming with excitement at the thought of receiving a proposal, but her mind was still on the fence, going over various reservations and objections. She supposed it was normal to have doubts. Marriage changed everything, especially for a girl of her station who’d known nothing but comfort, safety, and the unconditional love of her parents. Once she married, she’d have to answer to Avery and take on the responsibilities of a wife and mother. She’d be a fully-fledged adult, a grown woman rather than the cherished child she was as long as she lived under her parents’ roof.

Eager to see her father before he left for the day, Lily didn’t bother to wait for Jane to help her dress or arrange her hair. Instead, she put on a simple morning gown, brushed her hair, and tied it back with a velvet ribbon before heading downstairs.

Jason smiled warmly when she entered the dining room. “Good morning,” he said cheerfully.

“Good morning, Daddy. Busy day ahead?”

“Always. I have a meeting with Commissioner Ransome this morning. Always a joy. And tons of paperwork to get through.” Jason rolled his eyes, and Lily laughed. “And what are your plans for the day?”

Lily shrugged. “I think Mama and I have an appointment with the modiste.”

Jason grinned. “You’ll need a new gown for your birthday. Your mother would like to throw a party. It’s not every day your firstborn turns twenty-one. Quite a milestone.”

“Really?” Lily asked, pretending she hadn’t overheard the conversation last night. “She didn’t say anything to me.”

“I think she wanted to speak to me first,” Jason admitted. “And I’m wholeheartedly in favor.” Lily made a face, which seemed to surprise her father. “Don’t you want a party, darlin’?”

“Not really,” she admitted.

Lily hadn’t realized it until she’d spoken the words, but something inside her seemed to recoil at the idea of being the center of attention. She wasn’t someone who enjoyed parties, especially when most of the guests were her parents’ friends. She preferred meaningful conversations with people she found interesting to flitting from one group to another and answering endless questions about matters she’d rather keep private. In fact, she would be perfectly happy with a quiet family dinner that included the Hazes, and Avery. She’d even gladly wait for Adam to come home for the Easter holidays so he could be included.

“But we have so much to celebrate,” Jason said, watching her intently.

“It’s just a birthday,” Lily said with an indifferent shrug.

“What if it’s more than just a birthday?”

“What more could there be?” Lily thought her father was referring to Avery’s impending proposal and felt a spark of irritation. Was it a foregone conclusion that she would say yes? Was she not to be given room to consider what could be the most important decision of her life?

“There could be a surprise guest,” Jason replied smugly.

“Who? Adam? My baby brother gracing us with his presence is hardly reason enough to have a party.” She knew she sounded petulant, but for some reason she just couldn’t share her father’s obvious excitement.

“Guess again.”

“Oh, come on, Dad. I don’t know. Grandfather Talbot?”

Her pedantic grandfather was the last person Lily wanted to see, and she knew right away that Jason couldn’t be referring to him. Even after more than twenty years of marriage, the Reverend Talbot could barely tolerate his son-in-law and never missed an opportunity to remind his daughter that despite his noble rank, her husband was coarse and common. Whereas before Jason had been simply eccentric, he’d crossed the line into becoming an embarrassment when he joined Scotland Yard full time.

Jason’s eyebrows lifted comically. “That would hardly be a welcome surprise. Don’t tell your mother I said that,” he added hastily.

“I think she knows, Dad.”

“She does,” Jason agreed. “Still, I don’t want to hurt her. Despite everything, she loves the man and craves his approval.”

“So who is coming?” Lily exclaimed. She couldn’t think of anyone whose appearance would make for a wonderful surprise.

Jason’s smile was so joyful, it tugged at Lily’s heart. “Micah.” That one word was imbued with all the love and pride her father felt, and for one brief moment, Lily was a little jealous of the boy her father loved so dearly.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, the brief fit of jealousy dissipating as quickly as it had flared. “Now that is something worth looking forward to. When’s he coming?”

“The steamship is due to arrive around March tenth. I didn’t tell you because I wanted it to be a birthday surprise.”

“So the party would be to welcome Micah home?” Lily asked.

“The party would be to celebrate all my children and their accomplishments,” Jason replied.

“Now that I can agree to,” Lily said.

She jumped up, planted a kiss on her father’s cheek, and hurried from the room.

Chapter 11

Gabe

Gabe pretended to be asleep when Quinn returned and slid into bed beside him. He knew exactly what she had been doing downstairs and was relieved to note that she seemed calm and at peace. Gratified, almost. He felt awful for outing her like that in front of people she had only just met. It had been underhanded and disloyal, but motivated by love, and the moment had seemed right, so he had gone with his gut feeling. He’d had to do something to jolt Quinn out of her apathy. The past few years had been brutal, and without the distraction of work, Quinn had been spiraling.

Gabe had often cursed Quinn’s psychic ability in the past, but he had also envied it. To experience history as it happened, to see through someone else’s eyes and be a part of events one only read about, truly was a gift for any historian. Gabe would trade places with Quinn in a heartbeat, but cavalier as that statement might be, he also understood the toll it took on someone as sensitive and compassionate as his wife. She became the people she inhabited and grieved for them when they inevitably perished, usually under the most horrific of circumstances. Gabe hoped that his hunch was right and this time the journey would help rather than harm.

Angry as she was with him, Quinn was excited about the St. Christopher and had slipped away as soon as she thought he was asleep. She wanted to know. Needed to know. And this story would not be something she had to share with anyone but Nicole, who’d simply use the facts to inform her narrative. Nicole and Kyle understood the importance of protecting the creative process and respecting their sources. They weren’t like Rhys Morgan, who, although a dear and devoted friend, hadn’t hesitated to push Quinn to the brink for the sake of showmanship. Rhys had never given up on the idea of more series of Echoes from the Past and would try to bulldoze Quinn into committing to more episodes, or even a holiday special, if he thought she might agree. Quinn was the public face of the program, but it was Rhys’s brainchild and he had personally produced every episode and had been involved with writing, casting, and even stage sets.

Gabe hoped Quinn wouldn’t tell him about Lily Redmond’s St. Christopher, but Quinn was close with Rhys’s wife, and their children spent time together, especially when they’d had to limit themselves to a trusted few during the pandemic. Only last week, Rhys had quipped that it was time for Quinn to get back to work if she hoped to avoid becoming another casualty of the pandemic. Gabe resented his interference at times, but he also secretly agreed with the man. That was why he’d thrown Quinn in at the deep end.

Looking at his now peacefully sleeping wife, Gabe offered up a silent heartfelt apology, followed by a fervent prayer that this new project would help Quinn to make peace, move forward, and regain the excitement she had felt at the start of each new project. A shaft of moonlight pierced the clouds and reflected off the silver medal that was innocently lying on Quinn’s beside table in its innocuous plastic bag. Gabe couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps St. Christopher would help his wife find her way.

Chapter 12

Nicole

I glanced anxiously at the kitchen clock. It was half past nine. Ava was fed, dressed, and ready to go. As was I. I had some ideas I wanted to explore but couldn’t get started until Edie arrived, especially since Kyle was already hard at work and I didn’t want to disturb him. I’d just wait.

I took Ava into the lounge and set her up with her favorite toy, the one that drove me to the outer limits of sanity because every button led to flashing lights, tinny circus music, and honking sounds. It was a gift from Emily. Someone who didn’t have children couldn’t possibly imagine how every musical eruption pierced one’s head like an arrow or how the tunes got stuck in one’s brain and played over and over, especially in chaotic dreams that were so often the result of a stressful day spent with an active toddler. Ava was in heaven, though, and I couldn’t deny her the pleasure of making fun things happen. She pushed the buttons with the sort of relish only a one-year-old could muster and laughed joyously. I, on the other hand, couldn’t begin to formulate a coherent thought.

“Have you heard from Edie?” I asked Kyle when Edie failed to appear by ten o’clock.

“No. Text her.”

“I have. No reply.”

“Maybe she’s stuck on the Tube and has no signal,” Kyle said. “She’ll be here.” He reached for Ava and took her from me. “Ava and I are going to play in the garden for a little while so you can get on with your work.”

“It’s all right,” I argued, but Kyle waved me off.

“Go on. I already got two chapters in this morning, so I’m ready for a break.”

“Okay. We can switch in an hour if Edie doesn’t show.”

“She will,” Kyle assured me, and scooped Ava up off the floor, discreetly shoving the annoying toy beneath the sofa with his foot.

I gave Ava and Kyle each a kiss and headed to my study, surprised to get a call from Quinn as soon as I got there.

“Good morning, Nicole,” Quinn said. “I wanted to thank you for a lovely evening yesterday.” She sounded a little breathless. “Gabe and I had a great time, and we’d love to have you over for dinner. Would the twenty-sixth work for you?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Absolutely. We’d love to.”

I was glad Quinn couldn’t see my satisfied grin. When you got to a certain age, making friends became more like dating, especially if you were a couple and not just looking for singles to party with. You had to play it cool, not appear too desperate, and hope that the other couple wanted to see you again and wouldn’t hide behind excuses of monumental busyness. It was a delicate dance that changed once someone who had previously been part of a couple became single again or vice versa.

I hadn’t kept in touch with Len Farrell’s ex-wife, Sheila, but Kyle kept me up to date and had informed me a few months ago that Sheila was in a relationship with Rick Stewart, the ghost writer she’d hired to finish Len’s novel posthumously. They must have spent a lot of time together while Rick was working on the project, and I had to admit that he’d done a superb job. It was impossible to tell where Len’s prose ended and Rick’s began. I was happy for Sheila, knowing what Len had put her through before his untimely death a year ago, but I also had no desire to socialize with Len’s widow and her new partner. Kyle understood my reservations and made excuse after excuse when Sheila tried to invite us round. When it came to Quinn and Gabe Russell, I had hoped we wouldn’t be on the receiving end of a ghosting and was glad that they seemed to like us as well.

“Have you found any references to Micah or Michael in your research?” Quinn asked.

“Have you started, then?” I asked, inwardly tingling with anticipation. Quinn certainly hadn’t wasted any time, and I could hardly wait to hear what she’d discovered.

“I have,” Quinn said with an embarrassed chuckle. “I couldn’t stay away. That’s usually the problem. Once I get my hands on an object, I become completely obsessed and can’t seem to regulate myself.”

“I’m the same way once I get an idea for a story. Some call it being dedicated.”

“Others refer to it by a less flattering name,” Quinn joked. “So, was there a Micah in the family tree?”

“No. Who was he?”

“Jason Redmond referred to him as one of his children.”

“Really? Lily had only one brother as far as I could see. Adam. He was a few years younger. I saw no mention of Michael Redmond.”

“Might he have been Jason’s illegitimate child?” Quinn mused. “Perhaps a son he’d fathered while still living in America?”

“I suppose,” I replied. “Impossible to trace if the boy went by his mother’s surname. But Jason acknowledged him as his own?”

“Yes, he did,” Quinn confirmed.

“Perhaps Micah was a distant relation that Jason had taken in and treated like a son. To introduce an illegitimate offspring to his family, especially to a daughter, who wasn’t meant to know such sordid things about her father, wasn’t the done thing in Victorian times. Did Lily seem to love this brother?”

 “She was excited to see him again. Micah was coming for a visit in March of 1888. Mind looking him up?” Quinn asked. “I would do it myself, but I had to do the school run this morning, and now I have to drop by the Institute. Gabe forgot some files and needs them for a meeting this afternoon.”

“I’ll check the ancestry sites and see what I can find,” I promised. “Thank you for the lead.”

“Don’t mention it. And please let me know what you discover.”

Once Quinn rang off, I settled at my desk and pulled up the site I usually had the most success with. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to work with. There were dozens of hits for Michael Redmond for the time frame I was working with, but none of them seemed to have any connection to Jason Redmond, whose family tree was depressingly sparse. Jason was an only child, as was his father before him. Jason’s mother, Lillian, had a younger sister, but although she had married, she’d left no issue. Katherine Redmond née Talbot had an older sister who had died in her early twenties. Anne Talbot had never married or borne any children, so Micah could not have been a nephew on Katherine’s side. As far as I could make out, Lily and Adam Redmond had no cousins, aunts, or uncles. So who was this Micah that Jason had referred to as his son? It didn’t make sense.

Frustrated, I went outside to join Kyle and Ava. Ava was toddling around in circles, while Kyle typed something on his phone. He finished and smiled at me, but I could see the tension around his eyes and the rigid set of his shoulders.

“Is something wrong?”

“I texted Sean, and he’s just replied. He said he spoke to Edie just before she left the house this morning. There are no delays reported on either the Tube or the buses. She should have been here more than an hour ago.”

“Might she have walked?”

That was a pointless question since it was too far to walk, and Edie wasn’t a cyclist. Her preferred mode of transportation was the Tube.

“She has to still be underground,” Kyle reasoned.

“How do you know?”

“Sean tried Find My Phone and wasn’t able to locate her. Wherever she is, there’s no signal.”

“Are you worried?” I asked.

Kyle shrugged. “Edie is an adult, and she’s only an hour late. Perhaps she ran into someone, or maybe her phone is switched off. I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation and she’ll get here soon. It’s just that my imagination tends to run away with me.”

“Occupational hazard,” I said. “I’m sure she’ll breeze in any minute and give us some flimsy excuse for her lateness.”

“Were you able to find anything more about the Redmonds?”

I told him about the call from Quinn and my lack of success at tracking down anyone named Michael in connection to the Redmond family.

“If Micah was Lily’s brother, then Lord Redmond would have included him in his will,” Kyle said.

“Would it be available online, do you think?”

“Wills dated after 1858 are available through the HM Courts and Tribunals Service. You might have to pay a fee to request a copy, but I think that’s your best bet.”

“Why do you even know that?” I teased.

“Because I researched it for one of my previous novels. A sizable inheritance is always worth killing for.” Kyle was joking, but the humor didn’t reflect in his gaze.

“You’re really worried about Edie, aren’t you?” I asked.

“I know I’m being silly, but there’s just something so vulnerable about her, isn’t there? She’s so kind and trusting.”

I laid a gentle hand on Kyle’s arm. “Kyle, you have told me often enough not to assume the worst unless I have reason to think something has happened. All we know for the moment is that Edie is late. She’s a millennial. They have no sense of time.” The joke fell flat.

“I’m going to take Ava to the playground,” Kyle said. “I need to get out of the house for a bit. Just text me if Edie turns up.”

“Will do,” I promised, but worry was beginning to niggle at me as well. I didn’t know Edie that well, but even I could tell this was out of character.

Needing a distraction, I returned to my research. HMCTS did have a copy of Jason Redmond’s will on file, and I was able to view it online without paying a fee. The will was fairly straightforward. Jason Redmond had left the majority of his estate to his two children, Lily and Adam. The rest was divided between faithful family retainers, several charities, and two teaching hospitals. One bequest gave me pause. A tidy sum had been bequeathed to Liam O’Connell of Boston, Massachusetts. Could there be a connection between Liam and Micah? The surname was different, so perhaps Liam and Micah had nothing to do with each other at all.

What I did find interesting was the timing. The will was dated July 16, 1888. Three months after Lily’s disappearance. Jason Redmond must have believed that his daughter was still alive in order to name her as a beneficiary. Or perhaps it was just a father’s hope that if she did turn up, she would be entitled to her inheritance. As far as I knew, the house we now owned had gone to Adam Redmond, so it was impossible to ascertain whether Lily had ever returned after she left it that final time in April of 1888.

I glanced at the clock on my computer. It was nearly half past eleven, and as far as I knew, there was still no word from Edie. If she had met Kyle at the playground, or if he had heard from either Edie or Sean, he would have let me know. I was tempted to text Kyle but decided not to since he and Ava would be back soon. I returned to the ancestry site and searched for Liam O’Connell. There were several hundred matches. It would take time and patience to find the right one, and I had neither just then. Liam O’Connell would have to wait.

Chapter 13

There was still no word from Edie by the time Kyle returned from the playground. I changed and fed Ava, then put her down for her afternoon nap while Kyle disappeared into his office. I brought him a sandwich and left him to get on with his work while I took the opportunity to run some errands. We were running low on nappies, and I needed to get something for dinner and collect the dry cleaning.

When I got back, Kyle was on the phone, talking urgently and quietly. I waited until he finished, then asked the question that had been on my mind since Edie had first failed to show up.

“Has something happened to Edie?”

“No one has heard from her since this morning. Sean is really worried.”

“What now?” I asked. “It’s too soon to report Edie as missing. It hasn’t been twenty-four hours.”

Kyle sighed heavily. “It’s actually a misconception that a person has to be missing for a certain amount of time before a report can be filed. Those first few hours can be crucial, especially when dealing with a missing child, but since Edie is an adult and we have no reason to suspect foul play, it makes sense to wait a little longer before making it official, in case she turns up.”

“But surely something can be done unofficially,” I said.

“Sean is going to start making inquiries. I offered to go with him.”

“That was good of you.”

Kyle nodded. “Sean’s my dad, and Edie is my sister. It’s the least I can do. I’ll let you know if we find anything out.”

“Please do.”

If I had been worried before, now I was truly frightened. It had been more than eight hours since anyone had heard from Edie. Eight hours might not seem like much, but when dealing with a young woman whose mobile was an extension of her hand and who was in touch with everyone on a regular basis, even if that contact was limited to a one-line text, a silly meme, or a photo on Instagram, it was a lifetime. Edie was out there somewhere, alone, and possibly very afraid. Sean and Carla were clearly terrified, and Sean had to be chafing at his helplessness. I had no reason to believe that Kyle would be putting himself in danger, but sometimes, blundering in unprepared could do more harm than good. At least he’d be with Sean, who had more than thirty years of policing under his belt.

I knew that the best thing I could do was to lose myself in work, but I simply couldn’t focus, so after I got Ava down for the night, I made myself a sandwich, found a packet of crisps, and settled in front of the TV. I couldn’t commit to an emotional drama or a police procedural in my present state of mind, so I settled on a mystery set in Victorian London, which, of course, made me think of Lily. As the film began, I couldn’t help but wonder if Quinn would be spending some time with the St. Christopher tonight. I had a feeling that just like me, she was already hooked on Lily’s story.

Chapter 14

Lily

February 1888

“Who’s Micah?” Jane asked as she applied hot tongs to Lily’s hair. “I haven’t heard that name before.”

Jane had only been with them for two months, which explained why she’d never heard of Micah. He wasn’t a frequent topic of conversation these days. The previous lady’s maid, Althea, who’d been with the family for several years, had recently left, and Lily couldn’t be happier. She liked Jane, who was young, capable, and at times a little impertinent—unlike Althea, whose lips had always been pursed as if she were trying to conceal her disapproval, especially when Lily went down to the kitchen for a bit of a chat with Mrs. Dodson or when Lily referred to Althea by her Christian name. It wasn’t the done thing to call the maids by their names, but the Redmond household was a bit unorthodox, and Lily had grown up treating the servants like family.

Althea had never fit in with the rest of the staff, who were just as unconventional as their masters, although things had changed somewhat in recent years. Mrs. Dodson was no longer the same motherly, good-humored woman she had been before her husband, who’d been the Redmond butler for decades, had passed three years ago. These days, there was no butler, the only male servants being Roger Henley, who was Mrs. Dodson’s nephew and Jason’s valet, and Joe Marin, the coachman.

Henley, like Joe, had been with the Redmonds since before Lily was born, and an unsavory character he had been, too, according to Fanny, who was a parlormaid at Redmond Hall when Henley first came to work for the family. Fanny took him in hand, married him, and set him on the path to redemption. Now Henley was as respectable as they came, and quite pompous with it too, lording it over his female kin belowstairs. His aunt, wife, and teenage daughter indulged him, but wholeheartedly encouraged him to spend time with Joe to buy themselves a bit of peace from his carping. Jane, with her sunny disposition and sense of humor, fit right in both upstairs and downstairs, quite a feat in Lily’s eyes.

“Miss?” Jane prompted when Lily didn’t answer right away.

“Sorry. I was woolgathering,” Lily admitted. “Micah is my father’s ward, or was his ward when he was a child. Micah is a grown man now.”

“So not a blood relation?” Jane asked.

“No.”

“Hmm,” Jane said, her reflected expression thoughtful. “Is he Jewish, then, this Micah?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“Micah was one of the prophets in the Hebrew Bible,” Jane replied. “My father read to us from the Old Testament when we were children. He liked the stories.”

“No, Micah is Irish,” Lily replied, watching Jane’s face for any sign of distaste. Jane wisely kept her expression neutral. “His full name is Michael.”

“How did he come to be his lordship’s ward, then?” Jane asked.

 “Father was a captain in the Union Army during the American Civil War. You’ve heard of their Civil War, right, Jane? North versus South?” she asked. Jane nodded, so Lily continued. “He was taken prisoner and spent nearly a year at a Confederate prison camp in Georgia. Father never speaks of it. It was a terrible time in his life, all the more so because his parents died in a railway wreck while he was imprisoned, and his fiancée married his best friend. I’m glad she did, and so is Mother obviously, or they would have never met and fallen in love, but, at the time, I imagine Father was quite heartbroken.”

“Goodness me!” Jane exclaimed. “Sounds like something out of a novel.”

“It’s a lot less entertaining when one has to live through it, I assure you,” Lily said sharply. “Anyway, Father adopted Micah after Micah’s father and brother died of starvation in the prison camp and he was left on his own. Micah was eleven at the time,” she added. “Father didn’t think they’d live long enough to see the end of the war, but miraculously, they survived, and Father took Micah back to New York, and then they both came to England.”

“And what was a little boy doing in prison?” Jane asked as she expertly wielded the tongs.

“Micah was a drummer boy for Father’s regiment. Father said he was very brave.”

Jane nodded in understanding and moved on to the next section of hair. “So, where’s he been, this Micah?”

Lily sighed. “Micah is a surgeon. He traveled to Boston after he finished his studies, to visit family, and wound up staying.”

Jane looked confused. “So he has family, does he?”

“Micah had an older sister, Mary, but Father couldn’t locate her after the war, so Micah remained with him. Mary’s son, Liam, lives in Boston.”

“Why’s he coming back now?” Jane asked.

“To see us all. It’s been eight years since he was last in London. I was just twelve.”

“Well, that’ll be a nice birthday present for you, then, Miss Lily,” Jane said soothingly. “Always a joy to see old friends.”

“Micah was more than a friend, Jane. He was not only my older brother but my most trusted confidant when I was a child, aside from Charlotte, of course,” Lily clarified.

“I reckon your relationship will have changed. Not much left in common now that he’s returned to his roots.”

Lily bit back her annoyance. Jane made a valid point. Micah was no longer the adolescent who’d doted on the funny little girl who had followed him around and told him her childish secrets. He was thirty-two, and his life was an ocean away. He probably had a sweetheart and friends who were as far removed from the Redmonds’ London set as it was possible to get. He might find her insipid and uninteresting and think her life sheltered and without purpose. The realization hurt, so Lily pushed it away and fixed her gaze on Jane’s reflection in the mirror.

“Micah will always be my brother,” Lily stated defiantly. “Some things never change.”

Jane didn’t reply, concentrating instead on finishing her task.

Chapter 15

Lily watched from the drawing room window as Avery hurried down the street, his collar turned up against the wind and his hand planted atop his bowler to keep it from blowing off. A less thrifty man might have taken a hansom, but Avery wasn’t one to waste money. He rode the Underground or an omnibus whenever possible and walked the rest of the time. Lily supposed that his practicality was to be applauded, as was his desire to remain physically fit. Many a man ran to fat in middle age, which led to all sorts of ailments. Jason was forever advocating mindful eating and regular exercise for all members of the household. The Redmonds and their staff had to be the healthiest bunch around, Lily thought with a chuckle.

The mirth died away when she realized she was already trying to envision Avery as he would be years, or even decades, from now in order to gauge how she felt about spending her life with him. Had Avery done the same? Had he covertly studied Katherine and wondered if Lily would resemble her mother in middle age? Most likely. She supposed it was normal to try the future on for size, but it was also quite sobering to imagine that when she grew old, Avery would be the one at her side. And their children. The thought of children made Lily smile. She loved children and thought she would be a kind and loving mother. Did Avery like children? She’d have to ask him, since the subject had never come up in conversation.

The peal of the doorbell was followed by muffled conversation, probably about the weather, as Fanny invited Avery to come inside and took his coat and hat. Once Avery was comfortably settled in the drawing room, Fanny would bring tea and the lemon drizzle cake Mrs. Dodson had made only that morning. It was Avery’s favorite, and he always apologized for having a second slice. Lily wasn’t a fan of lemon drizzle. She preferred the apple tart that Mrs. Dodson made specially for her father. He said it reminded him of the apple pie his mother used to serve at American holidays. Lily wished she had met the grandmother she was named for, and that she had seen at least once the wondrous place where her father had grown up. She’d begged him for stories of New York when she was little and had savored the descriptions of Newport, Rhode Island, where her father had spent several summers before the Civil War. She had suggested a trip to America when she turned sixteen, but Jason had seemed reluctant, possibly because ocean travel was dangerous, and he knew of several people who’d drowned when their ship sank in the Atlantic.

“My dear Lily,” Avery exclaimed as he finally walked through the door. “I do hope I am not keeping you from anything important.”

Avery always said that, probably because he still couldn’t believe that his boss’s daughter would spare him the time of day.

“Nothing I wouldn’t set aside to spend an hour with you, Avery,” Lily said with a smile.

Avery kissed her cheek and smiled into her eyes. “You look lovely.”

“And you look windblown.” Avery’s dark blond hair could use a trim, and his cheeks were ruddy with cold. But no matter how frigid it was outside, his brown eyes always glowed with warmth when he looked at Lily.

“It’s blowing a gale out there,” Avery said as he took his customary seat. Lily saw his gaze slide toward the door and knew he was longing for a cup of tea.

“I’ve asked Fanny to bring us tea.”

“Excellent,” Avery said, rubbing his hands. “I haven’t had time to eat, and I’m famished. Has Mrs. Dodson been baking?”

“She knew you’d be coming,” Lily said. That was answer enough. Everyone treated Avery as if he were already a part of the family, even the servants. “Why didn’t you have time to eat?”

Avery wasn’t the sort to miss meals. His landlady included breakfast and supper in his rent, and he usually picked up something during the day. Avery was partial to steak and ale pies and hot eels, but he wasn’t fussy. Sheep’s trotters and bloaters bought from street vendors were a staple of his diet, along with muffins and mugs of milky tea when working a case.

“I’ve been working a double homicide in the East End,” Avery said.

“Do tell.”

“I don’t think your father would approve.”

“Oh, come now. Father doesn’t have to know, and I can offer you a fresh perspective.”

“I really shouldn’t,” Avery protested. “If it gets out that I discuss my cases with you—”

“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t,” Lily teased.

“Well, maybe just this once.”

Avery always said that before he inevitably spilled all the juicy details. It was a game they played, where Avery tried to protect her feminine sensibilities and Lily tried to undermine his resolve by plying him with tea and cake and leading questions. She didn’t see anything wrong with discussing gruesome cases. Her parents did it all the time, sometimes at the breakfast table and in front of the children.

Giving her a conspiratorial smile, Avery said, “A young woman was shot in the heart inside a confessional at St. Mary Catholic Church in Poplar.”

“She must have been quite the sinner,” Lily replied. “Did you ask the priest what it was she had confessed?”

Avery shot her a look that bordered on condescending. “A priest cannot break the sanctity of the confession. But I couldn’t ask him anyway because the killer shot the priest next.”

“Where?” Lily asked.

“In the confessional.”

“No, what part of the body?” Lily clarified.

“Also in the heart. They both died instantly.”

“Good God. Have you arrested anyone?”

Avery grinned but didn’t immediately reply, allowing Lily a moment to speculate.

“The woman was having an affair,” she posited, “so her husband, who’s not of the Catholic faith and had no qualms about killing a priest, decided to murder both his unfaithful wife and the unlucky priest who now knew of his greatest humiliation. The woman’s lover was not long for this world as soon as the cuckolded husband had decided to take his revenge. I suspect you’ll find his body next, probably floating in the river with a bullet between the eyes.”

Avery sighed dramatically. “It is a pity that Scotland Yard does not condone female detectives. You’d put us all to shame.”

“Am I right?” Lily exclaimed, clapping her hands excitedly.

“Not even close, but it’s a fine theory, one that could have very easily fit the facts had the woman been married. She was only sixteen.”

“Oh,” Lily said. She was saved from further embarrassment by Fanny, who entered bearing the tea tray.

Once Fanny departed and Lily poured the tea and served the cake, she immediately returned to the case. “So, what is your theory, Inspector? Surely you must have one.”

“I do, and I arrested the culprit this morning. The killer tried to get away, and we gave chase, which is why I had no time to eat.”

“So, what happened?” Lily asked, leaning forward in her eagerness to discover the truth.

“The victim was with child. Her mother, who is Catholic, killed both her daughter and the priest because they had been having an affair and the child was his. We initially thought that she was driven to murder because she couldn’t bear the shame of her daughter’s disgrace, but it came out during questioning that the priest had professed his love to the mother and had seduced her first, then broke things off to pursue her daughter. The betrayal of the two people she loved most was more than she could forgive. When we caught up with her, she was running toward the river. She was going to throw herself off the bridge after she had disposed of the gun.”

“Suicide is a mortal sin, isn’t it?” Lily asked.

“So is murder, so she is doomed either way. But she won’t have to wait long to meet her Maker. She is sure to hang. And soon.”

“I wager that lascivious priest had other affairs before these two,” Lily mused.

“There are many corrupt clergymen, in any faith. If found out, I expect he would have been excommunicated, or maybe sent to some out-of-the-way parish as punishment. I hear Australia is short of clergy.”

“That’s a very sad story. Surely if she loved her daughter, she could have found a way to forgive her.”

“Most stories are sad,” Avery agreed. “And there’s nothing more fragile than human hubris. To be discarded in favor of one’s younger, prettier daughter has to sting.”

“What’s next for you, now that you’ve made an arrest?”

“An armed robbery at a jewelry shop. I know exactly who carried it out. The problem is finding proof.”

Avery finished his cake, took a final sip of tea, and assumed the expression of a man who had something important to say. He cleared his throat, and Lily set down her own cup. It seemed he’d finally got around to what he’d really come to ask. Lily found that her hands were shaking slightly, so she clasped them in her lap and fixed her gaze on Avery.

“Lily, I…eh…took the liberty of speaking to your father,” Avery began.

“I would have thought you speak to my father every day,” Lily teased, suddenly wishing she could forestall Avery’s question.

“I do, but not about his daughter.”

“Oh, dear. What would induce you to speak to my father about me in the hallowed halls of Scotland Yard?”

“Actually, it wasn’t at Scotland Yard. We went for a drink.”

“It’s serious, is it?”

“It is,” Avery replied. “The only thing more serious than murder is marriage.”

“If anyone else combined those two words in the same sentence, I would take away his lemon drizzle and demand that he leave immediately.”

Avery grinned. “Stop teasing me, you little vixen. You know what I want to ask, and if I don’t do it now, I will lose my nerve.”

“Well, get on with it then, Inspector.”

Avery stood, then got down on one knee and took Lily’s trembling hand in his. “Will you?” was all he said.

“Will I what? Pour you another cup of tea? Accompany you to Leicester Square so you can look at those deplorable mummies you like so much? Take a stroll on the embankment once the gale blows itself out?”

“Oh, Lily. Don’t toy with me. I adore you. Surely you know that. I’ve loved you since the moment I met you, even though a man with any sense would have run the other way. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? Please?” he added playfully.

“Well, since you put it that way, I feel as though I have no alternative but to agree.”

“Is that a yes?”

“What else does it sound like?”

“It sounds like we are engaged,” Avery replied. He pulled a ring from his pocket and slid it onto Lily’s finger.

Avery was not a wealthy man, nor was he titled, a circumstance he thankfully hadn’t alluded to in his proposal, and the ring reflected his status. It was nothing like the massive rings some of Lily’s friends wore on their fingers. The ring was delicate, an oval emerald surrounded by tiny diamonds mounted on a thin, elegant gold band.

“I hope you like it,” Avery said shyly.

“It’s perfect,” Lily said, and meant it. “I love it. And I love you too,” she choked out.

That last bit was difficult to say because she still wasn’t sure if it was true. She cared for Avery and enjoyed their easy banter, but when it came to love, Avery was her only point of reference.

“I don’t think your mother will approve,” Avery said once he’d stood and leaned down to kiss Lily tenderly to seal the deal.

“My mother is a vicar’s daughter, Avery. She’s hardly in a position to deride your lack of fortune and title. I know that my father will wholeheartedly support our union.”

“He does. I wouldn’t have dared ask if I wasn’t certain he’d welcome me into the family.”

“Coward,” Lily teased.

She stood, and Avery pulled her close, his lips coming down on hers with ill-concealed intent. They had kissed before, several times, but this was different. More real somehow. A prelude of things to come. Now physical affection was at Lily’s discretion, but once they were married, it would be her wifely duty. She didn’t like the sound of that one bit. Just like marriage and murder, duty and desire should not be part of the same sentence.

“We can announce our engagement at your birthday party, if you have no objection,” Avery said. “I would like us to get married as soon as possible.”

“Why? Is time of the essence?” Lily joked, giving him the sort of meaningful look she’d seen her mother bestow on their scullery maid, Dilys, a few years back. When Lily had asked why Dilys had suddenly left, all her mother had said was that Dilys had put the cart before the horse. Dilys was now married to a coachman from a house down the street and had a little boy.

Avery looked shocked, and Lily giggled.

“I just don’t see any reason to wait,” Avery replied, having recovered admirably. “I want our life together to begin as soon as possible.”

Lily nodded. “All right, then. We’ll make an announcement at the party. I’ll be sure to invite your mother and sisters, since they are soon to be my family. Oh, and my brother is coming.”

“From Eaton?” Avery asked.

“No, my older brother. Micah. He’s coming to visit from America.”

Avery nodded. “Splendid. I look forward to meeting him.”

He looked so relieved that Lily felt a wave of tenderness toward him. He must have been really nervous, even though he’d managed to hide it well.

“We’ll be happy, won’t we, Avery?” she asked, suddenly needing reassurance herself.

“Blissfully,” Avery replied, and smiled confidently.

Chapter 16

Kyle

“So, what’s the plan?” Kyle asked as soon as he slid into the passenger seat of Sean’s white BMW.

Today, Sean looked all of his sixty-two years, the strain around his eyes and mouth clearly visible on his tired face. He didn’t say so aloud, but Kyle was observant enough to realize that Edie was the child he worried about most, his youngest and most vulnerable. Both Kyle and Emily were well established in their lives and had inherited their father’s confidence and pragmatic nature. Edie resembled her mother, in both looks and personality. At fifty-seven, Carla had retained something of the girl she must have been, her effervescent personality and childlike enthusiasm untainted by either the passage of time or the nearly three decades she’d been married to a policeman. Edie had that same quality and an inborn ability to find the best in people, and it was that faith that worried Sean the most.

“First, we’ll speak to Leyla Suleiman,” Sean said.

“Who’s she?”

“She’s Edie’s new flatmate.”

“What happened to Naya?”

“Naya moved in with her boyfriend.”

“How long ago was this?” Kyle asked. He felt guilty for not knowing. Edie and Naya were close friends. Edie must have mentioned that Naya had gone, but perhaps he hadn’t been listening.

“About two months ago,” Sean replied warily. “Leyla’s a friend of a friend apparently, which means Edie agreed to let her move in, no questions asked.”

“Have you met this Leyla?” Kyle asked.

“No, but I did run a background check. English mother. Syrian father. Born in London. Works as a nurse for an oncologist in Harley Street. She’s squeaky clean. Not so much as a parking violation.”

“Surely that’s a good thing,” Kyle said. Sean seemed annoyed that he hadn’t been able to find anything questionable in Leyla’s past.

“It is, but I got the impression they don’t really get on.”

“Did you ask Edie about it?”

“I did, but Edie shrugged it off. Said they’re just very different people.”

“Sometimes opposites attract.”

“Well, not in this case. Carla and I did suggest that Edie move back home. We have plenty of room, and she could concentrate on her singing career without having to work all these dead-end jobs, but she refused. Said no girl wants her policeman dad to vet her partners and question her friends.”

Kyle couldn’t help but chuckle because he could see Sean doing just that.

Sean parked up, and they got out of the car. Edie and Leyla’s flat occupied the top floor of a white-stuccoed terraced house in West Cromwell Road. Two black-painted doors were overshadowed by a tired-looking portico, and the window frames and doorjamb could have used a fresh coat of paint. Colorful curtains were drawn across the street-facing windows of the flat.

“Shabby chic,” Sean said. “That’s what Edie calls it. In my day, we called it seedy.”

“Reminds me of my student digs,” Kyle said.

They rang the bell, and Leyla buzzed them in. They found her waiting in the open door of the flat when they walked up the stairs. Leyla wordlessly stepped aside and let them into the front room, which was welcoming in a Bohemian sort of way. There were colorful pillows and throws, mosaic lamps, and a woven rug to cover the worn-looking floor. Kyle assumed that Sean must have called ahead because Leyla didn’t seem surprised to see them. After locking the door, she plopped onto a braided pouf and gestured toward the lumpy sofa. Although not quite defensive, she certainly wasn’t welcoming.

“Leyla, this is Kyle Walsh, Edie’s brother,” Sean explained.

“I know who you are. I read a couple of your books.” Leyla smirked. “Edie is always talking about you and your wife. I think she is a bit awestruck.”

This didn’t seem to require a reply, so Kyle discreetly studied Leyla instead. She had to be around twenty-five, same as Edie, but there was a wariness about her that Kyle thought might be the flipside of fear. Leyla’s hair was as black as a raven’s wing, and her almond-shaped eyes were a very warm brown, a nice contrast to her pale brown skin. She was of average height and very thin, the pale green scrubs she wore hanging off her as if they were a few sizes too large. Leyla saw Kyle looking, reached for a throw pillow, and hugged it to her middle. Kyle averted his gaze, acutely aware that he’d made Leyla uncomfortable and wishing he’d been more tactful.

“Leyla, we won’t take up too much of your time,” Sean said. “I just need to ask you a few questions.”

“Are you here as Edie’s dad or as a policeman?” Leyla asked.

“I’m here as a worried father,” Sean replied. “When was the last time you saw Edie?”

“I already told you on the phone,” Leyla replied, her tone unnecessarily defensive. “I saw her this morning, just before she left.”

“Was she worried or upset about anything?” Sean asked.

Leyla shrugged. “She had a row with Kieran, but she didn’t tell me about it. It’s just that I heard raised voices last night.”

“Was Kieran here?” Kyle asked.

“Yeah. He was here for a bit, but then he left in a huff.”

“Does he usually spend the night?” Kyle asked, knowing Sean would prefer not to ask the question.

“Sometimes. He’s unpredictable. That’s what Edie said,” Leyla clarified.

“And did you hear anything of what was said?” Sean asked. “The walls in these places are paper-thin.”

“I had my earbuds in for most of it, but I did hear Edie tell Kieran that she was going to see Darryl.”

“And who’s Darryl?” Sean asked, his ears instantly pricking upon hearing a new name.

Leyla shrugged. “I have no idea. I try not to involve myself in other people’s relationships. My own are complicated enough.”

“Do you have a partner as well?”

Leyla shook her head. “Currently single.”

“Is there anyone Edie was having trouble with?” Sean asked.

“Not that I know of. Edie gets on with everyone. She’s too nice not to.”

That statement would have been flattering had it not been tinged with obvious bitterness. Kyle couldn’t help but wonder if the prickly Leyla was a bit jealous of her flatmate.

“Was Edie on any dating apps?” Kyle asked.

Sean looked at him in surprise, as if it hadn’t occurred to him that Edie might be seeing anyone besides Kieran. Kyle fervently hoped that Edie wasn’t on Tinder or any other hook-up apps because that would widen the pool of possible partners considerably, and they would have no idea who these people were unless Edie’s phone logs were obtained by the police. Kyle hoped it wouldn’t come to that and Edie would return safe and sound before further action needed to be undertaken.

Leyla shook her head. “Not that I know of. Edie never mentioned it.”

“Is there anything at all you can tell us?” Sean pleaded.

Leyla seemed to let her guard down for the first time, and her expression softened. “I know you’re worried, Mr. Cadogan, and I wish I could tell you something that would help you to find Edie, but I really don’t know anything. We live together, but we’re not really mates, you know? We have our own lives and our own friends. This is just a convenient arrangement.”

Leyla’s worried expression didn’t quite match her words, though. There was something she was wrestling with, something she knew that she didn’t think she should share.

“Leyla, anything you tell us will be kept in the strictest confidence. Edie will never know you helped us,” Sean promised.

Leyla exhaled sharply, her shoulders sagging with the weight of whatever it was she was carrying.

“Edie is pregnant,” she said, and instantly added, “She didn’t tell me. I am not meant to know.”

“So how do you know?” Sean asked. He was clearly shocked but tried to hide it behind a matter-of-fact attitude.

“I’m a nurse, Mr. Cadogan. I recognized the symptoms. And I did see the test in the bin two days ago.”

“Is it Kieran’s?” Sean asked.

Leyla shrugged.

“Is that what Edie and Kieran argued about last night?” Sean pressed.

“I honestly don’t know. Like I said, I had my earbuds in.”

“And Edie never alluded to the pregnancy? Maybe she was hoping you’d ask.”

Leyla was beginning to look exasperated. “Unless Edie wished to confide in me, I had no business sticking my oar in. My only concern was our living arrangement. If Edie decided to move in with Kieran or go back home or whatever, I’d be left on my own, and I can’t afford the rent.”

“I’m sure Edie would give you plenty of time to find a new flatmate if that were the case,” Sean said.

“It’s not that easy,” Leyla said under her breath. “The rents are astronomical, and I can’t ask my parents for help. My dad doesn’t like me living on my own. He was brought up in a culture where the women remain at home, under the watchful eye of their fathers, until they marry.”

Sean didn’t comment, but his expression said that he didn’t think that was such a bad idea.

“Look, I’ll ring you if I hear anything or if Edie turns up. I promise,” Leyla said.

“Thank you,” Sean said, and pushed to his feet.

Leyla tossed aside the pillow and stood, clearly relieved that they were leaving. “You should kill her off,” Leyla said suddenly, the comment directed at Kyle.

“Pardon?”

“DI Kelly Shaw. You should kill her off and end the series.”

“Why?” Kyle asked. He’d had plenty of negative reviews, but none as brutal and unexpected as this one.

“A man shouldn’t write from a woman’s perspective because there are things he can never understand. Invent a new detective. A middle-aged white man who’s known nothing but acceptance and privilege,” Leyla said pointedly.

“I’ll be sure to consider that,” Kyle replied. “Thank you for your feedback, Leyla.”

Leyla laughed mirthlessly. “Bet you don’t hear that very often.”

“No, I don’t,” Kyle admitted.

Leyla looked like she wanted to add something more but seemed to change her mind. She shut the door behind them, and Kyle heard the lock slide into place.

“Prickly,” Kyle said once they were back outside.

“She’s afraid of men,” Sean replied.

Kyle didn’t need to ask how Sean knew that. He’d picked up on that as well. It was hard not to, given Leyla’s thorniness and tense body language.

Sean pulled out his mobile, nodded as if something had been confirmed, then unlocked the car and climbed in.

“Let’s go speak to Kieran.”

Chapter 17

They found Kieran Bowen at a trendy jazz club in Soho. He was backstage, which was a narrow, poorly lit space with poster-covered brick walls. Stacked tables and chairs occupied one end of the room, and there were several people milling about, presumably awaiting their turn on stage. They were all young, attractive, and casually dressed, some downright grungy. Kieran sat on a high three-legged stool, his fingers moving deftly over the strings of his guitar, his foot resting on a crossbar and moving in time to the music. A half-empty bottle of beer stood on a small table, within easy reach.

Kyle was hardly a jazz aficionado, but he thought Kieran was very good. A real pro. Kieran looked up in surprise when Sean and Kyle approached, his hand falling away from the strings, his shoulders stiffening with obvious tension when he recognized Sean. Kyle had seen a photo of Kieran when Edie and Kieran had gone Instagram official but had never met him in person. Kieran was in his late twenties, maybe thirty, a lanky, blue-eyed young man with thick blond hair that fell into his eyes and carefully cultivated stubble. He wore a Grateful Dead T-shirt, ripped jeans, and beat-up Doc Martens. His hands were pale and elegant, several fingers adorned with thick, artistic silver bands.

“Hello, Kieran,” Sean said.

“Mr. Cadogan.” Kieran’s gaze slid toward Kyle.

“Kyle Walsh,” Kyle said, and held out a hand.

Kieran’s handshake was firmer than Kyle had expected, his gaze unwavering when it met Kyle’s. He didn’t act like someone who was in the grip of strong emotion, but Kieran was a man who performed for a living. He’d know how to downplay any guilt or anxiety.

“Is something wrong?” Kieran asked once the introductions were over.

“No one has seen or heard from Edie since early this morning. I rang you,” Sean said accusingly. “Left a message.”

“Sorry. I was asleep,” Kieran said, and smiled ruefully.

It was an implausible excuse, and they all knew it, but Sean let the subject drop. “When was the last time you saw Edie?” he asked.

“I saw her last night.”

“And everything was okay between you, was it?” Sean asked conversationally.

“We had a bit of a row, actually,” Kieran admitted.

“About?”

Kieran shot Sean a look meant to convey that it was really none of his business, but Sean wasn’t about to back down.

“Just tell me, son.”

“Edie thought I was seeing someone behind her back,” Kieran said with obvious reluctance. “She really lost her rag.”

“And are you seeing someone else?”

“Not seeing, as such, but…” Kieran’s voice trailed off.

“You hook up with other people,” Kyle supplied, and Kieran gave a small nod.

“Occasionally.”

“Isn’t that the same as seeing other people?” Sean demanded.

Kieran drew his shoulders back and looked Sean squarely in the eye. “Look, Mr. Cadogan, I know things were a bit different in your day and people went steady, or whatever you called it back then, but nowadays it’s a bit more casual, if you know what I mean. Edie and I have a good time together, but we never said we were exclusive.”

“It would seem that she thought you were,” Sean said. Kieran didn’t reply. “Have you heard from her since last night?” Sean asked.

“She sent me a text around three a.m. Said she didn’t want to see me anymore.”

“Did you reply?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you say?” Sean pressed.

“I sent her an emoji.”

“Which one, Kieran?” It was obvious that Sean was losing his patience despite years of training. This was personal, which made it so much more difficult to remain calm.

Kieran sighed. “Just a sad face. And I meant it. I like Edie, and I don’t want things to end this way.”

“And a sad face emoji was meant to convey all that?” Sean could barely hide his sarcasm.

“It wasn’t a conversation to have over text. I thought I’d give her a few days to cool off and then go round.”

“Did Edie respond to your text?” Kyle asked.

“She texted back a pointed finger and an aubergine emoji.”

“And what’s that when it’s at home?” Sean fired back. Sean sometimes used emojis in his own texts, but deeper subtexts were clearly lost on him.

Kieran had the decency to look embarrassed. “She meant to say that I’m a dick.”

Sean sighed heavily, as if he’d just lost all hope for this weird new generation. “And did you reply to that?”

“No.”

“Who’s Darryl?” Sean asked.

Kieran looked momentarily surprised by the question, but then probably figured out how Sean had come by that information. “Darryl owns the Xanth-E Lounge. He fancies Edie something rotten.”

“So, when Edie told you she’d ring Darryl, she was trying to make you jealous?” Sean asked. Kieran nodded. “And did it work?”

“I have no right to tell Edie not to see other people, but I don’t think she should be getting involved with Darryl, and I told her as much.”

“Why not Darryl?”

“Because Darryl is as slippery as they come. A real chancer.”

“And does Edie know that?” Kyle asked.

“She does, but she was just trying to bait me.”

“Might she have called this Darryl last night?” Sean inquired.

“I don’t know. I suppose.”

Sean sighed and changed tack again. “Was Edie worried about anything recently?”

“If she was, she didn’t tell me.”

“Did you know Edie is pregnant?”

Kieran’s shock seemed genuine. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again, clearly needing more time to process this bit of news.

“Is it yours?” Sean demanded.

“I—I don’t know. She never said anything.”

“Maybe that’s why she was so upset. Perhaps she’d hoped that you would step up.” The words sounded like nails being driven into a coffin.

“Step up to what?” Kieran retorted. “Like propose marriage or something? This is not the Middle Ages.”

“Was it only in the Middle Ages that a man took responsibility for his children?”

“I don’t have any children, Mr. Cadogan,” Kieran replied acidly. “And until I do, I don’t think I should have to worry about that. Had Edie told me, we would have talked about it and discussed our options. Hell, I don’t even know if it’s mine.”

“And if it is?” Sean demanded. “What would you suggest?”

“I would suggest a termination,” Kieran replied unflinchingly. “I’m not ready to be a father, and Edie sure as fu—hell,” Kieran amended, “isn’t ready to be a mum. She can barely look after herself half the time.”

“Is that what you said to her last night?” Sean spat.

“We did not talk about it,” Kieran reiterated. “And I seriously doubt Edie would go off the grid if we had. I would have offered whatever support she needs. And if she had decided to keep it, I’d ‘step up,’ as you call it. But surely I should have some say in what happens if the kid is mine.”

“Is there anyone else who might be the father? This Darryl, maybe?” Sean asked.

“I don’t know if Edie ever got together with Darryl. If she did, she never told me. It’s not really the sort of thing you share with someone you hope to keep seeing.”

“Is there anyone else you can think of that she might have gone out with?”

“No.”

Sean sighed, his demeanor that of a man striving for patience. “Do you know where Edie might have gone, Kieran?”

“I honestly have no idea. Look, I’m sorry you’re worried, but Edie might have just needed some space. It’s only been a few hours, right?”

“I know my daughter, and she would never ignore everyone’s phone calls. Not unless something was wrong. I’m operating under the assumption that Edie is missing.”

Kieran looked genuinely shocked, his eyes widening as the implications of that sank in. “Are you?” Sean gave a curt nod. “And you think I’m responsible?”

“Are you?” Sean demanded.

“I had nothing to do with it. I was up practicing, then fell asleep around seven. I woke up just after two, ran a few errands, then got here by seven to prepare for my gig. I haven’t heard from Edie since that last text. Here, you can check my phone.”

Kieran slid his mobile out of his back pocket and handed it to Sean, who took a cursory look at his text and call history. He returned the phone to Kieran, then handed him his card.

“You ring me if you hear from her, you understand, son?”

“I will.” Kieran’s hand returned to the strings, but he didn’t play anything, just held it there, as if the gesture brought him comfort. “I’m on in about ten minutes.”

Sean nodded, turned on his heel, and walked toward the exit. Kyle followed.

“Lord preserve us from this stupidity!” Sean exclaimed as soon as they were outside. “He’s damn right things were different in my day. For one thing, adults didn’t communicate in pictures like cavemen. An aubergine? What in the bollocking hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s meant to represent—” Kyle began.

“I know what it represents. I just can’t believe that my daughter thought it a fitting response. But then what can you expect when the man she’s seeing doesn’t have enough respect for her to reply in actual words and sends a sad face instead? I suppose I should be grateful he didn’t send her a photo of his penis or that she didn’t send him something no father should have to see. Sometimes I really do think the human race is doomed, and then I come across miscreants who are so clever and diabolical that I can’t help but wonder how they came by such intelligence while people who had happy childhoods and expensive educations can barely string two words together or hold down a job for longer than a few weeks.”

“A pampered childhood rarely prepares people for the real world,” Kyle said.

“You had a good childhood, and you turned out okay.” Sean smiled apologetically. “Sorry. I’m just angry and scared and have no idea what to do. I’m helpless without resources.”

“Look, Dad, maybe it’s best if we wait until tomorrow. By that time, Edie might have surfaced.”

“And if she hasn’t?”

“Then you will file a missing persons report and begin to investigate in earnest. Once you’re able to track her phone and access the CCTV cameras, you’ll have a clearer idea of what happened.”

It seemed silly to be explaining this to the chief constable, but Kyle had to say something that would give Sean not only hope but options. There was nothing worse than feeling helpless, and once Sean could commandeer the resources he needed to search for Edie, he would feel more in control.

Sean nodded. He looked worn out. “Most missing people turn up within twenty-four hours, but those that don’t slip further away, and those first few days are crucial. By the time we find them, if we find them, it’s often too late, and all we can do is offer the family closure and a chance to say goodbye. And that’s better than offering them nothing at all. Do you have any idea how many people go missing every day, never to be heard from again?”

“What happens to them?” Kyle asked, even though he had a fairly good idea. He’d done enough research for his books to know what the police were up against.

Sean pulled out into traffic and accelerated to make the light. “Some want a fresh start. Others get kidnapped, murdered, trafficked, or locked up in someone’s dungeon and kept as a sex slave. You take away their mobile, and there’s no way to track them. They’re a needle in a haystack, and that’s assuming they’re still in the haystack at all. By the time we realize they’re gone, they could be in another country, or worse yet, six feet under in some lonely field.”

“Dad, Edie is not…” Kyle couldn’t finish the thought. It was too devastating to think of Edie as anything but alive and well.

“Kyle, I’ve seen enough horror to last me several lifetimes. I want to believe that Edie is safe and just needed a bit of headspace, but I know my daughter. She would never intentionally put us through this. She would have called or texted or told Leyla she was taking off for a few days. She would never have just left.”

Kyle nodded. He didn’t know Edie as well as Sean did. He hadn’t been around to watch her grow up, but he knew her well enough to agree that she wasn’t the sort of person to completely disregard the feelings of those who loved her. If Edie couldn’t be found, it was because someone had made sure of it. Or because she had a good reason to disappear for a while.

“Might she have been booked for a termination?” Kyle asked.

“Even if she were, she’d be back by now. These things don’t take long. Besides, she didn’t tell you she wouldn’t be coming in today.”

“No, she didn’t.”

Sean made a turn, and Kyle realized they weren’t heading home.

“The least I can do tonight is talk to this Darryl fellow. See for myself what sort of man he is.”

Sean parked illegally, then strode toward the neon-lit entrance of the Xanth-E Lounge, Kyle on his heels.

Chapter 18

Located in the basement level of a historic building, the Xanth-E Lounge was a dim space with a vaulted stone ceiling and alcoves where tables for two and four were lit only by stained-glass candleholders. A well-stocked bar bathed in a soft neon blue glow occupied one wall, and a narrow stage was flush with the other, light gentle as starlight coming from sconces set into the walls. The entire space had an intimate, dreamlike quality, perfect for a relaxing, romantic evening accompanied by seductive, bluesy ballads, the sort Edie excelled at.

It was still early, so most of the tables were unoccupied, but the staff were clearly preparing for a busy night, and a beautiful black woman was testing the microphone on the stage. She wore black tights and a shimmering tunic the color of twilight, her dark red lipstick the only pop of color. Tearing his gaze away from the performer, Kyle followed Sean to the bar.

“What can I get you?” asked a smiling young woman dressed in a crisp white shirt and fitted black waistcoat. Her silver-blond hair was twisted into an artful topknot, and her ice blue eyes studied Sean and Kyle covertly as she was likely trying to classify their relationship. Given their physical resemblance, Kyle didn’t think this was a hard one to guess.

“Is Darryl here, love?” Sean asked.

“Yeah, he’s in the back.”

“Can you get him for me?”

The young woman looked uncertain. “What’s this about?”

“I just need to ask him a few questions. Nothing to concern yourself with.”

The woman peered at Sean quizzically, then took out her mobile and typed a quick message. “He’ll be right out,” she said, and moved down the bar to help a couple who’d just arrived.

A man of about thirty-five stepped through a door set into the back wall and headed toward them. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and fit. His slate-colored eyes were fringed with thick, dark lashes, and his hair was expertly cut. He wore a bespoke suit and a tie that had probably cost more than the young bartender would make in tips tonight.

“Darryl Blaine,” he announced once he approached. He did not hold out his hand, nor did he smile. “How can I help you, gentlemen?” It was only then that his eyes widened in surprise. He’d recognized Sean. “The chief constable, if I’m not mistaken,” he said, smiling knowingly now. “To what do I owe the honor, sir?”

“Is there somewhere private we can talk, Mr. Blaine?” Sean asked.

“Of course. Follow me.”

Darryl Blaine led them through the door he’d emerged from and then toward a spacious, elegantly furnished office at the end of a short corridor. He shut the door behind him and invited them to sit down. The guest chairs were made of buttery leather in the palest shade of cream, and the desk was chrome and teak.

“Would you care for a drink?” Darryl asked Sean and Kyle politely. There was a sleek sidebar equipped with several bottles and a half dozen cut crystal tumblers.

“No thank you,” Sean replied for them both. “I believe you know my daughter,” he said once they were seated.

“Edie is a talented singer,” Darryl said noncommittally. “She’s very popular with our regulars.”

“She is talented, yes,” Sean agreed. “I also hear you have something of a soft spot for her.”

Darryl smiled at the quaint turn of phrase. “I like her very much. We’re good friends,” he added. “What’s this about, Mr. Cadogan?”

“Edie hasn’t been seen since this morning. She didn’t show up for work, and we haven’t been able to raise her on her mobile all day.”

“I’m sorry. I hope she’s all right.” Darryl didn’t ask outright, but his puzzlement at being questioned was evident.

“Edie told Kieran last night that she was going to ring you. Has she? Or texted?”

“No.”

“Are you sure about that? Not even an emoji?” Sean asked.

Darryl shook his head. “Why would she call me?”

“It seems she knew you were interested in her.”

“Is that a crime?”

“It isn’t, but I see you wear a wedding ring,” Sean said, his tone that of an experienced interrogator.

“I’m married, yes. What of it?”

“Does your wife know that you make advances to young women who come to your club for professional reasons? That’s sexual harassment, Mr. Blaine.”

Darryl Blaine scoffed. “Edie is a grown woman who is perfectly capable of looking after herself. I have expressed an interest, yes, and she politely told me to sod off. I have never harassed her or made her feel uncomfortable. We’re on friendly terms, and she has played the Xanth-E Lounge several times in the past few months. And my wife and I are separated. Have been for the past nine months.”

“Yet you still wear your wedding ring,” Sean pointed out.

“Last I checked, that wasn’t a crime either.”

“Have you heard from Edie?” Sean asked again, ignoring the jibe.

“I have not.”

“Mr. Blaine, I need to ask you a question, and I hope you will give me an honest answer. Have you ever had sexual relations with my daughter?”

Darryl’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “No, Mr. Cadogan. I have never had sexual relations with your daughter. You have my word on that.”

“Would you tell me if you had?” Sean asked.

“I would not, but since I didn’t, I have nothing to hide.”

Sean took out a card and slapped it on the shiny desk. “Ring me if you hear anything.”

Darryl smiled slyly. “Yes, sir.”

“That one is as dodgy as they come,” Sean said once he and Kyle left the club and were back in Sean’s car.

“But do you think he knows anything about Edie’s disappearance?” Kyle asked, wondering if Sean was unable to remain objective when it came to his own daughter.

“On the face of it, no, but I’m not about to take his word for it.”

“Did you believe him when he said he’d never slept with Edie?” Kyle asked carefully.

“He seemed to be telling the truth, but I’m sure he’s a very practiced liar, so I won’t take it as gospel.” Sean sighed, his shoulders sagging with the weight of his concern. “I’m not looking forward to facing Carla, I don’t mind telling you. She’s frantic. And what mother wouldn’t be? Edie is so…”

“So what?” Kyle asked.

“For lack of a better word, naïve,” Sean said with a weary sigh. “Legally, she’s a grown woman, but emotionally she’s just a trusting little girl who wants people to like her. Everyone is so lovely, and cool, and super fun,” Sean mimicked humorlessly. “But they are not, are they? People always have an agenda. I know that sounds cynical, but that’s human nature, pure and simple. It’s what’s kept us alive for thousands of years—cunning, survival instinct, and a complete disregard for the rights of others. Just look at the news.”

“You think this was planned?” Kyle asked, getting to the crux of what Sean was implying.

“I do.”

“Based on what?”

“Based on more than three decades of experience. There are plenty of opportunistic crimes, but this feels premeditated.” Sean sighed. “Do you mind if we make one more stop?”

“Of course not. Where do you want to go?”

“I’d like to have a word with Naya. I rang her a few hours ago, and she said she hadn’t heard from Edie, but I’d like to speak to her in person.”

“Do you think she lied to you?” Kyle asked, wondering what it was that had aroused Sean’s suspicions.

“People always think they’re being loyal to a mate when they don’t tell you the truth, but what they don’t realize is that in some instances, a betrayal is the purest form of love.”

Kyle nodded. He knew just what Sean meant. “Let’s go talk to Naya, then.”

Chapter 19

Naya and her partner, Aaron, had recently moved to a loft in Camden Town. The building must have started out as a factory or a warehouse but had long since shed its working-class background and aspired to becoming avant-garde. Aaron, who was an artist, apparently thought he was the next Banksy, and the walls were covered in evidence of his endeavors. Kyle couldn’t tell if he was hugely talented or just a bit deranged since every painting, although brash and colorful, had an underlying darkness that Kyle found disturbing. Aaron appeared to be out, which was just as well since Sean wanted to have a quiet chat with Naya without her boyfriend hovering nearby.

Kyle had seen photos of Naya on Edie’s Instagram and Facebook and thought the camera truly loved her. Naya was always dramatically made up and wore a different hairstyle in every shot. The color of her hair rarely remained the same for long, ranging from purple and magenta braids to raven-black roots with platinum ends. She also wore mind-bending outfits that were uniquely modern but also somehow reminiscent of the seventies. According to Edie, Naya worked in fashion and hoped to start her own design label one day.

In person, Naya looked a bit different. Her dark, tightly coiled hair was short, and her amber eyes were almost the same shade as her skin. She had on a little glittery eyeliner, and her brows were delicately drawn, but she wore no lipstick and looked comfortable in a pair of leggings and an oversized maroon sweatshirt. Her feet were bare, the toenails painted bright orange.

“Hello, Mr. Cadogan,” Naya said as she stepped aside to let them in. She was clearly surprised to find them on her doorstep but was too polite to ask what they were doing there at nearly ten on a weeknight. “And you must be Kyle. Edie talks about you all the time.”

“Hello, Naya. Great place, this,” Sean said as he nodded admiringly. “Aaron is really talented. I’d love to meet him.”

“Thank you,” Naya said, and beamed. “He has a show coming up in a few weeks. He’s really excited.”

“Make sure to send me an invite. I’d love to stop by,” Sean said.

Naya fixed Kyle with an expectant look.

“Me too,” Kyle was quick to add. “Nicole and I would love to come.”

Naya smiled. “That would be great. Aaron is worried no one will show. Having several big names will really help.”

“Not sure I’m the sort of person who can make or break an artist’s reputation, but I’m happy to support,” Sean said with a self-deprecating grin. “I’m afraid I’m not known for my taste in art.”

“Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Tea?” Naya asked.

“Thank you, no. We just want to ask you a few questions,” Sean said as he accepted a seat on the red leather sofa.

“Edie still hasn’t turned up?” Naya asked as she settled across from them.

“Naya, I’m really worried,” Sean said, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “No one’s heard from Edie since early this morning. Please, anything you can tell me would be greatly appreciated. You have my word that Edie will never know the information came from you.”

“I’m happy to help, Mr. Cadogan, but I don’t know anything. I spoke to Edie yesterday afternoon. She sounded fine.”

“Did she say she was planning to go away?”

“No.”

“Was she seeing Darryl Blaine?” Sean asked.

Naya shook her head. “I know he asked her out a couple of times, but I don’t think they’ve ever actually gone out.”

“Does she fancy him?”

Naya shrugged. “He’s really hot, but I think his arrogance put her off.”

“Yes, I can certainly see that,” Sean agreed. “Was there anyone else?”

Naya looked distinctly uncomfortable, which meant Sean was on the right track. “She met this guy. Milo, or something.”

“Where did she meet him?” Kyle asked.

“He approached her after one of her sets. Offered to buy her a drink. He is also in the music business. A producer or some such.”

“Did Edie tell you anything else about him?” Sean asked.

“She was kind of cagey about the whole thing. I think she was afraid to jinx it.”

“Jinx what?” Sean exclaimed.

“He asked her to make a demo and was going to send it to someone he’s tight with. Some big shot in the music business. Edie said she’d tell me everything if it became official.”

“So, she wasn’t interested in this Milo romantically?” Kyle asked.

“I don’t think so, although she did say he was fit.”

“Did you know Edie is pregnant?” Sean asked, his gaze glued to Naya’s face.

Naya had the look of a frightened rabbit. When she failed to answer, Sean pressed harder.

“Naya, if I’m to find Edie, I need to know the truth. Please.”

Naya nodded. “Yes, she told me the other day.”

“How did she feel about the pregnancy?” Kyle asked.

He tried to think back to the last time he’d seen Edie and if there had been any indication that something was different about her, but either he was completely oblivious or Edie had given no sign that a life-altering event was imminent. Nicole would have said something if Edie had confided in her or if she had noticed a change, but Nicole hadn’t mentioned anything.

“Edie was blindsided and didn’t want to tell anyone until she’d come to a decision,” Naya said.

“Did she not trust us to support her?” Sean asked.

“It’s not that, Mr. Cadogan. It’s that she really wasn’t sure how she felt about being a mum or raising a baby on her own.”

“Is it Kieran’s?” Sean asked resignedly.

Naya nodded.

“Did Edie tell him she’s pregnant?” Kyle asked. Kieran might have lied about not knowing.

“I don’t think so. Edie needed some time to process and figure out what she wanted before telling Kieran.”

“How far along is she?” Sean asked.

“About four weeks. Maybe five,” Naya replied. “She’d only just found out two days ago.”

“Might she have scheduled a termination?”

“I really don’t think so.”

Sean sighed heavily. “Do you think Kieran is capable of hurting Edie?”

Naya looked genuinely surprised by the question. “No, I don’t. Kieran can be a bit indecisive and self-absorbed, but he’s not violent.”

“How do you think he would have reacted to the news?” Kyle interjected.

Naya made a show of thinking. “I think he’d be surprised, and probably less than thrilled, but he’d do his best to support Edie, whatever she decided.”

“But he wouldn’t offer to marry her,” Sean said.

The eyeroll was answer enough. For this generation, marriage was not even a consideration unless that was what the couple had wanted to begin with. A baby changed nothing.

Sean pushed to his feet. “Thank you, Naya. Please ring me if you hear anything.”

“Of course, I will,” Naya promised. “And you ring me if you hear from Edie. Now I’m really worried.”

“Me too, love. Me too,” Sean replied.

“What now?” Kyle asked once they were back in the car.

Sean sighed. “We need to track down this Milo. Edie always posts about her gigs. I’ll see where she performed over the past two months and try to get a lead on this bloke. If he’s really in the music business, people are bound to know him. Let’s call it a night, Kyle. It’s getting late, and Nicole is probably worried about you.”

Nicole would have texted if she was worried, but Kyle thought Sean needed a reason to go home. He was clearly exhausted and needed to get back to Carla, who’d pinged him several times over the past few hours. Every time, Sean had grabbed for his mobile, hoping the text was from Edie, and every time, his face had registered his disappointment and he’d replied to Carla briefly before putting the phone away.

Kyle discreetly tried Edie’s number again, but the call went directly to voicemail, which was full. Edie’s phone was either switched off or had run out of juice.

“Please, keep me informed,” Kyle said once Sean pulled up in front of his house.

Sean nodded. “Goodnight, son. Thank you for coming with me.”

“You never need to thank me. Goodnight, Dad.”

Chapter 20

Lily

“Let’s see it, then,” Charlotte said once Lily shared her news over tea at their favorite tearoom in Piccadilly. There were few patrons that afternoon, and they sat by the window, the pale sunshine bathing them in a golden glow.

Lily held out her hand. The ring sparkled in the sunlight, the diamonds twinkling and the emerald the color of lush summer grass, its clarity enhanced by the bright light. Charlotte examined the ring as if it were criminal evidence rather than a piece of jewelry.

“Nice,” she said at last. “Avery has better taste than I gave him credit for.”

“He chose me, didn’t he?” Lily joked.

“I rather think it was the other way round,” Charlotte said. “Avery never stood a chance.”

Charlotte tended to become matter-of-fact when she felt threatened or upset, and Lily could see that she was working hard not to give in to despair, so Lily chose not to argue. She had never set out to charm Avery. Their friendship—Lily didn’t think of it as love, not yet—had come about naturally, since Avery was so often at their house. She suddenly wondered if it had been her father’s plan all along, since few other detectives were invited as often as Avery was, but then the other detectives were older, and married.

“Lottie,” Lily began, using the pet name she had christened Charlotte with when they were little.

“Don’t,” Charlotte said. “I know what this means.”

“And what does it mean?” Lily asked gently.

“The end of a dream, at least for me.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Doesn’t it? I very much doubt Avery would approve.”

“Avery will be out of the house for hours and hours every day. I’ll be left to my own devices.”

“You’ll have a household to manage, and then you’ll have children.”

Lily was about to protest but had to acknowledge the truth of what Charlotte was saying. Their plan to open their own detective agency was nothing more than a fantasy, thought up by two spirited girls who’d watched the fathers they admired solve crimes and bring about justice. It was a pipe dream that would come to an end as soon as they married, since no husband would permit his wife to gallivant around London unescorted and involve herself in potentially dangerous, possibly life-threatening situations. It had always been a bit of fun, a way to convince themselves that they could take on bigger roles than those granted them by polite society.

Even if they never married, their fathers would never condone such a venture, and for good reason. Charlotte’s father had lost a kidney when he was stabbed in the back by a ruthless killer, and Jason had nearly lost the use of his hand. And there had been many other, less crippling injuries over the years. Jason Redmond and Daniel Haze would do anything to keep their daughters safe and would not approve of suitors who weren’t ready and willing to do the same.

“And I had finally persuaded father,” Charlotte suddenly said.

“Persuaded him to do what?”

“He agreed to allow us the use of his office so we wouldn’t have to hire premises, and said he’d pass us some of his cases so we could build up a professional reputation.”

“You mean we’ll get to search for missing poodles and lost fans?” Lily scoffed, but she had to give credit to Charlotte’s dad.

Daniel Haze was no fool and knew his daughter better than Charlotte knew herself. To tell her she couldn’t do something was the equivalent of waving red in front of a bull. The only way to dissuade her was to bore her to tears and allow her to come to the realization that she no longer wanted to pursue something, thus letting her believe that she was still in control.

“It’s a start,” Charlotte protested.

“Lottie, it was a beautiful dream, but we are all grown up now.”

“So, what are you going to do?” Charlotte demanded. “Spend your days planning menus, supervising the laundry, and paying calls on your equally dull neighbors?”

“I’m dull now, am I?” Lily snapped, hurt by Charlotte’s idea of what her life with Avery would be.

Charlotte turned away and stared out the window, and Lily could see tears shimmering in her eyes. Charlotte wasn’t angry; she was frightened of being left behind and no longer occupying the same place in Lily’s life.

“Lottie, you’ll find a biddable young man and get married, and we’ll pay calls on each other and take walks in the park with our babies and watch our husbands become best friends.”

“I’m never getting married,” Charlotte retorted as she turned back to nail Lily with her angry gaze. “I will follow my dreams even if you won’t.”

“Lottie,” Lily tried again.

“Love hurts, Lily.” Charlotte’s dark eyes were filled with pain, and Lily knew that nothing she said could soothe the hurt, since it went a lot deeper than Lily’s engagement. “My parents loved each other. They thought they’d be happy together, raise a family. And then my brother died in that awful accident, and my mother spiraled into the sort of melancholy one can never come back from. She chose to end her life rather than live without her beloved boy, never sparing a thought for me, or Father. And then Miss Grainger…”

Charlotte’s nursemaid was murdered, her body left in a disused graveyard, with only a marble angel to watch over her. Daniel Haze and Jason Redmond had hunted down Rebecca Grainger’s killer and Daniel had taken great satisfaction in watching him swing, but justice didn’t always heal the wounds that were left behind.

“I know you both loved her.”

“We did,” Charlotte said. “But she was taken from us.”

“But your father did find happiness in the end,” Lily pointed out.

Charlotte shook her head. “He was lonely, Lily, and he thought I needed a mother. He did it for me.”

“He did not,” Lily protested. “Aunt Florence is lovely. She’s one of the nicest, most honest women I’ve ever met.”

“Honesty can be a double-edged sword.”

“Just because you don’t like what she tells you doesn’t mean she’s wrong.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m wrong either. We’re practically in the twentieth century, Lily. This century is dead, and so are these outmoded traditions and stifling roles for women. In the twentieth century, women will decide their own fate and choose their own path.”

“I’m choosing my own path,” Lily replied.

“No, you’re not. Admit it, you don’t love Avery. You only said yes to please your darling daddy.”

Lily looked down at her hands and swallowed hard, willing the tears away. She’d be damned if she allowed herself to cry. She had known from the outset that Charlotte might try to undermine her happiness. Charlotte prided herself on being truthful and rarely held back, especially when her own feelings had been hurt, but Lily had never expected this degree of bitterness. Or was it jealousy?

“What do you know of love, Charlotte?” Lily snapped, angry to have her good mood marred by such petty spite. “Who have you ever loved?”

“That’s not fair,” Charlotte cried, but Lily wasn’t going to stay to hear any more judgments.

“I was going to ask you to be my bridesmaid, but perhaps that honor should go to someone else, given how unhappy you are for me.”

Lily hurried from the room, collected her coat and hat from the cloakroom, and stepped outside. The world looked like a wet watercolor when viewed through the haze of tears, but she resolved not to allow Charlotte’s poison to ruin her day. Lily considered taking a hansom or walking toward the omnibus stop but changed her mind. What she needed was a brisk walk to clear her head and lift her spirits.

Chapter 21

Quinn

Now that she’d had a taste of the past again, Quinn felt that old, familiar pull. It was like a vortex that drew her into its dark depths, the Bermuda Triangle of history, or maybe just a welcome distraction after several years of uncertainty, anxiety, and professional stagnation. She missed the anticipation, the tightly coiled tension of those first few days of working on a new case, and the production of the series that had allowed her to bring her visions to life and give the dead one last chance to tell their story.

The past seemed irrelevant to most people, especially at a time when everyone was struggling with an uncertain present that had sucker-punched the world with quickly rising costs of living, incompetent politicians, and threats from power-hungry men who’d rather see the world burn than lose face or choose peace over an inflated ego. History made for good drama, but it was real, and relevant, and there to learn from. Everyone was a product of the people who’d come before and the forces that had shaped them. Some might think that they could reinvent themselves and shed their past like an unwanted skin, but the ideals, prejudices, and tragedies that had shaped their families were not so easily cast aside.

Quinn opened a photo of Lily on her mobile and studied her portrait through the safety of the screen. She had no wish to hold the leather folio in her hands. It stood to reason that it hadn’t belonged to Lily, but Quinn wasn’t ready to immerse herself in the memories of two separate people. Too much to handle all at once, and too emotionally destabilizing. This was Lily’s story, so until Quinn reached a dead end, she’d work with the St. Christopher.

She allowed her gaze to slide to the plastic bag and the medal within. She knew she should resist the siren call of the past. She’d have to be up in a few hours and get the children ready for school, but oh, how she wanted to know what happened next.

Promising herself that she would only take a peek, Quinn reached for the St. Christopher.

Chapter 22

Lily

“You’re a million miles away, Lily,” Katherine Redmond said reproachfully. “Madame Marie just asked you to turn around.”

“Sorry. What?” Lily asked, coming back to herself.

“She’s thinking about the wedding, my lady,” the modiste said with a knowing smile, the trace of a French accent somehow making the remark seem more suggestive than it might have been if spoken by a no-nonsense English seamstress. “Or maybe the wedding night.”

“I was not,” Lily snapped, and felt heat rising in her cheeks.

She resented these types of comments, regardless of who made them. It was as if her private life had suddenly become fodder for the public, her impending marriage a topic for everyone to discuss. She had asked her mother not to place a notice in The Times, but Katherine had seemed surprised by the request and overruled Lily immediately.

“If we don’t announce your engagement to Avery, then everyone will assume we disapprove,” Katherine had said.

Don’t you? Lily had wanted to ask but hadn’t.

Her mother loved her and wanted what was best. Katherine couldn’t help that she had been brought up to live by society’s rules, and even two decades of being married to a firebrand like Jason Redmond had not truly altered her dutiful nature. The notice and engaging Madame Marie, who was known for her stunning one-of-a-kind designs, to create Lily’s wedding gown were acts of love and support and had to be taken as such. But although Lily loved the sketch of the gown, she didn’t much care for the woman, who attempted to ferret out information through a series of leading questions meant to invite confidences.

“Are we nearly done, Madame?” Lily asked irritably.

“Lily, don’t be rude,” her mother chided her. “Madame Marie is working as quickly as she can. And we still need to order your trousseau.”

“You two can see to that,” Lily said. “I have no idea what a married woman needs.”

Katherine Redmond sighed with exasperation. “Really, my dear. One would think you had no interest in your own future.”

“I have great interest in my future, Mama, but I don’t think the number of tea gowns I own, or the color of my stockings, will determine the outcome. Do you? If I remember correctly, you didn’t even order a new gown when you married Father. You simply updated an old frock that had belonged to your mother.”

Katherine’s cheeks colored with embarrassment, and Lily felt awful for shaming her mother before the modiste. It was uncalled for and downright cruel. Katherine was only trying to outfit Lily for every marital eventuality and wanted to give her an experience she’d never had, since Katherine’s father would not spend a farthing on his only daughter.

“I’m sorry, Mama.”

“Madame, do you think we can leave the trousseau for another day?” Katherine asked.

“Of course, my lady. Whenever you’re both ready.”

The Frenchwoman helped Lily out of the unfinished gown, careful not to dislodge the pins she’d used to painstakingly mark the spots that needed adjusting, collected her things, and left.

“I’m sorry,” Lily said again once she and her mother were alone. “Please, don’t be cross with me.”

“Darling, are you not happy?” Katherine asked. “That’s the only reason I can think of that you would be so indifferent to all the planning. You can always tell Avery you’d like to postpone. There’s no rush. You can have a lovely wedding at Redmond Hall when we go to Essex for the summer. Your grandfather can officiate.”

Lily snorted with derision. Her grandfather was an old, spiteful pedant whose constant disapproval wafted off him like a foul smell. The last thing she wanted was to be married by the odious Reverend Talbot, but she supposed it would be symbolic to make her vows in the same place her parents had twenty-two years before. And they could turn the wedding breakfast into a garden party. Redmond Hall had lovely gardens, but Avery would want to invite his friends from Scotland Yard, and it would be unfair to ask everyone to travel to Essex when most of them were on duty six days a week.

“Avery and I wish to be married as soon as possible. We can’t wait until the summer.” Katherine gave her a look that made Lily snicker. “Don’t worry, Mama, even if I were willing, Avery would never do anything to disrespect father. It’s almost as if he’s marrying us both.”

“Avery admires your father. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No. We’ll all be one happy family.”

“You really are in a strange mood today,” Katherine said. “Perhaps you should go for a walk. Fresh air and exercise always put me in a more positive frame of mind.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Lily said. It was a nice day, sunny and brisk. A walk would be just the thing.

Lily was tempted to wear her plaid wool coat, but vanity prevailed, and she asked Fanny to bring her short fur-trimmed velvet cape. The cape wasn’t as warm as the plaid, but it was too lovely not to wear as often as she could, and she had a darling bonnet adorned with matching velvet ribbon and ostrich feathers to wear with it.

“Don’t forget your gloves, Miss Lily,” Fanny said solicitously.

“I don’t need gloves. I have my muff.”

“You should still wear gloves. It’s cold out there.”

“All right,” Lily grumbled.

At times, she felt like a child in this house, where nearly everyone had known her since birth and had watched her grow up. The servants were like family, but at times, it was daunting to have so many eyes on her, loving though their gazes might be. It was impossible to get away with anything.

Lily stepped outside, acknowledged that the gloves were a good idea, and set off. For the first time since accepting Avery’s proposal, it truly registered that soon she would have her own home, and her own staff. A maid-of-all-work was probably more accurate, since Avery could hardly afford anything resembling staff on his wages, but still. It would be someone she chose herself and trained up, not a closely related tribe composed of the Henleys and the Dodsons. Lily admired her parents’ loyalty to their retainers, but sometimes it was difficult to tell where the family ended and the servants began. Her father still regularly went down to the kitchen to enjoy a cup of coffee with Mrs. Dodson, chatting to her about the most puzzling cases as if she were one of his detectives.

The tradition had begun when Jason and Micah, both recently bereaved, had first arrived in England and had cast Mrs. Dodson in the role of surrogate parent. The same honor had not extended to Dodson, probably because he had been a curmudgeonly old stick, God rest his soul, but Dodson hadn’t minded. He had preferred to maintain the established hierarchy, something Jason had respected until Dodson’s dying day. It was endearing, really, and something for Lily to consider when establishing her own household. It felt very grown up to be thinking of such matters, and she preened with self-importance, amazed how her immediate future had transformed so suddenly, all with the appearance of a delicate little stone on her finger. Lily had just joined the ranks of women who went from daughter to wife, indulged child to mistress of her own house. She had to admit it was rather exciting.

Having exchanged greetings with an elderly neighbor, Mrs. Raleigh, who’d just alighted from her carriage and clutched a wrapped parcel, Lily stopped to speak to Mr. and Mrs. Potter, who’d gone for a stroll, and petted Mrs. Potter’s little dog. He really was a scruffy old thing, but there was something lovable about the little mutt.

Lily was nearly to the corner when she saw a man walking toward her. He wore an ulster overcoat in brown and dark green tweed and a felt hat pulled low. She would not have noticed him at all were it not for several items that attracted her attention. For one, the man carried both a traveling case and a Gladstone bag, and for another, the sun glinted off his copper locks that were worn too long to be covered by the hat.

Lily’s heart leapt with joy, and before she could stop herself, she cried out, “Micah!”

The man looked up, startled, and then his generous mouth stretched into a huge smile. “Lils!” he exclaimed. He set down his cases and opened his arms, and Lily flew at him, the way she had done when she was a little girl and he would come home for the school holidays. Micah would lift her and spin her round until she was dizzy, and she would cling to him and laugh, ecstatic at having her big brother home.

Micah didn’t spin her around, but he did embrace her warmly and kiss her cheek. “Just look at you. A proper young lady. Your parents did despair of you for a while there, hoyden that you were turning out to be,” he teased.

“I was never a hoyden,” Lily replied reproachfully, but she couldn’t help grinning up at him.

Micah laughed. “Oh, no? Always making mischief, since you were old enough to walk.”

“You should talk,” Lily cried. “I’ve heard the stories, so don’t play the innocent with me now.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Micah replied, his eyes alight with affection.

Lily touched his face and gazed into his eyes. Micah looked just the same, but also different. There were the wide blue eyes, the eyebrows, the lashes, and the sideburns that were the color of a newly minted copper coin but perhaps a shade darker than they had been the last time she had seen him, and that smile that had always been so genuine. But the youth she remembered had matured. There were barely visible lines around his eyes and mouth and assurance in his stance that hadn’t been there before, when he’d had yet to figure out where he belonged and what he wished to do with his life. This was a man who knew exactly who he was and what he stood for, no longer the boy who, although loved, had never truly felt that he was among his own kind. But despite all the changes, he was still her Micah, the beloved companion of her childhood.

Micah offered Lily his arm, and she accepted it as she turned for home. “I want to hear all your news, Lils. Every last boring bit.” Micah gave her a mock hurt look. “I seem to recall that you’d promised to write, but nary a letter did I receive from my little sister.”

“It seemed silly to write about my boring lessons and childish disappointments when you were out there living your life, doing grown-up things.”

“Well, surely you must be doing something grown up by now,” Micah said.

“I am to be married.”

“Is that so? Who’s the lucky fellow?” Lily’s heart melted at the gentle lilt in his voice. That was what she remembered most about him, that teasing Irish lilt that he’d never lost.

“Inspector Avery Moorcroft. Father approves wholeheartedly,” she added with a grin.

“And your mother?”

Lily pulled a face. “I don’t think Avery is what she had envisioned for her only daughter. She’s making the best of it, though, as Mother always does, and has thrown herself into wedding preparations. The way she’s going on about it, you’d think she was the blushing bride.”

“And are you?” Micah asked.

“Am I what?”

“The blushing bride.” Micah looked down at her, his eyes warm with affection. “Are you madly in love with his Avery chap?”

“I’m very fond of him,” Lily answered truthfully.

Micah’s eyebrows lifted in astonishment. “Fond?” he teased.

“He’s the first man to ever court me, so how am I supposed to know if I’m in love?”

“Does he make you happy? Do you look forward to seeing him? Do you want to be alone with him?” Micah asked, his voice growing huskier when he asked that last question.

“Yes, yes, and yes,” Lily exclaimed.

“Well, then you have my blessing.”

“Do I need your blessing?” Lily teased.

“Of course you do. If anything were to befall your father, God bless him and keep him,” Micah added reverently, “I would become your legal guardian.”

“Would you?”

Micah nodded. “Until Adam is of age.”

“And once he is?”

“Adam is your biological brother. The honor would go to him, but now that you’re to be married, you’ll be your husband’s responsibility.” Micah sighed deeply and shook his head. “The poor man. I don’t envy him. I reckon he’ll have his hands full.” Lily elbowed Micah in the ribs, and he laughed. “He’s a lucky man, Avery. The luckiest.”

“That’s better. Will you stay for the wedding?” Lily asked.

“That depends on when the happy event is to take place.” Micah looked her up and down, his eyes dancing with mirth. “I do hope there’s no rush to the altar.”

“God!” Lily exclaimed. “What must you all think of me.”

“I don’t know what others think, but I think you’re impetuous and unconventional, two qualities that make a person interesting.”

“Are you impetuous and unconventional?”

“Always have been,” Micah replied. “Just like the rest of my family. And you know how well that served them.”

Lily nodded. She knew all about Micah’s family and the losses he’d suffered at such a tender age.

“I still miss them, Lils, especially my mammy.”

Lily smiled at Micah’s use of the Irish term. He’d never stopped mourning his mother, who had died when he was a small boy. He mourned the rest of them as well, but he had seldom mentioned them in later years, preferring to keep their memory to himself.

“And how’s Liam?” Lily asked, deciding to focus on Micah’s one surviving blood relative.

Micah smiled. “Liam’s married. His wife’s a lovely lass. You’d like her. They’re expecting their first. If it’s a girl, I expect they’ll call her Mary, after his mam.”

“That’s fitting, I suppose,” Lily said. “If a bit gloomy. I think a child should have their own name.”

“You were named after your grandmother,” Micah reminded her.

“Yes, and I always felt that I had to live up to the honor. I think every person should start out as a clean slate when they’re born.”

“None of us are a clean slate, sweetheart,” Micah said sadly. “Our slates have been written on by countless generations, and the scribbling looks like the rantings of a broken mind.”

Lily stared at Micah. “That’s rather a dark image you just painted.”

“It’s a dark life, especially when you’re Irish and poor.”

Their conversation ended abruptly when the door opened and Katherine came hurrying down the front steps.

“I saw you from the drawing room window,” she cried. “Oh, Micah, how good it is to see you.”

“And you as well, Katherine. You don’t look a day older than when we last met.”

Katherine swatted Micah playfully on the arm. “Flatterer. I don’t believe you for a moment, but thank you.”

“Where’s Jason?” Micah asked. “Is he at home?”

When Micah was a boy, he had called Jason “Captain” because that had been his rank in the army, but as Micah grew older, Jason had insisted that Micah call him by his Christian name, since he was neither his father, his uncle, nor a stranger to be referred to as “my lord.” It had taken some getting used to, but Micah had eventually transitioned to calling his surrogate parents Jason and Katherine.

“He’s still at work, I’m afraid, but he’ll be home in time for dinner. He’ll be so happy to see you,” Katherine gushed. “What a lovely surprise. We weren’t expecting you for another week at least.”

“I was able to leave earlier than I had anticipated,” Micah explained as they entered the foyer.

There was quite a commotion as everyone greeted Micah and asked endless questions about his crossing, his life in Boston, and Liam, whom they remembered as a small boy. Henley took Micah’s things up to his room, and Fanny hugged him and smiled tearfully, then introduced Micah to Victoria, her eight-year-old daughter. Only Jane stood to the side, never having met Micah before, but Lily saw a spark of interest in her dark eyes. Irish or not, Micah was a handsome man, and Jane was an unmarried woman.

“Micah, this is Jane,” Lily said. “Our new lady’s maid.”

“A pleasure,” Micah said as he smiled at Jane, who blushed prettily.

“The pleasure is all mine, sir.”

“It’s Micah. No need to stand on ceremony.”

“Yes, sir,” Jane muttered.

“Well, I’m sure you’d like to rest before dinner,” Katherine said once everyone began to disperse.

Micah laughed. “I didn’t swim here. I sailed on a fine ocean liner, where my every need was seen to by an army of servants.”

Katherine stood back and looked up at him. “Did you really travel first class?”

“I did, but I spent most of my time in steerage.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Katherine muttered. “Well, if you are not tired, you must be hungry. I’ve never known you to say no to a treat.”

“And I still don’t, especially if it’s a treat baked by my dear Mrs. Dodson. I still remember her jam tarts with great fondness. Is she well?” Micah asked, peering at Katherine with a worried gaze.

“She’s older and frailer, but she’s still the same Mrs. Dodson she always was. She’s baked a cake every day in the hope that you will appear,” Katherine said.

“Are you sure these cakes are not to sweeten the disposition of Lily’s intended?”

“She prefers to kill two birds with one stone,” Katherine quipped. “It seems men are very easily flattered, and just like you, Avery would sell his soul for a slice of cake.”

“No one could ever usurp your place in her affections,” Lily said. “You were the grandson she never had, and she’s in floods every time she makes jam tarts. That’s why they are so salty, because of all the tears.”

Micah laughed. “Or maybe it’s because she needs spectacles and refuses to admit that she can’t tell the difference between the salt and the sugar. So, what did she make today?”

“I’m not sure,” Katherine said. “Perhaps you should go down to the kitchen and investigate for yourself.”

“I believe I will,” Micah said, and disappeared through the green baize door.

Chapter 23

Nicole

Kyle and I spent a restless night, and Ava must have sensed our distress because she couldn’t settle down either. I finally took her into our bed at around 2:00 a.m., and she fell asleep, wedged between us, her little fingers wrapped around mine to make sure I didn’t leave. Kyle got up just after five, but I managed to fall back asleep and woke when Ava called to me at a quarter to seven.

It was still dark outside, and I felt tired and cranky after a night of broken sleep, but given what Sean and Carla had to be going through, I had no right to whinge. My baby was safe, and I thanked God that our little family was intact. I dressed Ava and took her downstairs, where I sat her in her highchair. I made Ava eggy bread, her favorite breakfast, and ate the leftovers because I needed something warm and comforting. Having eaten, I took Ava into the lounge and settled her in the playpen, where she instantly reached for her favorite toy, while I went to check on Kyle.

“Morning. Can I make you some breakfast?” I asked as I poked my head around the door.

“No, you’re all right,” Kyle replied. “I had a cereal bar.”

“That’s not a proper breakfast.”

“I’m not very hungry. But a cup of coffee would be great.”

“Be right back.”

I returned to the kitchen and made us both coffees, then carried both mugs through to Kyle’s study. He smiled tiredly at me and accepted the coffee with his thanks.

“Anything from Sean?” I asked. “Or Edie?” I added hopefully.

“No.”

“I can’t believe we’re even discussing this. This time yesterday, everything was fine.”

“Life can change in an instant,” Kyle said.

I nodded. I still remembered the moment I had learned my dad had died or the day my mum rang to tell me she’d been diagnosed with cancer. Life often changed in the blink of an eye, and those sorts of changes were not the welcome ones.

“Sometimes it’s good news,” Kyle said, as if reading my mind.

“Is it?”

“Remember when we found out you were pregnant? We were so happy.”

My eyes filled with tears at the memory of that moment. “I’d like more changes like that.”

“Can be arranged,” Kyle said, giving me a suggestive look, which I resolutely ignored. I wasn’t ready for another baby, not when Ava was still so small, and I didn’t think Kyle was either. But I supposed that this morning he had children on his mind, both tiny and fully grown.

“Edie’s flatmate said I should kill Kelly.”

I was surprised by the abrupt change of subject, but then there wasn’t much more to say about Edie until we heard from Sean, and Kyle was working on a new Kelly Shaw novel.

“Did she say why?”

“She doesn’t think a man can write a female character competently. Do you think that’s true?”

“Depends on the man.”

“This man,” Kyle said. “Do you think my character is nothing more than a male perception of what a woman should be? Leyla said I should introduce a new detective, someone white and middle-aged, in essence an alter ego of myself. Am I officially middle-aged, then?”

I rolled my eyes. “Are we seriously having this conversation right now?”

“No time like the present.”

“What does middle-aged even mean? Unless you are cursed with the date of your death, you can’t possibly know when you are at the halfway mark, so this is all kind of a moot point. You’re as old as you feel. And as far as the writing goes, I would have to say that Leyla’s opinion is not one I would base my work on. If we only wrote about our own experiences, then most books would be too boring to read since they would be populated with only one type of character and viewpoint. Write what you want, Kyle. If your readers don’t like it, they’ll let you know. These days, people are not shy, especially when they can express their opinion from behind the anonymity of a keyboard and never have to look you in the eye when they say you’re talentless or well past your prime.”

Kyle smiled. “Well, when you put it that way.”

“What other way is there? Leyla is one person, who sees your stories through the lens of her own experiences. Perhaps you’re not equipped to write about someone like her, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. It is a work of fiction, not a scientific case study.”

“Thanks. You know how fragile writers’ egos are,” Kyle replied with a rueful smile. “What about your work? Anything from Quinn?”

“She threw out a name yesterday that didn’t come up in relation to the Redmonds in my own research. Micah, short for Michael. Evidently, he was Lily’s older brother.”

“Might he have been her stepbrother?”

“If Micah was Jason Redmond’s son, then he would have the same surname. His was Donovan.”

“Perhaps he was Lady Redmond’s son from a previous marriage. Or Jason Redmond’s illegitimate son.”

“I found no evidence that Katherine Talbot was married before, and, as a rule, Victorians didn’t raise their by-blows alongside their legitimate children. It wasn’t the done thing,” I said, making air quotes with my fingers.

“You did say that Jason Redmond was American. Perhaps he was less conventional than your average British prig.”

I shook my head. “I was able to find Jason Redmond’s will. There are no bequests to anyone named Micah or Michael.”

“Perhaps Michael died before the will was drawn up.”

“The will that’s on file was drawn up after Lily’s disappearance, and Micah was still alive at the time, according to Quinn.”

“That’s curious,” Kyle said. “And there’s nothing on the ancestry sites?”

“No.”

“Then I suppose you’ll have to wait and see if Quinn can fill in the blanks.”

“I can’t wait. I need to keep busy, or worrying about Edie will drive me mad,” I said.

“Is there any other angle you can research in the meantime?” Kyle asked.

“There was mention of the Redmond and Haze Detective Agency in one of the online results.”

“Did it come up again in any of your searches?”

“I didn’t bother to look into it, since it wouldn’t have anything to do with Lily,” I admitted. “I assumed that was something from Jason Redmond’s past, before he became a superintendent.”

“Could be a lead,” Kyle suggested.

“I suppose,” I conceded.

If I were honest, all I wanted to do was sit on the sofa, wrap a warm throw around me, and watch Love Actually for the millionth time, but instead, I took Ava out for a walk. When we returned, there was still nothing from Sean, so I handed Ava over to Kyle after lunch and went to my study. It was my turn to work. Unsure where to start, I took Kyle’s advice and Googled the Redmond and Haze Detective Agency. I was quite surprised by the number of results.

“Blimey,” I exclaimed when I read, then reread the Wikipedia entry.

Redmond and Haze Detective Agency is a ten-volume mystery series that was written between 1890 and 1905 by Mr. Charles Haze and published by Abbott Press. Each standalone installment features a case that takes place in or around Victorian London. The main protagonists, Miss Lucy Redmond and Miss Lottie Haze, are young women who are not only clever and resourceful but manage to charm a Scotland Yard inspector and a police surgeon into helping them by revealing confidential information about ongoing cases.

It was only after the death of the author in 1937 that it was revealed that the stories were, in fact, written by a woman: Charlotte Haze, whose father, Daniel Haze, was an inspector at Scotland Yard before starting his own agency in the late 1870s. The main characters are based on real people, believed to be Charlotte herself and her childhood friend Lillian Redmond, the daughter of Superintendent Jason Redmond of Scotland Yard, who had retired before the books were published. And the rather easily duped sidekicks, Inspector Bancroft and Dr. Donnelly, are allegedly based on Inspector Avery Moorcroft of Scotland Yard and Dr. Michael Donovan, who was a Redmond family friend.

It was suggested at the time of publication that Charlotte Haze had based her novels on her father’s more successful cases and had alluded to real-life criminals, whose identities were thinly veiled behind similar-sounding names. One such character was Dustan Carmack, who made an appearance in several volumes and was widely believed to be the East End crime boss Tristan Carmichael. Another recurring character was based on famed psychic Alicia Lysander, who appeared in the Redmond and Haze novels as Alissa Leander and often served to point the two young ladies in the right direction when they’d hit a dead end in their inquiries.

The Redmond and Haze Detective Agency mysteries sold a respectable fifty thousand copies before the author’s publisher decided not to order a further reprinting due to declining sales.

I stared at the screen, unable to believe my eyes. This was pure research gold that had got lost among the more relevant results that had initially popped up when I searched for both Lily Redmond and Superintendent Redmond. It didn’t get me any closer to figuring out what had happened to Lily, but it gave me a number of solid leads, including the name of the surgeon who was described as a family friend. Michael Donovan. Could this be the elusive Micah that Lily had referred to as her older brother? Perhaps she had thought of him as a brother. That would explain the connection between them and Micah’s presence in London.

I’d have to see what I could find out about Michael Donovan and Avery Moorcroft, both of whom had clearly known Charlotte Haze, but at the moment, I needed to locate the Redmond and Haze Detective Agency series. I looked on Amazon, then checked the library website and eBay. The series had been out of print for nearly eighty years, but I found several individual installments on eBay that were selling for over one hundred quid per book. Tempted as I was to order every single book I could find, the price seemed exorbitant, especially when the books were not in very good condition. I decided to hold off on making such an impulsive purchase. After all, it wasn’t as if the books were in high demand. If I decided to spend the money, they would still be there at a later date.

Chapter 24

Kyle

Kyle pulled out his mobile for the umpteenth time and checked for any missed calls or text messages from Sean. There were none, and that didn’t bode well. He knew he shouldn’t ring Sean, but he couldn’t bear the not knowing. It still seemed surreal that Edie could simply vanish. Kyle knew people went AWOL all the time, but he couldn’t imagine that Edie would do a bunk, and if someone had taken her, surely there would be evidence of her abduction. From his own research and the countless police dramas he’d seen on TV, it wasn’t difficult to imagine why someone would target Edie, and that frightened Kyle the most.

He wanted to believe that Edie would turn up unharmed. Sean had the might of the Metropolitan Police Service behind him and all the scientific and technological advances that made it so much easier to find the proverbial needle in a haystack, but many people fell through the cracks, just as they had in the past. It was an odd coincidence that Nicole was researching the disappearance of Superintendent Redmond’s daughter just now since the parallels were hard to miss. Two high-ranking police officials, two young women, one gone forever despite her father’s track record and years of experience.

And the other? Would Edie return home safely, or would she become a statistic, just another name in a long list of individuals whose families never got closure and spent the rest of their lives wondering what had befallen the person they loved? Kyle knew that after a time the prayers of those left behind began to change. At first, they begged God to bring their loved one home and help them to heal from their ordeal. They still worried about the victim’s ability to remain whole and to overcome trauma in order to move on with their lives. But after years of waiting for even the slightest glimmer of hope, of their hearts leaping with both fear and expectation every time the phone displayed an unfamiliar number or someone knocked on the door, they began to pray that the victim’s death had been a quick one and that they hadn’t suffered. That was truly the turning point, Kyle thought, that shift from life to death, from worrying about the future to trying to make peace with the past. The moment hope died. He prayed that they would never reach that milestone with Edie, but so did every other person who found themselves waiting for news, until they knew for certain that their prayer had gone unanswered and there would never be a joyful reunion.

Kyle could no longer tolerate the pressure building in his chest or the questions multiplying at an alarming rate, each possibility painting new and frightening scenarios. For once, he wished that he weren’t a crime writer and that his brain didn’t automatically supply horrific storylines based on real cases he’d studied. He grabbed his phone and texted Sean.

Hey, Dad. Any news?

Sean replied by ringing back. He sounded tired and defeated, and Kyle was sure he’d spent a sleepless night worrying about Edie and comforting Carla.

“Nothing yet, but an investigation has been launched,” Sean said.

“Do they have anything?”

As Edie’s father, Sean would not be permitted to take an official part in the investigation, but there was no way he would consent to be kept in the dark.

Sean sighed heavily. “There’s CCTV footage of Edie entering the Tube station just before 8:30 a.m. She seemed fine, and no one was following her.”

“Did she board a train?”

“The camera on the platform is out of order. Typical,” Sean said with disgust.

“And her mobile? Are the techs able to track her location?”

“No signal.”

“Hospitals?” Kyle asked, preferring not to ask about the mortuaries.

“No one that fits Edie’s description was admitted within the given timeframe.”

Someone said something unintelligible in the background, and Kyle felt Sean’s attention shift away from the conversation. “I’ll ring you later, Kyle. If you have a moment, maybe you can check on Carla? Her sister was supposed to come and stay with her, but she’s ill with the flu, and her best friend is on holiday in Tenerife. I hate that Carla is on her own.”

“Of course,” Kyle said. “I’ll pop round this afternoon. Have you told Emily that Edie is missing?”

“No, not yet. Please don’t say anything to her,” Sean said, his voice firmer now. “She’s already worried because I’d asked if she’s heard from Edie. I tried to sound casual, but Emily realized that something wasn’t right and has probably been trying to ring Edie.” He inhaled sharply. “And Kyle,” he added, his tone flinty now. “Carla doesn’t know about the pregnancy. That bit of news would just send her over the edge, so I kept it to myself.”

“Understood,” Kyle said.

“Good. I have to go,” Sean barked, and rang off.

Chapter 25

Nicole

By midafternoon, Edie’s disappearance made the news, a number to call if anyone had any information affixed at the bottom of the screen. Every news outlet made sure to mention that Edie Cadogan was Chief Constable Cadogan’s daughter, knowing this would draw more attention to the story and boost ratings. Sadly, stories of missing women were common enough, so in this instance, Sean was the clickbait. It was early days in the investigation, but several newscasters went so far as to draw a comparison to the disappearance of Lacey Caves, a teenage girl who had gone missing over six months ago when she left home to go to her part-time job at a café in Shoreditch. Lacey’s body had eventually been discovered in an abandoned factory on the outskirts of London by a group of boys who used the building to hang out and smoke weed.

“I can’t believe they’re bringing Lacey Caves into this,” Kyle fumed the following morning, when yet another broadcast invoked Lacey’s disappearance. “They have absolutely no reason to think that Lacey’s death has anything to do with Edie. The only thing they have in common is that they’re both white, blond young women from London.”

“Wasn’t Lacey last seen entering a Tube station?” I asked carefully.

“Millions of people enter Tube stations. That’s hardly a common denominator. This is just a way to make the story more sensational.”

Kyle turned off the TV. “I’m going to see Carla. Do you want to come?”

Kyle had rung Carla yesterday, asking if he might pop round, but she had told him that she wasn’t up for company and needed to lie down. Kyle had had no choice but to ask if he might come today instead. I shook my head. My heart went out to Edie’s mum, but I had no idea what to say and thought Kyle would be better at this sort of thing. Besides, I was sure the Cadogan home was swarmed with reporters hoping for a glimpse of the missing girl’s parents.

Kyle put on his hooded coat and pulled a black cap low over his eyes. He didn’t want to give the reporters any additional fodder since they had no way of knowing that Edie was Kyle’s sister, but if they decided to mine Edie’s social media, they’d find out soon enough and exploit the connection.

Once Kyle left, I got on the floor with Ava, and we stacked blocks until she became distracted by a plush toy Sean and Carla had given her a few weeks ago. The toy had buttons, zips, laces, and snaps. Ava was too young to dress herself, but she was fascinated by the different features and liked to pull on the various tabs and buttons.

I froze when the doorbell rang. For one mad moment, I thought it was Edie, coming to take Ava to the playground. But of course, it couldn’t be. I lifted Ava into my arms and went to the door, praying the paparazzi hadn’t found us already. I exhaled in relief when I found Rita Walsh standing on the doorstep, a covered dish in her hands.

Rita walked straight into the kitchen, put the dish in the fridge, then removed her coat and hung it on the back of a chair before washing her hands and reaching for her granddaughter.

“Lasagna,” she said. “For later.”

Ava yanked on the zip on Rita’s sweater, practicing her newly acquired skill. Rita laughed and pulled it right back up so that Ava could do it again.

“Aren’t you a clever girl?” she cooed when Ava pulled harder. “Where’s Kyle? I thought I’d come play with Ava so you two could get some work done.”

“Kyle went to see Carla. She wasn’t up for visitors yesterday.”

Rita nodded. “The poor woman. My heart goes out to her.” She pulled the zip up again and sat down at the kitchen table, Ava in her lap. “I rang Sean last night. He’s frantic.”

I slid into a chair across from Rita and waited. Sean and Rita had been partners when they were young, inexperienced PCs. They had reconnected since Kyle had discovered last year that he was the product of an adrenaline-fueled shag between his mother and her partner after Rita had been taken hostage by a gun-wielding junkie who tried to hold up a pharmacy and thought that grabbing an unarmed constable would help his chances. There was nothing romantic in Sean and Rita’s relationship these days, but they shared a son and a granddaughter and thought it best to maintain an amicable relationship for the sake of those they loved.

“Did he tell you anything?” I asked when Rita failed to elaborate.

“Not really, but I still have my sources in the Met.”

“And?”

Rita sighed. “Edie’s case was assigned to Arthur Lovering.”

“Is he a good detective?”

Rita scoffed. “He thinks he is, but he couldn’t catch Covid in a room full of sick people. I hate to speak ill of a fellow DI, but the man is as slick as any politician and has been steadily climbing the ladder these past twenty years despite a less-than-impressive solve rate and a number of crucial mistakes that were conveniently swept under the carpet by his golf buddies.”

“Does Sean know that?” I asked, aghast at Rita’s description of the man charged with finding Edie.

“Of course he does. Don’t worry. He sorted it. Called in a few favors, I expect. So now the investigation is headed by DI Donna Martins. Smart as a whip, that one, and doesn’t take crap from anyone. If I went missing, that’s who I’d want looking for me.”

“And does DI Martins have any leads?”

“She won’t talk to me. It’s an ongoing investigation, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground.”

“Do you have any theories, Rita?” I asked.

Rita was the sort of person who had an opinion on everything, but unlike people whose views were often based on nothing more than supposition or prejudice, Rita was well informed and fairly objective. She had been at the top of her field before taking retirement a few years ago, so her opinion carried weight with me.

“If this were my case, I’d be working three possibilities. One, something happened to make Edie want to go off for a few days. Now, knowing Edie, I don’t think that’s very likely. She’s a kind, considerate girl and would never take off without telling her parents or letting you know that she wouldn’t be coming to work.”

Kyle had told me about the pregnancy test Leyla had found, but I didn’t know if Rita knew and wasn’t about to bring it up. It wasn’t my news to share, especially when it could get back to Carla. I was sure that DI Martins had been informed and would take the news into consideration.

“What are the other two?” I asked.

“The other two are more alarming. Either Edie was a random victim, or she was targeted.”

“You really think this could have been random?” I asked, surprised by Rita’s suggestion.

Rita nodded. “It could be random if someone saw an opportunity and availed themselves, but years of experience tell me it wasn’t. Had Edie been randomly snatched, she would have put up a fight, and someone would have noticed. This happened in broad daylight, in a city of millions, during the morning commute. Someone would have seen something suspicions, and the phones would be ringing. As far as I know, DI Martins doesn’t have any viable leads.”

“What can the police do if they have nothing to go on?”

“Oh, they can do plenty. And they are,” Rita said, and made a silly face that made Ava laugh. “The first thing they’ll do is review all the CCTV footage from the surrounding area. I’m sure they’ve already requested Edie’s call and text records from her mobile provider. And they will want to see if there’s been any activity on her credit or bank cards.”

“So, they should know something soon,” I speculated.

“These things don’t happen as quickly in real life as they do on the telly. It could take a day or two to get the call logs and bank information. Given that this is the chief constable’s daughter, I reckon they’ll come in a little faster, but there’s always a wait. At this stage, CCTV and Edie’s friends are the best bet. I expect someone is already trolling through her social media accounts to see if anyone was harassing her or if she had alluded to anything that might offer up a clue.”

“Kyle and Sean spoke to Edie’s flatmate, her boyfriend, and her best friend.”

“I know. DI Martins is looking into Leyla’s family and Kieran’s alibi.”

“Why would she be looking into Leyla’s family?”

“Leyla’s brother-in-law, Ammar, recently returned from the Middle East and has expressed some strong views online regarding the situation in Syria. Could be nothing, just a young man angry about what’s happening in his country and the ongoing refugee crisis, or it could be a red flag.”

“But what would that have to do with Edie?”

“Kidnaping the daughter of the chief constable is a way to send a message to those in power.”

“What message?” I asked.

“The message that no one is safe, not even the daughter of the chief constable.” Rita sighed. “However, if that were the case, I think we would have heard something by now. A hostage’s only value lies in what the powers that be are willing to give up in order to get the hostage back. No demands have been made, so I really don’t think Ammar is involved, but it would be irresponsible to rule him out. In any case, I think that you and Ava should remain indoors the next few days.”

“Are you serious?” I exclaimed.

“As serious as a heart attack. Until we know the reason for Edie’s disappearance, we have to consider all possibilities, and another one of those possibilities is that this could have something to do with her father.”

“You mean revenge?”

“There’s not a copper out there who hasn’t made enemies during the span of their career. You nick someone, send them to prison, ruin their livelihood, destroy their family, and they will come for you.”

“Did anyone ever come for you?” I asked, once again reminded of how fearless my mother-in-law was.

“There were several attempts by a drug lord I had put away to have me investigated for malfeasance.”

“Malfeasance?”

“Corruption,” Rita explained. “He accused me of accepting bribes to make sure some cases were never passed on to the Crown Prosecution Service and were eventually dismissed for lack of evidence. If it could be shown that I had bent the rules at any point in my career, then all my previous cases would come into question and the convictions could be thrown out. But there was no evidence of wrongdoing because I had never put a foot wrong.”

“I see.”

“Don’t you have work to do?” Rita asked, smiling gently to take the sting out of her words. “Take advantage of the help I’m offering. I think Ava and I will go play in the garden. It might rain later, but for now, it looks fine.”

“Thank you, Rita.”

“No need to thank me. Time with my grandbaby is thanks enough.”

I left Rita and Ava to it and headed to my study, but I couldn’t get what Rita had said out of my mind. I tried not to imagine where Edie might be and what could be happening to her. For some reason, the idea of a targeted attack was much more frightening than a random act of criminality. Your basic criminal was rarely a mastermind and might eventually make a mistake, but someone who’d really thought things through was truly terrifying since they would leave nothing to chance.

The only way to control my mounting panic was to concentrate on work, and I wondered if I could apply the same logic to Lily’s disappearance as Rita had to Edie’s. Were there really only three workable possibilities? If Lily hadn’t left of her own free will, then she had to either have been a victim of an opportunistic felon or a carefully selected target. Lily had last been seen by Leicester Square, a brightly lit, crowded spot much like the platform in an Underground station. Both Lily and Edie had disappeared in broad daylight and should have been seen by multiple individuals, but if anyone had come forward in Lily’s disappearance, their tips must have proved useless because as far as I could tell, Lily had never been found.

If Lily had been a random victim, there’d be no obvious leads, and I had no way of knowing who might have wished to revenge themselves on her father. I wasn’t even sure if there was a record of Superintendent Redmond’s cases still on file, and to go through them at this stage would be madness. The only thing I could do was focus on those close to her and hope that I could spot a clue from a distance of nearly one hundred and fifty years. Given that both Charlotte Haze and Michael Donovan were still nearly blank slates, I would start with them.

Chapter 26

Quinn

“You look positively sparky today,” Rhys announced with an amused grin when he stopped by to drop off Vanessa and Dylan for a playdate with Mia and Alex. Already the sounds coming from upstairs resembled a raging tornado, but after keeping the kids isolated during the lockdowns, the mayhem actually brought a smile to Quinn’s lips. Let them have their fun. They’d clean up later.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Quinn asked, taken aback by Rhys’s description.

“That’s what Vanessa says when she thinks Katya and I are up to something.”

“And are you up to something?”

“Not as often as she thinks we are,” Rhys replied somewhat cagily. “And don’t change the subject. You look different somehow.”

Quinn knew exactly what would happen if Rhys found out about her participation in Nicole’s project. He’d get on her case about agreeing to another series of Echoes from the Past, and this time, Gabe would back him up.

She shrugged. “Met some lovely new people. Always a treat after being cooped up for so long,” Quinn replied breezily.

“Anyone I might know?”

“Maybe. Have you ever read anything by Kyle Walsh or Nicole Rayburn?”

Rhys’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Yes, I have read a few books by Kyle Walsh. And Katya loves Nicole Rayburn’s books. She even remarked that Nicole Rayburn’s method of delving into the past is similar to yours.”

“We historians are all alike,” Quinn quipped. “Can’t keep aways from long-forgotten drama.”

Rhys cocked his head to the side and studied Quinn as she handed him a mug of coffee. “You’re working on something new,” he said. “I can tell just by looking at you.”

“Maybe.”

“Anything I might be interested in?”

“Definitely not.”

“Now why do I think you’re gaslighting me?” Rhys asked, lifting one dark eyebrow for emphasis.

“Why ever would you think a thing like that?” Quinn replied, doing her best to look innocent. Rhys really did know her too well for comfort. She could never hide anything from him.

Rhys’s gray gaze bore into her over the rim of his mug. He wasn’t backing down now that he’d spotted a chink in her armor.

“I’ve offered to help Nicole with some basic research. That’s all.”

“Why don’t I believe you? You have that gleam in your eye,” Rhys said with a sly grin. “Come on. Spill. You know you want to.”

“Did you and Gabe plan this?” Quinn exclaimed, but she couldn’t help but grin.

“Plan what?” Rhys asked, all innocence.

“I know what you two are doing. You’re trying to get me excited about a new project.”

“Is it working?”

Quinn was about to say that it wasn’t but couldn’t bring herself to lie. “Maybe a little.”

“Can you tell me about it?”

“Absolutely not!”

“I promise, I won’t even mention Echoes from the Past,” Rhys said, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“If only I believed you.”

“Am I really so predictable?” Rhys asked, smiling charmingly.

“To someone who knows you as well I do, yes.”

“So, any chance of another series?”

“Not in this lifetime.”

“All right.” Rhys sighed with resignation. “I’ll be off, then. I hope the little monsters have fun, and please don’t give them too many sweets. Katya is trying to get us all to eat healthier.”

“And is that working?” Quinn joked.

“Not really. Whenever she gets anxious, she starts cooking Russian food. Piroshki, blini, pelmeni. It’s all about carbs with various fillings and gobs of sour cream.”

“Sounds good to me,” Quinn said. “Do invite us next time she goes on a bender. I could use some comfort food.”

“How about tomorrow night? I feel beef stroganoff with noodles coming on.”

“Ooh, yes please.”

“Excellent. I’ll tell her to use a bigger cauldron,” Rhys said with a laugh, and patted his stomach. “I have yet to lose the weight I gained during the pandemic.”

“Don’t we all.”

“Anyway, gotta dash,” Rhys said. “I have a meeting in an hour. Ring me when the children are ready to be collected.”

“Will do.”

Quinn shut the door behind Rhys and found that she was still smiling. She looked forward to a delicious Russian meal with the Morgans, but she looked forward to another session with the St. Christopher even more. She headed upstairs and knocked on Emma’s door. At twelve, Emma preferred the privacy of her room, reading, listening to music, or watching videos on her phone. She was caught in that liminal zone between childhood and young adulthood and had yet to find her footing. There were moments when she still behaved like the child she was, but at other times, Emma showed great maturity and wisdom. It wasn’t surprising, given the tragic loss of her mum and grandmother when Emma had been hardly more than a toddler, and her subsequent move from Scotland to live with Quinn and Gabe. Emma wasn’t Quinn’s biological child, but Emma was her daughter in all the ways that mattered, and Emma loved Quinn as she would her own mother.

Emma didn’t answer Quinn’s knock, so she let herself into the room. Emma was sprawled on her bed, her huge Bose headphones reminding Quinn of Princess Leia’s iconic buns. Emma looked up and smiled, then removed the headphones.

“What’s up, Mum?”

“Nothing much. Rhys just left. He invited us for dinner tomorrow night. Katya is making beef stroganoff.”

“I’m sleeping over at Maya’s,” Emma reminded her. “Guess I’ll have to miss the stroganoff. Sorry not sorry,” she sang happily. “Maya wants to glam up and take some photos to post on her Insta. Her mum’s going to let us use her makeup. Her stuff is dope. Can I create an account too? Pleeease?” Emma begged.

“Em, we talked about this.”

“I know, but all my friends have one. Mum, I promise I will make it private so no thirty-year-old creeps can send me messages.”

Quinn sighed. She could understand Emma’s frustration. All her friends were on Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, and TikTok. Quinn worried that Emma would get bullied, or worse yet, get approached by some pedophile, but this was a different world to the one Quinn had grown up in, and they had to take Emma’s feelings into consideration and not turn her into a social pariah.

“I’ll talk to your father. Maybe if we can monitor the account, he will agree to a trial.”

Emma’s look of horror turned into one of resignation. “All right. I guess that’s fair,” she said. “You’re the GOAT.”

“Sorry?” Quinn exclaimed.

“Mum, get with the lingo. It means Greatest of All Time. It was a compliment.”

“Right. Thanks.”

Emma sighed with impatience. “What are the gremlins up to?”

She was working her way through popular films from the eighties and kept throwing out American cultural references.

“They’re playing in Mia’s room. Em, would you mind keeping an eye on them for about a half hour?”

Emma shrugged. “Sure. No probs. I’ll come and get you if I sus anything suspicious. Can we order pizza for lunch?”

“Sure,” Quinn replied. “I’ll be in the study if you need me.”

“You look like you’re up to something,” Emma observed.

“I’m not up to anything.”

“Okay. If you say so.”

“I do.”

Emma gave her a look meant to convey that she didn’t buy that for a second. “See you later. Enjoy whatever it is you’re being all secretive about.”

“I will,” Quinn replied, and let herself out. She couldn’t wait to spend some quality time with Lily Redmond.

Chapter 27

Lily

March 1888

Lily slid her arm through Micah’s, glad they finally had a chance to spend some time together. Micah had been in London for more than a week, but his days were filled with visits to school friends, a consultation with the police surgeon at Scotland Yard, and a tour of the hospital where Jason used to volunteer before accepting the position of superintendent. Micah had also worked his way through all the recent medical journals Jason had on hand and had ordered a few new ones, since he was deeply interested in new discoveries and surgical techniques that were practiced in Europe.

Lily and Micah walked along the embankment, enjoying the pleasant day. A number of boats were out on the river, and the water sparkled in the morning light, turning the Thames into a glittering ribbon of light. Lily knew it was petty to be jealous of the time Micah spent with others, but she wanted to talk with him and share her thoughts as she had when she was a child. She was eager to get to know this new Micah and longed for him to know her, not as a little girl but as a grown woman, one who had opinions and dreams and plans for the future.

Lily listened with half an ear as Micah waxed poetic about open-heart surgery. According to Micah, exploratory procedures had been attempted, but with less than encouraging results. Still, he thought cardiac surgery was the future and hoped he’d still be practicing medicine when the first successful procedure was performed in the United States.

“What does Father think?” Lily asked.

“He thinks it’s just a matter of time until someone figures out how to keep the patient alive long enough to repair the heart. It really would be a miracle.”

“It would,” Lily agreed. “I really can’t see it happening, not when the heart must continue to pump blood while being operated on.” She made a valiant attempt to appear interested, but her mind wasn’t on surgery.

“In centuries past, people viewed surgery with suspicion, and with good reason. Too many patients died, either of shock, post-operative infection, or just plain incompetence on the part of the surgeon, but eventually what seemed impossible became routine. I really think heart surgery is the next frontier.”

“I expect whoever is the first to perform a successful procedure will feel like God himself,” Lily said.

“It is a godlike feeling to know that you have saved someone’s life. It’s also incredibly humbling. I wouldn’t choose to do anything else with my life.”

“Father still mourns his ability to operate. It was such an integral part of him.”

Micah nodded. “It was, but he still practices medicine. He volunteers at several women’s shelters. Did you know that?” he asked carefully.

Lily nodded. She did know, even though it wasn’t routinely discussed at the dinner table. Few respectable doctors cared to set foot in the shelters for fallen women, where most babies were born out of wedlock and many of the residents were afflicted with syphilis or gonorrhea, but Jason Redmond felt no such prejudice and called at the shelters weekly. Although Lily had asked to come along, claiming she could offer assistance, Jason had never agreed to take her, deferring to his wife’s wishes that Lily be kept away from such establishments for fear of the association ruining her reputation. Lily didn’t blame her mother. Katherine was more progressive than most, but she understood society’s rules and didn’t want her only daughter to pay a price no one would ever exact from a man.

Tired of talking about medicine, Lily gazed up at Micah. “Have you finalized a date for your return to Boston?”

“March twenty-third. I’m sorry, Lils, but I can’t stay any longer. I have commitments at home.”

Lily sighed deeply. “So, the two friends I love most will not be there on the most important day of my life?”

Micah looked down at her, his brows knitting with concern. “What happened with you and Charlotte?”

“She doesn’t approve.”

“Of Avery?”

“Of my life choices,” Lily replied bitterly.

“What would she have you do?”

“Charlotte wants us to open a detective agency. She has it all planned. We could work out of her father’s office and start by taking on some of his less-complex cases until we establish a reputation.”

“And would you go in with her if you weren’t getting married?” Micah asked.

Lily shook her head. “It was a thrilling dream when we were younger, but we’re adults now, and we have to think like adults.”

“And how do adults think?” Micah replied with a grin.

“The end of Father’s surgical career was brought about by a thug with a length of pipe. He was lucky it was only his hand and not his skull. And Uncle Daniel lost a kidney after he was stabbed during an investigation. It’s a dangerous world out there, Micah, more so for a woman. I’m not sure I’m ready to risk my life to bring a petty criminal to justice or to track down some woman’s philandering husband. I’ve grown up. Charlotte hasn’t.”

“It’s all right for you and Charlotte to want different things, Lily, but you mustn’t allow it to destroy your friendship. Charlotte was always like a sister to you.”

“And sisters sometimes let you down.” She gave Micah a meaningful look. His own sister, Mary, had been quite a handful in her day.

“They do, but you forgive them and move forward. Believe me, there are very few people you can trust implicitly, Lils, so you must value the ones you are blessed with.”

Lily nodded. She knew Micah was right and she’d have to make up with Charlotte, but that was another thing she didn’t want to think about just then. Charlotte could be as stubborn as the proverbial mule, and it would take some doing to earn her forgiveness.

“Tell me about your life in Boston. What are your days like? Do you like the hospital where you work? Is there room for advancement?”

Micah scoffed. “No respectable hospital will allow me to advance beyond the position of staff surgeon.”

“Why? Father says you’re an excellent surgeon.”

“Skill has nothing to do with it. It’s my extracurricular activities that set me apart.”

“I don’t understand,” Lily said, wondering what on earth Micah was referring to.

“I run a free clinic for Irish immigrants. These people have neither the money nor the goodwill of the mostly Protestant doctors to get the medical care they need. They rely on me.”

“And that makes you a pariah among the staff?” Lily asked.

In truth, she wasn’t all that surprised. She’d heard Jason rage against patient discrimination often enough when he’d worked at the hospital. He’d seen it happen in America, and he saw it in England. The Irish, the Jews, and the blacks were frequently turned away at the door, even if refusing to help meant certain death for the patient. Some things never changed and likely never would, so the immigrant communities had to rely on their own doctors and hope they had both the training and the facilities to care for them.

“Not a pariah, exactly, but I’m not very popular with those in charge.”

“And you run the clinic on your own?” Lily asked.

“Liam helps out, and a few of the local women volunteer their time.”

“But if the clinics are free, how do you make a living?”

“Well, there are my shifts at the hospital, and I also lend my services to the police. I get paid per postmortem.” Micah smiled wistfully. “When I was a little boy, I wanted to be just like my father, but as I grew into a man, I knew I wanted to be like yours.”

Lily looked out over the water, her gaze fixing on a little boat that held a man and what looked like a small boy. She wondered what they were doing out on the river when it was so cold, but life didn’t stop for the weather, nor for those who were too poor to miss even one day of work.

“What about the rest?” Lily asked, turning to face Micah.

“The rest?”

“Surely you must think of settling down and starting a family of your own.”

Micah looked away, his gaze fixed on the shore beyond. “I have a family.”

“You do?” Lily exclaimed, deeply stung by Micah’s admission. “Does Father know?” But what she really wanted to ask was, How could you not tell me?

Micah nodded. “He does. I’ve been married these five years.”

“And you didn’t think to tell us?” Lily asked, unable to keep the reproach out of her voice.

“It’s complicated, Lils.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you’re still the nosy little girl I remember,” Micah said. “Come on, it’s cold, and we can both do with a hot drink. Do you still like chocolate?”

“I prefer tea,” Lily replied, miffed that Micah had put an end to their conversation.

She was almost twenty-one, and it galled her that everyone still treated her like a child. How was it possible that neither her father nor her mother had told her that Micah had a wife, and probably even children? He had said “family” rather than just wife. Why would he not share the happy news with his English family, or did he no longer think of them as such?

“Micah, I—” Lily began, but Micah’s closed expression was enough to silence her.

“Please, Lily. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“All right. You win,” she said. “Let’s find some tea and cake. I’m suddenly famished.”

Micah took her hand and pulled her along, much as he had done when she was little and had struggled to keep up with his long stride.

“Come on, slowpoke,” he exclaimed, and Lily followed him obediently, willing to go wherever he took her.

Chapter 28

Lily waited until after dinner, when she knew her father would retire to his study and settle in with the novel he’d purchased that afternoon. Micah had gone out to meet a friend, and Katherine had caught a chill and had gone to bed with a hot water bottle. The house was quiet, the servants enjoying their own dinner belowstairs and a few hours of well-earned rest. Jason looked up and smiled absentmindedly when she entered the study, his mind no doubt still on the story he had been engrossed in.

“What is it, darlin’?” he asked when Lily shut the door behind her and settled in a chair by the hearth.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“That Micah is married.”

A pained look crossed her father’s face, and he set the book aside, giving Lily his full attention. “I didn’t think it was something anyone needed to know,” he said at last.

“Why not?”

“Because Micah wished to keep his affairs private.”

“We’re not talking about an affair. We’re talking about a family.”

Jason nodded. “Lily, Micah’s marriage is not a happy one. It’s not for me to divulge the details, but suffice it to say, the situation has caused him much suffering and will continue to do so in the future.”

“Surely a marriage that’s so fraught with misery should be dissolved.”

Jason sighed. “Micah is Catholic, sweetheart. You know that.”

“So?”

“The Catholic Church does not sanction divorce. Micah is bound to his wife until one of them passes from this world.”

“But that’s so unfair!”

“It is, but there’s nothing to be done. Micah can either find a way to live with his wife or live apart from her, but regardless of their living arrangements, they will remain married.”

“Do they have children?”

“They do.”

“How many?” Lily asked, wounded that Micah would not have told her about his babies.

“Just one. A girl. Bridget.”

“Bridget,” Lily repeated. “Like the saint.”

“Yes.”

“Did Micah come to you for marital advice?”

“No, but he did write to me about his troubles when it first became apparent that things would not improve.”

“He wouldn’t tell me when I asked him about it,” Lily said petulantly. “He doesn’t trust me.”

“It’s not that he doesn’t trust you. He simply has no wish to talk about it since there is nothing he can do.”

“Is his wife so horrid, then?”

Jason laughed. “I’ve never met her, but I’m sure she’s not horrid if Micah loved her enough to marry her.”

“Then why can’t they find a way to coexist?” Lily asked. She needed to understand why a marriage could not be salvaged, especially when it was in the interests of both parties to get along not only for their own sake but for the sake of their child.

“Relationships are rarely straightforward.”

“You and Mama have a straightforward relationship,” Lily protested.

“And so did you and Charlotte until you found yourselves at a crossroads,” Jason pointed out.

“That’s hardly the same.”

“Marriage is no different. Sometimes people find that they need different things in order to be happy.”

“What does a woman need besides a devoted husband?” Lily demanded.

“Love,” Jason replied.

“Are you suggesting that Micah stopped loving his wife?”

Jason gave Lily a tired smile. “I was speaking theoretically.”

“But you clearly know more than you’re telling me.”

“I do, but I will not discuss this any further. Micah’s private life is his own. Now, unless you’d like to talk about something else, I’ll say goodnight.”

Lily nearly stomped her foot in frustration, as she had done when she was a little girl, but her father was right. She wouldn’t want someone to discuss her affairs, especially if she had expressly asked that the details be kept private. Jason Redmond was not given to gossip, nor would he ever betray a confidence.

“Goodnight, Daddy,” Lily said.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Lily watched her father leave the room, then flipped through a medical journal he’d left on his desk before deciding the images were too gory to look at before bed. Too bad he’d taken the new book with him. She needed something to take her mind off the questions teeming in her restless mind.

Chapter 29

Kyle

Kyle ushered Sean into the house and slammed the door shut, but not before several flashes exploded in the night and momentarily blinded him. He reached out and embraced his father, who looked older and grayer than he had two days ago, his shoulders stooped with fatigue and stress. Sean hung up his coat and unwound his scarf, then followed Kyle into the lounge. Ava cried with delight and toddled toward her grandfather, who scooped her up and gave her a hug and a kiss on the forehead.

“How are you, my beautiful?” Sean asked.

Ava beamed at him, then pushed against his chest to let him know she wanted to be set down. She settled on the floor with her back to the sofa, her attention already on the picture book she’d been looking at, her chubby finger jabbing at a picture of a sheep.

“Is there any news?” Nicole asked.

They had agreed not to keep asking, but it was impossible to remain silent when Edie was uppermost in everyone’s minds and with every passing hour it became more apparent that something awful had happened.

Sean took a seat and shook his head. “Not as such. DI Martins has finally received Edie’s mobile records and there’s a lot to get through, but she is concentrating on the days leading up to Edie’s disappearance and the hours just before her phone was switched off.”

“Anything suspicious?” Kyle asked.

“She texted Darryl Blaine after her row with Kieran. Suggested they get together for a drink.”

“Did he reply?” Nicole asked.

“He did. Said he’d love to see her and asked if she was free at the weekend. Edie said she was and would ring him tomorrow. There’s nothing after that.”

“Darryl lied. He said he hadn’t heard from Edie,” Kyle reminded Sean.

“He did, but at this time, he’s not under suspicion.”

“Was there anything else?” Kyle pressed.

“Edie received a call from an unregistered number just after she entered the Tube station. The call lasted about twenty seconds.”

“Do you think it has something to do with her disappearance?” Nicole asked.

“Impossible to say, and since it was made from a pay-as-you-go mobile, there’s no way to trace it.”

“Isn’t it odd that someone would use a burner phone to call Edie?” Kyle asked.

“Not really. Edie meets all sorts on the music circuit. Some people can’t afford a contract with a provider,” Sean explained. “There were several calls from unregistered numbers.”

“Do you think some of them might be from the bloke Naya mentioned? The one whose name starts with M.”

Sean shook his head. “Milo. Donna hasn’t found him yet.”

“Any activity on Edie’s cards?” Kyle asked.

“Nothing since the night before she disappeared, when she withdrew a hundred quid from a cashpoint near her flat.”

“And Edie’s laptop?” Nicole asked.

“The techs are working on it,” Sean replied.

“Do you have any leads?” Kyle asked, and instantly regretted his tone. Sean was devastated enough without being accused of failing to find evidence, more so because he wasn’t the one heading up the investigation and had no choice but to trust that DI Martins would not mishandle the inquiry.

“I’m not permitted anywhere near this investigation,” Sean said. “I know only what DI Martins chooses to share with me, but Donna knows what she’s doing. She’s an experienced copper.” Sean sighed. “DI Lovering is making trouble, though. He’s made a complaint to Professional Standards.”

“What sort of complaint?” Nicole asked.

“He says his removal from the case was without merit and that I shouldn’t be able to pick and choose which DI is assigned the case just because it involves my daughter.”

“What does Professional Standards have to say about that?” Kyle asked.

Sean shrugged. “They have yet to review his claim.”

“Did you have him removed?”

“I did. Lovering is an absolute twat who’s so fond of the sound of his own voice, he never hears what anyone else has to say or cares about the victims. I don’t really care if I am called to answer for my actions. By the time Professional Standards gets to Lovering’s complaint, the investigation will be well on its way, and no one will dare remove Donna to pacify DI Lovering.”

“Let’s hope the wheels of bureaucracy move even slower than usual,” Kyle said.

Sean smiled tiredly. “They will. The head of Professional Standards is no fan of Lovering. He’ll make sure this goes no further.”

“How’s Carla? And Emily?” Nicole asked.

“Carla is much as you’d expect. She barely eats and can sleep only if she takes a tablet. And Emily is on her way home. She’s seen the news, and now she’s furious with me for not telling her what’s been happening,” Sean said wearily. “I was only trying to protect her.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?”

“Stay safe, and don’t talk to any reporters.”

“They’ve been camped out in front of the house for hours,” Nicole said angrily.

“They’re looking for an angle,” Sean said. “You both have substantial followings, so they’re hoping to increase visibility by using your names as hashtags. If you need to go out, make sure to wear the same thing every time.”

“Why?” Nicole asked, looking at Sean in surprise.

“If you wear the same thing, then the photos have less commercial value as they appear to have all been taken on the same day.”

“Really?”

Sean nodded. “It’s a trick celebrities use to get the paps to back off.”

“I can never understand what sort of people feed off someone’s fear and grief,” Nicole said.

“Information is a commodity, and a valuable one at that. It’s easy not to feel anything when the tragedy is happening to someone else. I’m actually grateful that Carla hasn’t left the house or turned on the television. She’s better off insulated from the endless speculation.”

“Dad, are you hungry? Will you stay for dinner?” Kyle asked.

“Thank you, but I have to get back to Carla. I just wanted to see you all and give you an update in person.” Sean ran a loving hand over Ava’s dark curls, then pushed to his feet and walked to the door. “Look after your family, Kyle.”

“Do you think we’re in danger?” Kyle asked, his insides twisting with anxiety. He wouldn’t worry too much if it were just him, but the thought of anything happening to Ava or Nicole was terrifying.

“Until we know what happened to Edie and the reason behind it, we must all remain vigilant.”

“I’m here if you need me, Dad.”

“I know, son. And I appreciate your support more than you know.”

Sean hugged Kyle, then put on his coat and scarf and stepped outside. He lowered his head and put up a splayed hand to shield his face, but that didn’t prevent the explosion of camera flashes from blooming in the darkness.

“Do you know what happened to your daughter?” a male voice called out, but Sean ignored him and climbed into his car.

“Care to make a statement about your sister’s disappearance, Mr. Walsh?” a female reporter cried, but Kyle shut the door before she finished the sentence.

He leaned against the door and shut his eyes, needing a moment to compose himself before returning to the lounge. By tomorrow there were sure to be several more reporters outside since someone had clearly figured out the connection between Sean, Kyle, and Edie. Everyone’s life seemed to have changed overnight.

For a brief moment, Kyle wished that he had psychic abilities, like Quinn, only he would have liked to see into the future rather than the past and arm himself with the information he needed to protect those he loved. But people weren’t meant to know their future. How had Nicole put it? Cursed with the date of one’s death. Would he want to know how long he had left or find out if Edie would ever come back to them? Only if the answers were reassuring, but that was the problem with finding out the truth, one never knew how events might play out or what tragedy lurked just around the corner. Sometimes, it was best not to know.

Chapter 30

Nicole

My phone pinged and I grabbed for it, hoping it was news of Edie, but it was a text from Quinn. It read:

Micah Donovan was an Irish orphan informally adopted by Jason Redmond when his father and brother died in a Confederate prison where Jason was also a prisoner. Jason brought Micah to England and raised him alongside his own children. More later…

I grinned and sent a reply, thanking Quinn for the information and suggesting we get together in the coming days to discuss our findings. Quinn replied with a thumbs up emoji. Not the answer I had been hoping for, but better than nothing. She must have been too busy to type out a proper reply. Still, her text was on point. I might have found Micah on my own in due time, but it was nice to have a direct line to the Redmond family without investing fruitless hours in eliminating implausible connections. Now Micah’s role in the family was clear, as was his relationship to Lily.

I had just hit pay dirt on Micah Donovan online and was printing the results when my phone rang.

“The Redmond and Haze Detective Agency,” Jonah announced triumphantly when I answered. “I knew the names sounded familiar, and I was right. It was a lesser-known Victorian detective series written by Charles Haze. My mum used to love those stories because the detectives were women. She read them to me when I was a boy. I really enjoyed the stories until I discovered Sherlock Holmes. Mum and I had some heated debates about who was the better detective. I was firmly in Sherlock’s corner, but my mum said that the Redmond and Haze series were more realistic because the protagonists were not gifted with superhuman abilities and that made them more relatable. I had completely forgotten about them until you mentioned the names. I looked it up, and it turns out the series was written by Charlotte Haze, daughter of Inspector Daniel Haze, who probably thought she’d have an easier time getting published if she took a pseudonym and masqueraded as a man.”

Jonah had obviously found the same entry on Wikipedia, but it was quite a coincidence that he’d heard of the books.

“I actually found several volumes on eBay, but they’re rather pricey. Besides, as far as I know, the Redmond and Haze Detective Agency never actually existed. Inspector Haze and Lord Redmond collaborated in solving more than a dozen high-profile cases, but they never went into business together. The detective agency was Charlotte’s invention, but she drew heavily on her father’s cases for her books,” I said, quoting the Wikipedia entry.

“She would have to have done, since no one would allow her near an investigation in those days. They did not allow women into the police service until sometime in the twentieth century, and even then, they were probably only allowed to make tea and comfort bereaved relatives. Of course, Charlotte’s female detectives got into some hair-raising scrapes that kept the reader guessing until the last page not only who the culprit was but how the protagonists would get themselves out of their predicament.”

“I might have to bite the bullet and spring for at least one book,” I said.

I could almost hear Jonah smiling on the other end. “As it happens, my mum has the complete set. I asked her, and she said you’re welcome to borrow it. I’ll be happy to overnight it to you.”

“Thank you. That’s very kind. I will return the books as soon as I’ve finished reading.”

“No, rush,” Jonah said. “Mum can’t read them anymore because the font is too small, and by the time Natalie is old enough for detective stories, I doubt she’ll be interested in something written in the late nineteenth century.”

“You never know. She might develop an interest in history. Like her dad.”

“As of now, she’s a lot more interested in baking. Or, more accurately, baked goods.”

“Do you think there might be something in those books that alludes to Lily’s disappearance?” I asked.

“Perhaps not directly, since Lucy Redmond, as she’s called in the books, is on hand for all the investigations and is still very much alive by the end of the last book. There could be some obscure reference, however, since the books were written after Lily Redmond had gone. My own theory is that someone wanted to get revenge against Superintendent Redmond. What better way to punish a man than to take his daughter?” I heard Jonah’s sharp intake of breath. “I’m so sorry. That was insensitive. Is there any word on Edie?”

“No,” I said miserably. “We can’t turn on the television without seeing her face. That’s all they seem to talk about on the news. There are no leads, as far as we know. As soon as Edie entered that Tube station, she vanished. It’s like the ground opened up and swallowed her.”

“It’s like when Persephone was abducted and taken to the underworld by Hades,” Jonah mused. It was an odd comparison, even for Jonah, but I supposed historians were always looking for similar situations in history, or in this case, mythology.

“Unless Sean Cadogan is Zeus in this scenario, I don’t really think that applies.”

“Well, what if it was some impassioned suitor who felt slighted by Edie’s rejection?” Jonah suggested.

“Jonah, you sound positively Victorian,” I said, but my attempt at humor fell flat.

“It’s possible, though, isn’t it? Statistically, it’s always the partner or someone the victim knew and had rejected. It’s rarely random.”

I winced at Jonah’s description of Edie. Victim. That word conjured up so many frightening scenarios, but what other way was there to describe her? Had Edie left on her own, someone would have heard from her by now, especially once she saw the news coverage of her disappearance and realized how worried everyone was.

“Sean and Kyle questioned Edie’s partner. He has an alibi.”

“Who’s to say there wasn’t someone else? Maybe someone she had dated briefly before moving on.”

“I’m sure they’re looking into anyone who might have had a motive,” I replied. I really didn’t want to talk about Edie. It was all too raw.

Jonah seemed to sense my reluctance and changed the subject. “Were you able to discover anything more about the Redmonds?”

I couldn’t tell Jonah how I had come by the information. Quinn’s psychic ability wasn’t my secret to share, but Jonah had helped me many times, and there was no one I trusted more outside my immediate family, so I gave him a sanitized version of the truth.

“Quinn Allenby was able to discover that Lord Redmond had taken in an orphan before he arrived in England. The boy’s name was Michael Donovan, but he went by Micah. He went back to America as an adult, and returned to London shortly before Lily’s disappearance, but I don’t know if that’s relevant.”

“Quinn Allenby?” Jonah asked. “From Echoes?”

“Yes. I met her recently, and she’s just lovely. She offered to help me with the research.”

“Well, don’t you move in exalted circles,” Jonah joked. “So, were you able to learn anything about Micah?”

“I was, actually, and I’m fairly certain this is the correct Michael Donovan since this man was American by birth but received his medical training in London.”

“Probably not too many Americans training to become surgeons in London in those days,” Jonah agreed. “What else did you learn?”

I consulted the printout, since I couldn’t recall the exact dates. “Micah was born in 1855 in Maryland. His mother died when he was seven or eight, and his father and brother both died in February 1865. Micah also had an older sister, Mary, who was born in Maryland in 1849. I wasn’t able to find too much about her, since she married someone named O’Connell.”

“Is there no further record of her?”

“Have you any idea how many Mary O’Connells are on the database?”

Jonah sighed. “Hundreds?”

“More like thousands..”

“And Micah?” Jonah asked. “Did he marry?”

“Micah married Margaret O’Shea in January of 1883, and they had one child, a daughter named Bridget. Bridget was born in August of that year, so it might have been a shotgun wedding or a honeymoon baby that came too soon. Micah was well known in the immigrant community and eventually opened his own hospital, which the locals referred to as St. Michael’s, even though the hospital was officially called the South Boston Infirmary.”

“A real do-gooder, hmm?” Jonah asked.

“Sounds that way.”

“Was he still in London when Lily went missing?”

“I don’t know, and it would be too time consuming to search passenger manifests, since I don’t know when he left or what steamship line he sailed on.”

“Were there many steamship lines that offered passage from London and Boston?” Jonah asked.

“No, but he might have sailed out of Liverpool or Southampton and could have arrived in New York and taken a train to Boston.”

“I suppose, if cost was a factor and it was cheaper to sail from Liverpool to New York,” Jonah agreed. “He obviously knew Charlotte Haze since she named a character after him. Dr. Michael Donovan. My mum said that she liked him because he wasn’t thick.”

I chuckled at that. Most great literary detectives had rather dim sidekicks who needed everything spelled out for them so the author could explain the detective’s reasoning without making the reader feel foolish for missing the clues. I couldn’t help but wonder if Daniel Haze had been the dim-witted sidekick in the Redmond and Haze partnership or if both men had made an equal contribution to the cases they undertook. Jason’s ascent to superintendent had clearly driven a wedge between the two, so it had to have been Jason Redmond who was the brains behind the duo’s success.

“It’s sad about Charlotte,” Jonah said, interrupting my reverie.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, she clearly wrote the books to honor her friend. She must have missed Lily for the rest of her days. Did Charlotte ever marry?”

“I haven’t had a chance to look into her yet.”

“Might be a good idea to see where she wound up,” Jonah said. “And speaking of winding up in unexpected places, I’ve been offered a posting in Chesterfield.”

“Will you take it?” I asked. Jonah didn’t sound too thrilled at the prospect, but it could be the solution he’d been looking for.

“I don’t feel like I have much choice. Not if I want to save my family.”

“And when would this move happen?”

“A replacement would need to be found to take on my current parishes. Once that happens, I will be free to leave. I’ll miss the vicarage, that’s for sure,” Jonah said sadly.

“It’s a beautiful house.”

“We made a lot of happy memories in this place.”

“You’ll make new memories,” I said, hoping that was true.

“Yes, I suppose,” Jonah said, but I could hear the sadness in his voice.

It was obvious Jonah didn’t want to leave. When he and Tanya were first married, Jonah’s vocation and responsibilities had taken center stage, but now Tanya was the main breadwinner, and Jonah had to take her needs and plans into account. That was the way of marriage, though, and it was the couple who could adjust to the unexpected and change accordingly that survived in the long run.

I supposed it made things easier that both Kyle and I had already had established careers by the time we met. We understood the importance of letting each other thrive and had a well-established balance of power, whereas Jonah would have to adapt to a new reality if he hoped to save his marriage and prove to Tanya that she was an equal partner rather than just someone expected to support her man.

“Sorry, but I have to go,” Jonah said. “Natalie has art class, and Tanya is too busy to take her. Please, keep me posted, Nicole. I’m now invested in this story. In fact, I’m going to reread the Redmond and Haze Detective Agency series once you’re done with the books. It will be something Mum and I could do together when I visit her. She’d like that. Funny how our roles change as our parents get older, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I agreed, wishing my mum were still around and I could read to her. “Talk soon. My regards to Tanya and Natalie.”

“Thank you. My love to Kyle and Ava.”

We ended the call, and I instantly logged back into the ancestry site. Jonah was absolutely right. I had to find out everything I could about Charlotte.

Chapter 31

Quinn

Quinn watched as Mia and Alex ran through the school gates and made directly for their friends. For them, the pandemic was a distant memory, and Quinn was glad that it didn’t seem to have left any lasting anxiety. They both loved school and had their own groups of friends. Emma’s school was on Gabe’s way to work, so he dropped her off and collected her in the afternoons, which gave them an opportunity to spend some quality time together. Like her father, Emma was interested in history and loved to read, and the two often stopped by a bookstore on their way home and came back with new acquisitions.

Mia turned and waved, and Quinn waved back, then walked away once the children were safely inside. She was due to meet Nicole for a coffee. Quinn quickened her step, eager to see her new friend. She liked Nicole and thought that she had finally met a kindred spirit, at least when it came to her professional interests. Neither woman was interested in famous historical figures or political events. What they cared about was the individuals no one remembered, real women who often got caught in a web woven by the men in their lives and further trapped by attitudes of the times they lived in.

Lily Redmond was no medieval wisewoman, nor was she a Tudor heiress, but that didn’t mean her circumstances hadn’t been defined by the attitudes of the day. Historical dramas tended to romanticize the Victorians, but to Quinn, their attitudes, beliefs, and obsession with death and mourning rituals were as confining as a Bedlam straitjacket. Victorian women had had no more say in their lives than any of the generations that had come before them. If anything, they might have had even less since it took little to fall from grace. The female population had fallen into several well-defined categories: respectable women, those who earned their living through domestic service or some other menial and underpaid occupation, and prostitutes, who had made up a staggering percentage of London’s female population.

Lily had been lucky enough to be born into a wealthy, well-respected family, but that meant that her path had been outlined before she had even taken her first step. Her only real choice had been to marry a man her father approved of and become a respectable matron in her own right, like her mother. If Lily had wished to study or pursue an interest she’d wished to monetize, such as writing or painting or even nursing, she would have had to do so within the genteel confines of her class in order to retain her position in society since once certain lines were crossed, the entire family could suffer the consequences of a decision made by a single person. The Victorians did not look kindly on women who were clever or ambitious, or those who dared to force their way into fields traditionally reserved for men. Reputation was all, especially for a woman, and Lily Redmond would have been well aware of her limitations.

Quinn entered the café and was glad to see that Nicole was already there, her head bowed as she read something on her phone. Nicole looked up and smiled, and it was like they’d known each other for years, not merely a few days. They placed their order, and Nicole was just about to say something when Edie Cadogan’s face appeared on the TV behind the counter, the telephone number for the hotline displayed at the bottom of the screen. Nicole tensed, her shoulders hunching as she drew into herself and averted her gaze from the screen.

A guilty look passed over her face. “Quinn, I was wondering if I might beg a favor of you.”

“Of course,” Quinn replied, wondering why Nicole looked so apprehensive.

Nicole opened her satchel and pulled out a plastic bag containing a dove-gray scarf with a pattern of pale pink abstract flowers. “Edie left this behind the other day.”

“Oh, Nicole,” Quinn said quietly. “You think she’s—”

“No. I don’t know. I just…” She couldn’t get the words out, and Quinn thought she might cry. “I was hoping…”

Quinn nodded. She accepted the scarf and stowed it inside her own handbag, grateful to Nicole for remembering to bag the item. She didn’t want to touch it in a public space or in front of Nicole, who’d be watching her like a hawk for any indication of what she saw. Quinn needed to do this in private.

“I will let you know as soon as I can,” Quinn promised.

“Thank you. I felt awful having to ask, but they’ve found no trace of Edie, and Kyle is so afraid for her. We all are.”

“That’s understandable. There’s nothing worse than not knowing.”

“Yes,” Nicole said softly. “The not knowing is torture.”

Quinn sighed with resignation and unzipped her bag. She made it a point never to touch anything she wasn’t familiar with in a public place, but she didn’t think Nicole should have to wait. Quinn opened the plastic bag, slid her hand between the folds of the scarf, and shut her eyes. The fabric felt soft and light, and warmed her fingers, and just a bare hint of a floral scent hung in the air, but no vision swam before her eyes, and she breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Nothing,” Quinn said triumphantly. “Nothing at all.”

“Does that mean Edie’s alive?”

“Yes.” Quinn handed the scarf back to Nicole.

“Thank you, Quinn. You don’t know what that means to me. I’ll just text Kyle to let him know. It was his idea.”

“Of course.”

Quinn focused on fixing her coffee while Nicole sent a message to Kyle and then added milk to her tea. She was surprised by how easily Nicole and Kyle had accepted the revelation about her gift. Perhaps they had discussed it between themselves and had doubted her ability at first, as most people would, but her insights into Lily Redmond’s life and the identity of Micah Donovan seemed to allay their doubts. Asking her to touch Edie’s scarf was an act of faith, and she appreciated the trust that had been placed in her, even if it put her in an awkward position. She would have felt awful if she had to tell Nicole that Edie was already gone, but thankfully, Edie was still alive. Quinn prayed she’d stay that way until she was found.

“It’s such a relief to know that Edie is all right,” Nicole said. Quinn didn’t want to discourage her, but Nicole correctly interpreted her expression and nodded in understanding. “I know. The situation can change, and the fact that she’s not dead doesn’t necessarily mean that she’s okay. But hopefully, they’ll find Edie before long.”

“Have you made any progress with your research into Lily?” Quinn asked.

Nicole shook her head. “Not much. I was able to find some information on Michael Donovan. He lived out the rest of his life in Boston and eventually founded his own hospital. He was married and had one daughter. I don’t think he had anything to do with Lily’s disappearance. What about you? Anything interesting?”

“Not yet. All I saw so far was a young Victorian girl preparing for her wedding and dealing with the sort of things women have always had to accept.”

“How do you mean?”

Quinn took a sip of her coffee. “Losing your friends, for one. Not every relationship survives a change of status. Lily’s best friend, Charlotte Haze, was angry and resentful that Lily was getting married and turning her back on their childhood dream.”

“You mean the detective agency?”

“Yes. Lily recognized the impracticality of such a venture, but Charlotte was fixated on proceeding with the plan.”

“Why did Lily think it was impossible?” Nicole asked. “Was it because her husband wouldn’t approve?”

“Well, there was that, of course, but also, she understood the danger. As much as a male detective put himself at risk when investigating a case, a woman was hardly safe when delving into secrets that people were willing to kill for. I got the impression that Charlotte was more single-minded and inflexible, whereas Lily was more fluid.”

“Fluid?”

“She wasn’t the sort of person whose choices were set in stone. She was able to let go of an idea if it no longer fit with her situation, outline new options, and choose a different path.”

“And in this case, the new path was marriage.”

“Precisely. Marriage was a much more desirable option for a woman of that age. It provided respectability, protection, and financial security.”

“But the marriage never took place,” Nicole reminded Quinn.

“Just because there’s no record of it doesn’t necessarily mean it never happened.”

Nicole shook her head and set down her cup. “The marriage between Lily and Avery never took place. I know that for a fact.”

“Really? How do you know?”

“Because Avery married someone else before the year was out.”

“Don’t tell me,” Quinn exclaimed.

Nicole nodded. “Avery Moorcroft married Charlotte Haze in October of 1888, which means that Lily never came back.”

“Or maybe she did and decided she no longer wanted to marry Avery,” Quinn suggested, but she was grasping at straws. Lily Redmond had vanished, and those she left behind had grieved and eventually got on with their lives, some quicker than others.

“It’s odd that they didn’t even wait a year. Even if there was no body, there would have been a period of mourning.”

“Yes, that was rather in bad taste,” Quinn agreed. “I wonder if Charlotte Haze was something of a badge bunny,” she added in an effort to lighten the mood.

“She must have been. Her father was a detective, her best friend’s father was the superintendent of Scotland Yard, and she married a policeman after her dream of opening a detective agency fell apart. I suppose that was the closest a woman could get to being in the police in those days.”

“That and writing novels. She was obviously very clever and ambitious.”

“Not qualities that were valued in women,” Nicole replied bitterly. She drew in a shaky breath. “I was really excited about this story to begin with, but now I’m not sure I can continue.”

“You mean because of Edie?”

“I can’t help thinking that instead of unraveling a historical mystery, what we’re dealing with is a brutal crime against a lovely young woman. I know there’s nothing to suggest that she was one of the victims of Jack the Ripper, but the timing fits, and even if she wasn’t, I really think she was murdered.”

“Would you like me to stop?” Quinn asked with a pang of disappointment. She was now invested in Lily’s story, and she wanted to discover what had happened to her, even if it had been horrible. She owed Lily that much.

Nicole shook her head again, more vehemently this time. “No. I need to know. But if we find out that Lily was murdered, her body dumped somewhere and never found or identified, then I’m not going to write the story. I just can’t bear it.”

Quinn reached out and laid a hand over Nicole’s. “Nicole, as long as Edie is alive, there’s still a chance she will come home.”

Nicole’s teary gaze met Quinn’s. “Do you know how many women vanish every year, never to be heard from again? Edie is young, and beautiful, and she looks younger than twenty-five. She can pass for a teenager.”

Quinn nodded. “I know. She’s the sort of girl that might attract the attention of someone who’s involved in human trafficking.”

“Yes,” Nicole whispered.

Quinn didn’t bother to offer any bloated platitudes. She had no way of knowing whether Edie would be found. What she did know was that Edie’s chances were probably better because of who her father was, and that was something to hold on to. Or maybe Quinn had it all wrong and that made Edie more of a liability to whoever had taken her, putting her life in danger.

“I have to go,” Nicole said miserably. “I told Kyle I wouldn’t be long.”

“I’ll let you know if there are any noteworthy developments. What’s your next step?”

“I think I might read Charlotte Haze’s stories. Perhaps there’s a clue.”

“Have you ever considered writing murder mysteries?” Quinn asked.

Nicole chuckled. “My marketing consultant, Miranda, says I really should get into writing historical murder mysteries. She thinks there’s a real market for a Victorian lady detective.”

“Charlotte was clearly onto something,” Quinn said.

“I do wonder why she chose to cast Michael Donovan in the role of police surgeon, given that he never even worked for Scotland Yard.”

“He was never employed by Scotland Yard, but he did work with the police in Boston. Perhaps hearing that gave her the idea. It always fascinates me how writers come upon their inspiration.” Quinn smiled. “I don’t suppose it’s as complicated as we imagine.”

“It really isn’t,” Nicole replied. “Both Kyle and I find inspiration in our daily lives. The news, someone’s family history, a book, or a film we enjoyed, even a street name that conjures up some association. The idea doesn’t have to be unique, but the story you weave around it does. That’s where the real work comes in.”

“Well, I hope you do write Lily’s story, even if it won’t be the truth of what happened to her. She was too lovely to just consign to obscurity.”

Nicole put on her coat and slung her bag over her shoulder. “This was nice. I hope we can do it again sometime.”

“I’d love to,” Quinn replied. “Are you free at the weekend?”

“I can slip out for an hour.”

“Good. Let’s reconvene then. I’m sure I’ll have something to tell you.”

Chapter 32

Kyle

After Nicole came back from her meeting with Quinn, Kyle went to see Sean and Carla. They had recently sold their house in Fulham and moved into a flat in a building on Grove End Road. One unexpected benefit of this arrangement was that the reporters couldn’t camp outside their door, and to wait endlessly for Sean or Carla to leave the building was a waste of time, even for them. There were fewer reporters hounding Nicole and Kyle as well, and Kyle couldn’t help but wonder if they had moved on to another, more current story or if they had decided there was little point in stalking the family until a dramatic development grabbed the interest of the nation once again.

Nicole had breathlessly conveyed Quinn’s certainty that Edie was still alive as soon as she’d walked through the door, but although Kyle had felt a brief surge of relief, he could hardly take the word of a psychic as gospel. Quinn might benefit from her abilities in her line of work, but this time the subject wasn’t someone who had died centuries ago and was no longer of interest to anyone save historians and series producers. This was a living, breathing woman, who had been going about her business only a few days ago and whose life had been unexpectedly interrupted by someone the police had yet to identify.

Kyle tried to combat his anxiety as he got off the lift and rang the doorbell, but it was impossible to remain calm in the face of such raw suffering. He could completely understand why Nicole couldn’t bring herself to see Carla. Sean let him in, and Kyle followed his father to the lounge after taking off his coat and cap. Carla was normally a ball of energy, a sprightly presence with a blond pixie cut and bright blue eyes, but now she looked gray and gaunt, her skin so tightly stretched, Kyle could almost make out the ghost of her skull beneath the skin. She sat huddled in an armchair in the corner, her legs folded beneath her, her gaze the dead-eyed stare of someone who’d been sedated. She gave Kyle a vague smile and went back to staring out the window.

“Let’s talk in the kitchen,” Sean said, and walked out, leaving Kyle to follow.

The all-white kitchen was modern and sleek, the worktop covered with the latest gadgets. Sean turned on the espresso machine and made two coffees without asking Kyle if he wanted one, then set the cups on the island and lowered himself onto a bar stool. Kyle did the same.

“Is Carla on something?” Kyle asked. “She looks like a zombie.”

“I asked our GP to prescribe a sedative. She wasn’t coping, and I was terrified to leave her on her own.”

“What about a Family Liaison Officer?”

“Carla refused to let her in, and there’s no sense having a FLO here when I’m at home to look after her.”

“And Emily? I thought she got back last night.”

“She went round to Naya’s. She thinks it might help to talk to her again. She just needed to get out of the house, the poor thing. Seeing her mother like this is hard on her.”

Emily had not taken after Carla in looks, but she had a very similar personality. She wasn’t the sort of person to sit still for long and needed to fill her time with plans and a multitude of tasks. Kyle was glad she had found something to occupy her, even if it was only to meet with Edie’s friend.

“Are there any leads, Dad?” Kyle asked. “Any results from the hotline?”

Sean took a sip of his espresso, as if needing a moment to collect himself. “There were several anonymous calls, accusing the Met of discrimination and nepotism.”

Kyle could understand why but asked the question anyway. “What precisely are they accusing you of?”

“They’re claiming that Edie’s disappearance is receiving more media coverage and resource allocation because she’s my daughter and that a high percentage of women who go missing are not only never found but are never truly searched for.”

“Is that true?” Kyle asked.

“We investigate every case, but our resources are stretched, and if there’s no evidence to follow or we think the woman might have left of her own free will, we move on to the next case.” Sean shot Kyle a pained look. “Real police work is not a television program, Kyle. We don’t always find out who did it and why at the end of the episode. Countless cases go unsolved, and some bodies are never recovered. We do what we can with what we’ve got.”

“I know, Dad. I wasn’t judging you.”

“Everyone is judging us, whether they have a right to or not. They’re very quick to say that top brass get preferential treatment, but Edie’s case is being investigated in exactly the same manner as any other missing persons case that’s reported to us. Of course, Lovering’s complaint is not helping. His grievances have been leaked to the press.”

“Will that hurt the case?” Kyle asked, worried that all this negative publicity might turn the attention away from finding Edie.

Sean shrugged. “There are always those who try to turn someone’s tragedy into a crusade for justice. Not because they really care, but because it’s a way to draw attention to themselves and advance their careers. I trust Donna Martins to do her job. Not because she hopes to win favor but because she’s an experienced detective.”

“DI Martins has been conspicuously quiet,” Kyle said. She had not made any public statements or appeared at a press conference.

“She’s following every lead,” Sean replied.

“Are there new leads?” Kyle asked, hoping Sean had something to share with him.

“Donna is bringing in Kieran. He’s to be questioned under caution.”

“Why?”

“Because his alibi doesn’t check out. He lied about his movements on the day Edie went missing.”

“What about Darryl Blaine?”

“He has a solid alibi for the time of Edie’s disappearance.”

“And Milo?” Kyle asked.

“The manager of the Jive Jazz Bar, where Edie performed last month, said that Milo is a musician who comes in for a drink from time to time. Doesn’t cause any trouble, always pays cash, and never hassles the ladies.”

“Is there any way to track him down?”

“Not without a surname or a credit card receipt.”

“Did the manager give a description?”

“Not a very good one. White. Brown hair, brown eyes, no distinguishing marks that he knows of. There are thousands of men in London who fit that description.”

“And the appeal for information? Anything useful?” Kyle asked.

Sean sighed. “There are the usual cranks and trolls, but three people came forward with a very similar account, so Donna had them in for a chat.”

“What did they say?”

“They said that a woman fitting Edie’s description was seen on the platform around 8:35 a.m. She swayed and looked like she was about to faint, but was caught by her boyfriend, who led her to a seat and offered her some water.”

“What happened then?” Kyle choked out.

“The train came, and the witnesses boarded. The young woman and her boyfriend remained on the platform.”

“Did they give a description of the boyfriend? Could it be Kieran? Or Darryl?”

Sean shook his head. “They described the man as tall, athletic, with short, dark hair and fair skin. He wore a black cap that was pulled low over his eyes, so they couldn’t really say what color his eyes were.”

“Do you think the woman was Edie? Could it have been someone else?”

“Don’t know,” Sean replied. “Donna is working on it.”

“And how are you doing, Dad?” Kyle asked, wishing he could do something to help.

“There’s nothing more difficult than waiting for news.”

“They’ll find her, Dad. I know they will,” Kyle said, but he knew no such thing.

Sean nodded. “We have to hope for the best. Would you like another coffee?”

“Thank you, no. I don’t want to leave Nicole on her own for too long.”

“Go on home. I’ll ring you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Dad,” Kyle said and headed home after saying goodbye to Carla.

Chapter 33

Quinn

Edie Cadogan’s face smiled benignly from the television screen before being replaced with an E-FIT of the man seen with her on the platform. He could have been anyone, from anywhere, but it seemed he was the best lead the police had. Quinn exhaled heavily and turned off the TV.

Gabe came in from the kitchen and handed Quinn a glass of wine before settling next to her on the sofa.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “You’ve been distracted all evening.”

“I was just thinking about Edie Cadogan. Nicole asked me to hold her scarf.”

“Did you?” Gabe asked carefully.

Quinn nodded. “I was terrified, Gabe. Imagine if I’d had to tell Nicole that Edie is dead.”

“But she isn’t.”

“No. Not yet. But what are the chances they are going to find her? They seem to have nothing to go on.” Quinn took a sip of wine and set the glass on the coffee table. “You know, I delude myself into thinking that we’re so blessed to live in these enlightened times, but in reality, the world is not so very different than it used to be. A woman is never safe, not even on a crowded platform. And if the CCTV is out or if someone takes away her phone, there’s no way to track her. She’s as lost as she would have been centuries ago, when someone could simply take her away and hide her in some remote spot.”

“Quinn, we don’t know what happened to Edie. Perhaps it’s best not to speculate.”

“Oh, come on, Gabe. We both know that whatever happened to her will either lead to her death or leave her emotionally scarred for the rest of her days. Now that Emma is older, I’m terrified every time she leaves the house. The world is full of monsters, and some of them come in the guise of friends’ dads, teachers, and even relatives.”

“I know, darling,” Gabe said softly. “Believe me, I know. But we can’t put our children in a bubble or encourage them to be afraid of everyone they meet. That’s no way to live. All we can do is teach them to be aware of their surroundings and to trust their instincts.”

“And that will keep them safe?”

“I hope so.”

Quinn chose not to remind Gabe of the darkest moments in their lives. There was no point in harping on the past, especially when the culprit was safely behind bars, but once lost, peace of mind could never be reclaimed. That precious innocence and the belief that no one would intentionally do you harm was irrevocably destroyed after a run-in with someone who did not operate by the same code of rules as the rest of society, and echoes of paralyzing fear reverberated in the mind long after everyone else had moved on.

Quinn finished her wine and stood. “I’m going to bed.”

“Are you going to sleep, or are you going to the nineteenth century?” Gabe asked.

“At the moment, the nineteenth century is preferable.”

Gabe nodded. “History always seems safe when viewed through the lens of the present, but Victorian London is not a place I’d want to raise my children.”

“Is there any other time period you’d choose to live in?” Quinn asked.

Gabe shook his head. “Despite everything, I would choose right here, right now. The world was always a terrifying place, but we do have more choices and more rights than people did at any time throughout history. And as the father of two daughters, I’m thrilled with all the opportunities that are open to them. What about you?”

“Same,” Quinn said. “Once you’ve seen history firsthand, you can never unsee it.”

“And yet,” Gabe said with a tired smile.

“And yet I can’t seem to stay away.”

Once in their bedroom, Quinn got ready for bed, then climbed beneath the duvet and reached for the St. Christopher. She was ready for the next chapter.

Chapter 34

Lily

Lily leapt to her feet when Fanny announced that she had a visitor, but disappointment replaced the momentary elation when she realized it was Avery and not Charlotte waiting for her in the drawing room. Lily had penned both a letter of apology and a note asking Charlotte if they could meet, but Charlotte had not replied, and Lily was angry and hurt that Charlotte would not even speak to her.

When she’d confided in her mother, Katherine had smiled at Lily affectionately and said, “My dear, female friendship is a fragile thing that rarely survives the inevitable change in status after marriage. Like most young women, Charlotte feels threatened and fears being left behind. You won’t have time for silly fantasies once you have a husband and children to occupy your days.”

“I would always make time for Charlotte,” Lily had protested, but Katherine had shaken her head.

“Things change, Lily. I think Charlotte understands that better than you do. Unless she marries and achieves the same footing, you will inevitably grow apart as your interests diverge. Charlotte is frightened, darling, especially since she doesn’t have any other close friends.”

That wasn’t strictly true. Charlotte had several school chums that she kept up with, but their relationship was more conventional, the conversation usually revolving around fashion, society gossip, and sometimes straying into vicious criticism of acquaintances who were now married and had no time to spare for their unmarried schoolfriends. The truth was that Lily missed Charlotte desperately and wasn’t ready to lose the friendship of the one person whose good opinion truly mattered to her.

Still, she had to admit that her mother was probably right. Independent and headstrong as Charlotte was, even she was sensible enough to admit that marriage took precedence over a hypothetical business venture.

Lily sighed resignedly, patted her hair into place, and hurried to the drawing room to receive Avery.

“You look lovely,” Avery said as he stood to kiss Lily on the cheek. He then settled next to her on the settee.

“Would you care for some refreshment?” Lily asked.

“You know me. I’m always hungry,” Avery replied with a grin. “And I would eat one of Mrs. Dodson’s cakes even if you woke me in the middle of the night.”

The intimate image that comment brought to mind made Lily vaguely uncomfortable, but she ignored it and rang for tea.

“Are you working any interesting cases?” Lily asked.

Avery sighed dramatically. “There’s been another burglary committed by the Forty Elephants gang. A jewelry shop in Oxford Street. They made off with hundreds of pounds worth of merchandise.”

“How?” Lily exclaimed.

She’d heard of the Forty Elephants gang and had read about their exploits in the paper, but she still couldn’t figure out how they managed to rob fine establishments in broad daylight and get away with it every time.

“Two respectable-looking ladies, one older, one younger, walked into the shop and expressed an interest in purchasing a ladies’ wristwatch as a gift. Gold filigree set with rubies. A thing of beauty, from the way the owner described it.”

“So, how did they walk off with it?”

“The younger woman held the owner at gunpoint while the other slipped the watch into her pocket, grabbed several more items from the case the man had unlocked, and hurried to a waiting carriage. Once she was gone, her accomplice simply walked out of the shop and became lost in the crowd. By the time the owner found a constable, the two were long gone.”

“Are you sure this wasn’t an insurance job?” Lily asked.

Avery chuckled. “The daft fool had no insurance.”

“Oh, that’s awful. The poor man.”

“The poor man should have known better than not to insure his merchandise and not to suspect two unescorted women who came into his shop. Everyone knows how the gang operates.”

“Are you saying that two women could not have come into the shop to purchase a gift?”

“A respectable woman would be accompanied by her husband, father, or male servant when shopping for an expensive trinket.”

“Because a woman on her own cannot be trusted?” Lily bristled.

“Because a lady is not safe on her own, Lily, especially when in possession of large sums of money or pricey jewelry. She’s a target for every thief in London. And just because the Forty Elephants gang is composed of all women doesn’t mean other women are safe from being targeted.” Avery smiled beatifically. “Don’t worry, my dear. I will gladly accompany you on any shopping expeditions you may wish to undertake.”

“Well, that’s comforting to know,” Lily grumbled.

Fanny came in and set down the tea-laden tray. Lily poured out and served Avery a slice of sponge, then took a dainty sip of her own tea and studied Avery over the rim of the cup.

“Avery, what if I wanted to work once we were married?” she asked.

Avery nearly choked on his tea and stared at her, uncomprehending. “Whatever do you mean? Are you suggesting that I won’t be able to provide for us?”

“No. It’s just that Charlotte and I had this idea—”

“Lily, I know how fond you are of Charlotte, but I won’t have you listening to her foolish ideas and gallivanting all over town in pursuit of a thrill. A married woman has one job—her family.”

“But what if I’d like to help Charlotte in my spare time?” Lily asked.

“You won’t have any spare time once you have a household of your own to run.” Avery shot Lily a worried look. “I thought that was what you wanted, a family. With me,” he added shyly.

“I do,” Lily conceded. “It’s just that I feel guilty about Charlotte. I thought that if I could offer a compromise…”

“Lily, Charlotte will come around.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because she cares for you. Just give her time.”

“You don’t know Charlotte,” Lily replied.

Avery sighed. “I know of women like her, who are not happy with their place in society. Never ends well, does it?”

“There are plenty of women who’ve made their mark on the world, Avery,” Lily protested hotly.

“Name two, who weren’t royalty.”

“All right. Florence Nightingale and Jane Austen.”

“Two sad spinsters who had no choice but to earn a living and happened to make a name for themselves simply because they stood out of the herd. I have no doubt they would have been much happier had they married and had children to love.”

“I doubt that,” Lily snapped.

“This is a pointless argument since we can hardly ask them,” Avery replied in a conciliatory manner.

“We’re simply having a conversation.”

“About you flouting convention,” Avery pointed out.

“And what’s wrong with that?”

Avery set down his cup and smiled into Lily’s eyes. “Is this just wedding jitters? It’s perfectly normal, you know.”

“Do you have any jitters?” Lily asked, wondering if Avery was right. She was deliberately goading him into an argument and was glad he wasn’t taking the bait.

“Not a one. I know that I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you. And since I needn’t make a single decision about the wedding reception or the very extensive trousseau your mama is no doubt ordering for you, I can blithely sail along until the blessed day.”

“Well, lucky you,” Lily said petulantly, but she couldn’t manage to contain the small smile that tugged at her lips.

Chapter 35

“There’s tea and leftover cake,” Lily said when Micah poked his head around the door. “Avery just left.”

She didn’t mean to sound accusing, but she got the impression that Micah didn’t much care for Avery and chose to avoid his company whenever possible, inventing nonexistent engagements or hiding in his bedroom or the study.

Micah eyed the sponge with longing but remained in the doorway. “I’d love a cup of tea, but I don’t have time to stop.”

“Where are you going?”

Micah had his medical bag and appeared preoccupied. “St. Mary’s,” he replied curtly.

“But it’s not even Sunday.”

“St. Mary’s is a shelter for fallen women,” Micah replied unapologetically. Lily liked that he didn’t try to shield her from the truth and didn’t pretend to be heading somewhere more genteel.

“So, why are you going there now?”

It was half past four, and soon it would be dark. Already the sky was turning pewter, the weak sunshine of earlier replaced by thick clouds. The wind had picked up as well and could be heard moaning in the chimney.

“There’s a patient that needs urgent assistance, and your father is not here, so I thought I’d step in.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“Her baby is breech, and she’s in labor.”

Micah accepted his coat and hat from Fanny, who then entered the drawing room and placed the used cups on the tea tray before picking it up.

“I’m sorry, Lils, but I have to go,” Micah said. “Please convey my apologies if I’m not back in time for dinner.”

“Wait. I’m coming with you,” Lily cried.

Micah’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he neither refused nor questioned Lily’s sudden desire to accompany him. “Let’s go, then.”

“You don’t mind me coming along?” Lily asked once they were seated side by side in a hansom.

“Why should I mind?”

“Avery wouldn’t like it.”

“I’m not Avery. Besides, I might need your help. If I remember correctly, you’re not too squeamish.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Good, because childbirth is messy and painful at the best of times. Gory and terrifying when things go wrong.”

“Have you delivered many children?” Lily asked, surprised by Micah’s admission. He was a surgeon, not an accoucheur.

“I’ve delivered my share,” Micah replied with an amused grin. “Does that shock you?”

“No,” Lily said. “What about your own daughter? Did you deliver her as well?”

“I wasn’t there when she was born.” Micah’s tone had grown curt, and Lily instinctively knew not to ask any more questions about his family.

St. Mary’s Refuge for Fallen Women wasn’t the sanctuary the name brought to mind. The rundown building housed dozens of women, some of whom appeared as young as ten years old. It was cold, damp, and dark, the rooms lit only by single candles and glowing braziers to keep the women warm. There probably weren’t enough resources for coal, so only one room had a fire, and most of the women congregated there, as much for warmth as for company. They stared at Lily with ill-disguised curiosity, probably assuming she was some do-gooder come to preach to them about piety and virtue.

When the matron, who introduced herself as Mrs. Barton, took them to the laboring woman, Lily was shocked by how young the girl was. She was a scrap of a thing, exhausted and frightened, and no older than fourteen. Her flaxen hair was lank and her face deathly pale in the dim light cast by the flickering candle stub. Her belly, which was grotesquely disproportionate to the rest of her, rippled as if some sea monster were thrashing within, desperate to get out.

Micah shrugged off his coat, tossed his hat and gloves atop the discarded garment, and rolled up his sleeves.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asked conversationally as he placed his splayed hands over the girl’s belly.

“Amy,” the girl rasped. “Are ye a doctor?”

“I am. Dr. Donovan, but you can call me Michael.”

“Like St. Michael,” Amy whispered. “To help me in my time of need and cleanse me of my sins.”

“Well, I don’t know if I can do all that, but I’m going to help you deliver this baby.”

“Matron says it’s coming feet first,” the girl whimpered. She looked terrified. “Am I going to die?”

Micah put a gentle hand on Amy’s damp forehead, his expression of one offering benediction. “You are not going to die, Amy. I promise.”

Amy exhaled the breath she’d been holding. She was about to say something when a contraction rolled over her and she moaned, the sound so deep, it seemed like it was coming from the very core of her tiny being.

Micah smiled reassuringly at the laboring girl. “Amy, I’m going to perform an internal exam to see if we can bring this baby into the world naturally.”

“What ye mean?” Amy screeched in alarm.

“I have to make certain there is no impediment to the baby coming out.”

“What’s an impediment?” Amy cried, her apprehension growing.

“Obstacle.”

“What sort of obstacle?”

“You just try to relax,” Micah said, and slid his hand between Amy’s legs as soon as the next contraction subsided.

Amy moaned with discomfort, but it was Micah’s face Lily was watching. His face was tense, his gaze thoughtful, as if he was already set on a course of action. Micah removed his hand and wiped it on a towel.

“The cord is wrapped around the child’s neck,” he said quietly. “I’m going to need boiled water, clean towels, and a blanket to wrap the baby. And more light. Whatever candles or oil lamps you can spare,” Micah threw over his shoulder.

“Yes, Doctor,” Mrs. Barton said.

Lily wasn’t sure if Mrs. Barton had any qualifications or had been appointed by someone to be in charge, but it didn’t matter. She seemed like someone you could rely on in a crisis. Lily followed Mrs. Barton downstairs, where the older woman handed her a few thin towels, a threadbare blanket, and two fresh candles. She then reached for the hissing kettle that sat on a cast-iron stove and poured hot water into an earthenware pitcher.

By the time Lily and Mrs. Barton returned upstairs, Micah was ready to begin. He’d laid out the instruments he’d need on the nightstand and held the scalpel briefly over the candle to disinfect it, something Jason had taught him to do. Amy became frantic at the sight of the sharp knife, her dark eyes reflecting the flame as she stared at the instrument in mute horror. She began to weep, her lips moving in whispered prayer as she grabbed Mrs. Barton’s hand and squeezed until the woman cried out in pain.

“You won’t feel a thing, Amy. Just try to relax.”

“No, please,” Amy wailed. “I don’t want to do this. I’m frightened.”

“I know, but it will be over before you know it,” Micah replied calmly.

He tried to give Amy an encouraging smile, but she wasn’t looking at him. Her gaze was fixed on the mesh mask in Micah’s hand. Micah applied a few drops of ether onto a gauze pad, fitted it inside the mask, and deftly maneuvered it over Amy’s mouth and nose despite her protestations. Amy grabbed his wrist and tried to push his hand away, but Micah managed to hold the mask in place long enough for Amy’s eyelids to flutter shut. Her breathing became more even, and her hand fell away from Micah’s wrist, the pale fingers long and limp.

Mrs. Barton stepped aside, and it was clear that she had no desire to witness what was about to happen.

“Shall I wait downstairs?” she asked, her voice filled with hope.

Micah nodded, his attention fixed entirely on Amy. “I’m going to need you to use the towels to mop up the blood when I tell you to. Can you do that?” he asked Lily as he pushed up Amy’s nightdress and swabbed her distended belly with iodine.

“Yes,” Lily replied, but her gaze was glued to Amy’s supine form. Her skinny legs stuck straight out. Her feet were dirty, the nails broken and uneven. Amy wore no drawers, and her pale thighs were smeared with blood, the fair hair between her legs matted and damp. It was obvious that she hadn’t washed in days, and Lily wrinkled her nose at the pungent smell that filled the small room.

Micah didn’t seem to notice. He held his hand suspended over Amy’s heaving belly for a long moment, then brought the scalpel down and made an incision that ran from Amy’s bellybutton to the line of pubic hair beneath her belly. Then he cut again, and again, slicing through muscle and the walls of Amy’s womb. Lily mopped up the welling blood, then stepped aside, watching in mute fascination as Micah parted the layers of flesh and muscle to get to the child within.

Micah turned briefly and shot Lily a quizzical look but seemed reassured by what he saw. “I will hand you the baby. Wrap it in a blanket and keep it warm. Are you ready?” Lily nodded. “All right, then. This is it.”

The next few minutes proved to be the most intense, emotional moments of Lily’s life. Nothing she had ever seen or heard had prepared her for the sheer carnage and the miracle of the procedure. She watched, queasy and nearly frozen with shock, as Amy’s bloodied innards finally gave up their prize and a red, slimy baby was thrust into her waiting hands. Inexperienced as she was, Lily didn’t hesitate. She wrapped the child in the blanket and watched as Micah quickly cleaned its airways before returning to Amy, who looked like a victim of a disembowelment. Lily had never seen anything so gruesome and wondered how Micah could single-handedly return the body to its original state, but there was no time to fret. She had to see to the baby, who had yet to show signs of life.

“Slap it,” Micah said without turning around.

“What?”

“Slap it on the behind. Hard.”

Lily did as she was told, and the baby let out a cry of protest, its bloodied face scrunching as its toothless mouth gaped darkly in the dim light of the room. Lily placed a hand on the baby’s chest, breathing out a sigh of relief when she felt the tiny chest rise and fall beneath her fingers.

She suddenly realized that she hadn’t even noticed if it was a boy or a girl. She’d been in such a state that nothing besides the weight in her arms had registered. She carefully unwrapped the blanket and took a peek. A girl.

“I need your help,” Micah said. “Put the baby down and come here.”

Lily laid the baby on a neighboring cot and went to help Micah.

“I can’t see what I’m doing,” Micah said through gritted teeth as he gripped the curved needle in his hand. “Keep mopping the blood.”

Micah worked quickly, stitching Amy as if she were a torn blanket. His fingers were slick with blood, and he swore under his breath when one of the candles guttered. At last, Micah tied off the thread and bandaged the incision before washing his hands in the basin and turning to the baby, who was unnervingly quiet.

“How long will Amy sleep?” Lily asked, watching the girl’s still face.

“She’ll start to come around once I remove the mask,” Micah replied absentmindedly. He had unwrapped the baby and examined her, and was using one of the remaining towels to clean her before her mother saw her.

“Is she healthy?” Lily asked as she looked down on the tiny person whose ordeal had just begun.

What chance did this little girl have in a world where she would be judged, found wanting, and instantly disregarded by anyone who had the power to help her? She was a bastard, born to a mother who was most likely a prostitute and would return to work as soon as she was sufficiently healed to entertain clients. If this baby made it into adulthood, it would be a miracle, given the hardship that she would likely endure every day of her life—poverty, hunger, men who’d want to make use of her as soon as she was old enough to see to their pleasure, and disease that didn’t discriminate between young and old.

“The baby appears to be healthy,” Micah replied. “Amy shows no signs of syphilis, which is a blessing, given what she does for a living.” He sighed deeply, his acceptance of the situation obvious. He’d seen it all before and would see it again before long. “Hold her hand,” Micah said as Amy began to stir. “Talk to her. Tell her about her baby.”

Lily spoke softly while Micah did his best to clean up the blood and hide the soiled towels from Amy. She’d panic if she saw the amount of blood she had just lost. Micah washed his hands, cleaned his instruments, and stowed them in his bag.

“Michael,” Amy muttered as she came to.

“Right here, Amy,” Micah said soothingly. “You were very brave.”

“My baby?”

“A lovely little girl. Would you like to hold her?”

Amy’s eyes swam with tears, and she shook her head. “She’d be better off dead,” she said softly. “What sort of life can I offer her?”

“Just give her love,” Micah said. “That’s all any child really needs.”

“Love don’t put food on the table,” Amy said weakly. “Or buy coal in winter.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to hold your daughter?” Micah asked softly. “She really is very sweet.”

“No,” Amy replied. “I’m worn to the bone.”

“Then rest. There’s plenty of time for you to make each other’s acquaintance,” Micah said soothingly.

Amy nodded and closed her eyes, breathing deeply as she drifted off. Micah called for Mrs. Barton and handed her the baby with instructions on how to care for Amy over the next few days.

“I’ll be back tomorrow to check on her,” he promised as he reached for his coat and hat.

“I wish I could save them from poverty and despair,” Micah said once he and Lily stepped outside into the frigid evening. His face looked drawn in the light of the gas lamp that glowed dimly a few yards further down the street.

“You saved two lives tonight,” Lily said. “I think that’s enough.” She looked up at Micah, her awe likely written all over her face.

“I did what I was trained to do.”

“You truly are on the side of the angels, Micah Donovan.”

Micah gave her a tired smile. “I don’t know about angels, but I am hungry and tired, and would like to change out of these clothes. Let’s go home.”

They found a hansom and rode home in silence, each one lost in their own thoughts.

Chapter 36

By the time Lily and Micah returned home, washed, and changed their soiled clothes, it was past eight o’clock and they had missed dinner. They went down to the kitchen in search of something to eat, glad to discover that the servants were finished with their supper, and they could have the kitchen to themselves. Neither was in the mood for company or for the formality of eating in the dining room.

There was cold chicken, bread, some cheese, and a dish of boiled vegetables left over from the servants’ supper. Sadly, nothing remained of the sponge that Avery had so enjoyed that afternoon. Mrs. Dodson made Lily and Micah a pot of tea and left them to it, behaving as if the two of them dined in the kitchen on a regular basis and there was nothing odd afoot. They sat companionably at the kitchen table and ate with their hands, as if they were on a picnic.

Micah seemed completely relaxed, but Lily couldn’t stop thinking about Amy and her baby.

“Will you go back to St. Mary’s tomorrow?” she asked.

Micah nodded, his mouth too full to answer properly.

“I want to go with you.”

Micah swallowed and smiled. “Are you getting attached?”

“Don’t you get attached to your patients?”

Micah shook his head. “I can’t afford to get attached. That way madness lies.”

“So you just treat them and forget about them?”

“I don’t forget about them, especially not the ones I see on a regular basis, but I do put them out of my mind once I finish for the day. I have to. Your father taught me that it was important to safeguard one’s sanity as well as one’s health.”

“Do you employ a nurse at your clinic?”

“I accept the services of whoever is willing to help.”

“Why did you refuse payment tonight when Mrs. Barton offered it?” Lily asked.

“I would rather she spend that money on Amy and her child. They need it more than I do.”

“Do you suppose she will?”

“Amy will not be able to work for a while. As long as she has a bed, food, and a roof over her head, then I’m satisfied.”

“What will happen to them once they leave St. Mary’s?” Lily asked.

Micah’s gaze was unflinching as it met Lily’s. “What do you think will happen?”

Lily felt the sting of tears and averted her eyes. “I don’t think they’ll last very long on their own.”

Micah nodded. “Until governments begin to institute social programs that take care of orphans, widows, and veterans, nothing will change.”

“Why don’t they?”

“Because to people who have more than they could possibly ever need, to spend money on what they consider the dregs of society is a waste of resources.”

“That’s a barbarous way of thinking,” Lily fumed.

“It is, but those with money and power call the shots. It’s not so different in the United States. That’s why I don’t ask my patients for payment. They don’t have a penny to spare.”

“But surely you can’t continue to work for free. You have a family to support.”

“I accept whatever they give me,” Micah replied. “A few potatoes, a loaf of bread, a crock of butter or a half dozen eggs.”

He held out his foot and pulled up the trouser leg. Lily giggled at the sight of bright red woolen socks.

“Did someone make those for you?”

Micah nodded. “I have several pairs, and they’re not only eye-catching, they’re also very warm,” he said with a grin. “Boston winters are brutal. I’ll take all the socks and mufflers I can get.”

“And is your wife content with getting paid in socks and potatoes?” Lily asked.

“My wife prefers the finer things in life,” Micah replied bitterly.

“You never mention her. Or your daughter. Bridget, is it?”

Micah pushed away his empty plate and smiled tiredly. “I think I’ll say goodnight now.”

Lily watched as Micah left the kitchen, her questions about his wife and daughter left hanging in the air.

Chapter 37

Lily finished her tea and trudged upstairs, glad that she hadn’t encountered her mother, who might ask difficult questions about how Lily had spent her evening. Understanding as Katherine was, she wouldn’t approve of Lily not only witnessing but assisting Micah during the surgery, and Lily had no doubt that Avery’s name would be invoked. Now that they were engaged, it was as if she had suddenly gained another father, who had to sanction her every thought and action. Avery was no tyrant and understood better than most what life was like for those who weren’t protectively swaddled in wealth and privilege, but he would have something to say if he were to learn of her visit to St. Mary’s. Even Avery had his limits.

Having undressed, Lily brushed out her hair and plaited it, then climbed into bed and turned out the lamp. Lying in the dark, she knew it would take a while to get to sleep. She needed to process the events of the evening and try to understand the feelings they had evoked. She couldn’t bear to think about Amy and her baby. No scenario she devised could elevate Amy from the quagmire that was her life. Micah had done what he could, but it was up to Amy to find a way out, if there even was one. With a baby to care for, Amy would have even fewer options than she’d had before.

Lily resolutely pushed Amy from her mind, only to discover that once Amy was gone, the space became occupied by Micah. Sometime, over the past few weeks, Lily had stopped thinking of Micah as a brother and finally saw him as a man: a smart, compassionate, capable man whose very presence made her feel more alive than she ever had with Avery. She liked Avery and trusted him, but when she envisioned their daily life together, what she saw was years and years filled with domestic tedium. Every time she tried to imagine her wedding night, thoughts of Micah intruded on her fantasy and her cheeks flamed in the darkness of her bedroom, her face burning with shame at the physical longing he seemed to ignite somewhere deep in her belly. This was her first taste of sexual desire, except it wasn’t inspired by her future husband, who was blithely unaware of her betrayal and counting the days to their wedding.

But it wasn’t just intimacy Lily craved. She wanted to be with Micah, to talk to him and laugh with him, and help him in his work. She was shocked and mildly disgusted by what she had seen this night, but she had also felt needed, relied on, and appreciated. She had made a difference, albeit a small one, to Amy and her little girl. She had been there in their hour of need, and Micah had never questioned her ability to help. She wanted to feel that way again. And she longed for Micah’s trust and his praise. She wanted him to see her and need her and rely on her in a way he clearly couldn’t rely on his wife.

Lily sat up and punched her pillow, furious with herself for thinking these mad thoughts. Micah wasn’t her biological brother, but she had no claim on him and never would. He would be gone soon, and she wouldn’t see him again for years, maybe even decades. The thought was like a lethal blade that pierced her heart and stilled her breath, the realization of what she was feeling as painful as the certainty of inevitable loss. This wasn’t just desire; this was love, but the man who’d so stealthily stolen her heart was not one she could ever share a future with.

Burying her face in her pillow, Lily let the tears flow. The future that had shimmered like a fairytale castle in the sky only a month ago suddenly held all the comforts of a dungeon, complete with a sense of utter hopelessness and no chance of escape.

Chapter 38

Nicole

My morning began with a parcel from Derbyshire. I must have been the first stop on the delivery person’s route, which didn’t happen often when I was expecting something important and not just new shoes or that wok I had yet to take out of the box, but it had been on sale on Amazon, and I simply couldn’t help myself. The deliveryman seemed a bit startled by the trio of photographers camped outside but didn’t allow their hungry gazes to deter him from doing his job. I thanked him warmly and ducked inside before anyone could snap a photo.

I took the parcel into the study and set it on the desk. It was smaller and lighter than I had expected. I carefully removed the packaging and drew out the contents, chuckling to myself when I realized that Jonah had wrapped each volume in bubble wrap. I could see why. The books were lovely and obviously very valuable, at least to their owner. They had that old-fashioned design that made each book look like a collection of magical fairytales even though it might be nothing more than a collection of recipes or homeopathic cures. The covers were deep red embossed with a whimsical golden border. The title was at the center, followed by the author’s name, Charles Haze, and then each book was stamped with A Redmond and Haze Detective Agency Mystery at the bottom of the cover. The volumes were slim and obviously well-thumbed. I opened the first one and had just read the first chapter when my mobile vibrated. I didn’t recognize the number but answered anyway, on the off chance that it might have something to do with Edie.

“Is this Nicole?” the perky female voice asked. “I’m so sorry. I swear, I have no idea where the times goes. I meant to ring you several days ago and somehow never got round to it. Well, here I am, and I’m happy to answer any questions you might have.”

“I’m sorry, but who is this?”

“Oh, dear. It would help if I introduced myself, wouldn’t it?” The woman laughed merrily. “It’s Rhonda. Rhonda Dearlove. You sent me an email. I’m a friend of Daniel Burgess.”

“Oh, yes. Of course,” I gushed. “Thank you for getting back to me. I hope it’s not an imposition.”

“Not at all. Like most people, I love to bang on about my passions.”

“Daniel said you are consulting on a series about the Forty Elephants gang.”

“Oh, yes. They’re a particular interest of mine. Those ladies are a legend to those of us with an interest in Victorian criminology. They were as well-known as Birmingham’s Peaky Blinders, who incidentally operated at about the same time, and not in the 1920s as the television series would have us believe. The Elephants were less violent, though, which is what made them so unique. They relied on their femininity and were extremely resourceful. A real force to be reckoned with.” Rhonda laughed again. “Now, don’t get me wrong. I don’t condone breaking the law, then or now, but my interest is purely academic, and from a researcher’s perspective, those girls were absolutely fascinating.”

“What was their modus operandi?” I asked, since I had yet to devote any time to researching the gang.

“The members of the gang cultivated the speech and appearance of respectable ladies. They were well dressed, had good manners, and traveled in style. They targeted upmarket establishments that did not implement any form of surveillance in order to respect the privacy of their female clients. The thieves had secret pockets sewn into their clothing to hide their loot and operated either individually or as a group. One successful technique was to cause a diversion that allowed the accomplices to stuff their secret pockets with valuables while everyone was distracted. Members of the gang who robbed unsuspecting men on public transportation sometimes pretended to need help or charmed their victims while lifting their purses. Some even went so far as to have a fake arm attached to their sleeve. The arm remained in their lap, while their actual hand snaked into the pocket of the person next to them.”

“How on earth could one disguise a fake arm?” I asked, trying to picture the logistics of such a scheme.

“Given Victorian fashion, it was easy enough. The arm was covered by a long sleeve, possibly a pelisse or a coat, and always gloved. A well-to-do gentleman who found himself the object of a pretty young woman’s attention would never suspect a thing until he discovered that his purse was missing.”

“And were all the members young?” I asked.

“No, they varied in age, which actually gave them greater flexibility. An older woman could pretend to be a mother, an aunt, or a governess to a charming young lady who either did the deed herself or distracted the mark long enough for her partner to carry out the assignment. The members of the Forty Elephants earned so much off their criminal activities that they kept their husbands in grand style and provided handsomely for their children.”

“Do you think the gang had anything to do with Lily Redmond’s disappearance?” I asked once I had explained my interest.

“It’s impossible to say, since I’ve never heard of Lily Redmond until today, but I have most certainly heard of her father. Superintendent Redmond is not mentioned very often these days, but he was an interesting man, someone who should be credited with modernizing the Police Service. His predecessor, Superintendent Ransome, was very good at his job and was known not only for obtaining results but for getting himself into the papers with carefully calculated frequency. But he wasn’t a man of science. Jason Redmond introduced new procedures to safeguard the integrity of the crime scene, insisted on fingerprinting the suspects, even though fingerprints weren’t officially accepted as evidence by the courts until the early twentieth century, and based some of his theories on psychological profiling long before psychology was even an established science.”

“I can’t imagine this made him very popular with either his superiors or the individuals who were arrested during his tenure,” I observed.

“It did not. Which is why I think that his daughter’s disappearance might have something to do with his reputation. Superintendent Redmond was credited with apprehending quite a few members of the Forty Elephants gang. He had leaflets printed and distributed to the shopkeepers, advising them what to look for and how to avoid getting burgled. Many establishments did away with private shopping, and others went so far as to hire ex-soldiers or ex-policemen as security personnel. Superintendent Redmond also allocated more bobbies to fashionable shopping areas, so that there was a constable on hand should a robbery be in progress.”

“That’s very forward-thinking,” I remarked.

 “These measures didn’t always prevent theft,” Rhonda replied, “but they made it more difficult for the members of the gang to get their hands on the items and then make a successful escape.” Rhonda drew in a quick breath and continued. “As you might imagine, there were those who wanted Superintendent Redmond replaced. In their view, he not only complicated matters but wasted resources that were already tightly stretched. There was also some prejudice against him because even though he had been in England for decades, people still thought of him as ‘the American.’”

“So, you think Lily may have been taken in order to force her father’s hand?”

“It’s possible. And I would think that the Forty Elephants gang would be much more likely to resort to such a tactic.”

“You mean psychological warfare.”

“If you will. A less sophisticated criminal organization, like the Carmichaels, for instance, with whom Superintendent Redmond had previously had a number of run-ins, would have just tried to murder the man himself and campaign to install someone who was on the take in his stead, but to kidnap a man’s child, well, that takes the situation to an entirely different level.”

“Yes, it does,” I said softly, my mind automatically returning to Edie. “And what would they have done with Lily, had they taken her?”

Rhonda paused. “Well, just because the gang was made up of women doesn’t mean they weren’t vicious.”

“Are you saying they would murder an innocent girl to get back at her father?”

“People have killed for less. Oh, God. I’m so sorry, Nicole,” Rhonda exclaimed. “Of course, I have heard what your family is going through. I didn’t mean to suggest—”

“It’s all right,” I said. “I know you didn’t.”

I paused, digesting what Rhonda had just said. She was someone who had dedicated her professional life to researching crime, even if it was historical. Some things never changed. Only the methods became more sophisticated.

“Rhonda, do you think someone took Edie Cadogan in order to get to the chief constable?”

Rhonda sighed. “It wouldn’t be right for me to speculate, but anything is possible. A man in Sean Cadogan’s position has his enemies.”

Too emotional to speak about Edie, I returned to my original query. “So, you would suggest looking into the Forty Elephants?”

“I’ve read everything I could find about the gang, and have written a number of articles myself, and like I said, I’ve never come across any mention of Lily Redmond, so that would probably be a waste of your time. I would look into the cases the Yard was involved in around that time.” Rhonda went quiet for a moment, clearly thinking. “You know, there is another possibility.”

“Which is?”

“Avery Moorcroft made quite a name for himself during his tenure at Scotland Yard. He made arrests and he got convictions, but there were reports of him planting evidence and stitching up the suspects, which is why he never rose past the rank of detective inspector. Perhaps someone had a grudge against him and thought to get to him through his fiancée.”

“If Superintendent Redmond was known for his integrity, how was it that he not only allowed Inspector Moorcroft to get away with evidence tampering but gave his blessing to a match between Moorcroft and his daughter?” I asked. That seemed strangely out of character, from what I had learned.

“The allegations against Inspector Moorcroft came to light several years after Lily had gone, so it’s very possible that Superintendent Redmond was not aware of what Moorcroft did when in the field. His men were loyal to him and did not tell tales, since they stood to benefit if Moorcroft rose through the ranks. And, of course, the accusations could have been lies, perpetuated by someone who wanted Moorcroft out for reasons of their own.”

“I see,” I said, wondering if I had hit another dead end. I could hardly investigate every case Avery Moorcroft had been associated with before Lily’s disappearance. “Rhonda, is there any possibility, no matter how remote, that Lily Redmond’s disappearance is connected to the Whitechapel murders?”

Rhonda considered the question. “I really don’t think so. The murders are so well documented that any connection would have been explored and analyzed to death. No pun intended,” she added with a sigh. “But since Lily Redmond’s body was never recovered, anything is possible. She could have been a victim of the Forty Elephants gang, or Jack the Ripper, or some random pickpocket who tried to snatch her purse and wound up killing her when she put up a fight.

“It wasn’t difficult to dispose of a body in those days. Dump it in the river, and if you’re lucky, the current will do the rest. Or just bury it in the woods outside the city. If anyone ever found the remains, they would be nearly impossible to identify, since there was no DNA sequencing or dental records. Unless there was a unique piece of jewelry or some uncommon trait like a missing finger or a peg leg, no one would be able to say for sure.”

“What if Lily’s remains were found later on?” I asked.

“Human remains are found every day in the course of maintenance work and new construction. Some date back to Roman times, and others are individuals who’ve been murdered quite recently. Even if Lily’s remains turned up, they would be treated as a historical burial and either left where they were found or reburied someplace else. No one would work very hard to identify her, not after all this time. I’m afraid that trail has grown cold.”

“Yes, I thought as much,” I said resignedly. “And Superintendent Redmond? Do you know what became of him?”

“Don’t quote me on this, but I believe he returned to the States after his wife passed.”

“Did he, indeed?” I asked. “I found the date of his death, but it didn’t specify where he died or where he’s buried.”

“Like I said, I’m not really sure. I think I read that somewhere, but I might just be making it up,” Rhonda replied breezily. “I come across so much information in my research. I have to decide on the spot whether something is useful, or I need to move on to more relevant articles. Superintendent Redmond was of no interest to me once he retired.”

“I understand,” I said. “I don’t suppose what he did in his retirement makes much difference to my story either. It would have been years after Lily had gone.”

“Precisely.” Rhonda’s tone had changed, as if she had suddenly realized that she needed to be somewhere. “It was a pleasure to talk to you, Nicole, but I’m afraid I must get going,” she said apologetically. “I have an appointment.”

“Thank you for your help. I really appreciate it.”

“Not at all. If I think of anything relevant, I’ll be sure to ring you. Good luck with your book,” she sang, and rang off.

I set aside my phone and considered what I had learned. Rhonda had brought up a few interesting points, but it was all just speculation, since no actual mention of Lily Redmond had ever been made. Disappointed, I thought I should mine the ancestry sites some more.

Chapter 39

Kyle

Kyle exhaled loudly and turned away from the computer. Try as he might, he just couldn’t concentrate on work. Edie was constantly on his mind, as was Sean. Kyle didn’t want to keep calling and texting for updates. He knew Sean would tell him if there had been a breakthrough in the case, but he could always talk to his mother. Rita was in the know, even though she’d retired a few years ago, and was probably in constant communication with Sean, who needed the support Carla couldn’t provide. Kyle realized he wouldn’t get anything more done today, and his parents would love to spend some time with Ava, who was just waking from her midmorning nap. Kyle could hear her cooing softly through the baby monitor.

“Nic, I’m going to take Ava to visit my parents,” Kyle said as he popped his head around the door of Nicole’s study. “Are those the Redmond and Haze Detective Agency books?” he asked, jutting his chin toward the stack on Nicole’s desk.

“Yes. Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“They are,” Kyle agreed. “I’d like to read them as well.”

“Be my guest. I was just wondering,” Nicole said thoughtfully.

“About?”

“How did Avery Moorcroft feel about his wife writing commercially?”

Kyle chuckled. “I think that’s obvious. Charlotte wrote under a pseudonym, so no one had to know.”

“She could have done that for other reasons. A mystery written by a man would have held greater appeal for the public, especially the male readers, who wouldn’t take a female crime writer seriously.”

“Or she didn’t want to upstage her husband. It is quite possible that he didn’t even know what she was up to.”

“You think?” Nicole asked, her eyebrows lifting in surprise.

“Maybe she told him once she was able to secure a publishing contract, but she might have been writing on the sly for years.” Kyle considered this possibility. “Were the books published before or after Avery’s death?”

“I’m not sure. I never thought to check.”

“Maybe you should,” Kyle replied.

“I will, after I get Ava ready. She’s awake.”

“Okay. Thanks. I’ll let my mum know we’re coming. Take advantage of the peace and quiet,” Kyle said. “I’ll expect you to return the favor tomorrow.”

Kyle was relieved to find that the photographers who had been watching the house only that morning had left, then immediately wondered if he should be worried. The fact that they were no longer interested meant that there were no new developments and another, more current story had captured their attention. Still, he was glad of the reprieve and relieved that the cameras and the journalists’ aggressive behavior wouldn’t frighten the baby, who was looking around with interest, excited to visit her grandparents.

Michael took Ava into the garden, while Kyle settled at the kitchen table, eager for a chat with Rita.

“What are you making?” he asked as his mother began to set the table for lunch.

“Quiche Florentine.”

“Sounds fancy.”

“It’s not. All I had to do was pop it in the oven.”

“Right,” Kyle said, smiling affectionately. Rita had always been about ease and convenience and viewed cooking meals from scratch as the ultimate waste of time. Retirement hadn’t changed that. “Mum, have you spoken to Sean?”

“Not today.”

“But you do know what’s going on with Edie’s case.”

That wasn’t a question, and Rita didn’t bother to feign surprise. “’Course I do. Still got my contacts, haven’t I?” she replied matter-of-factly.

“Mum, please, tell me. I can’t stop thinking about Edie. And Sean. I’m worried about him.”

“I’m worried too. Sean is not as resilient as he wants everyone to think.”

Rita checked on the quiche and sat down across from Kyle, crossing her arms in front of her, her expression closed as she met his gaze. Kyle knew that posture well. And it never boded well.

“Once Donna found out about the man seen with Edie on the platform, she had her people check the CCTV covering the other exit and saw the two of them come out of the station. Edie wore a hoodie with the hood pulled up, but it was definitely her.”

“And the man? Were they able to identify him?”

Rita shook her head. “His cap was pulled down low. No accident, that,” Rita said. “He knew what he was doing and where the cameras were positioned.”

“Where did they go?” Kyle asked, his breath catching in his throat.

“The man helped Edie into the back of a white delivery van, then got in after her.”

“Were they able to track down the van?”

“No. The reg they got off the CCTV was registered to a minicab that was reported stolen only that morning. The van vanished from CCTV shortly after leaving the station. They must have pulled in somewhere and switched the plates back. There are countless white vans in London. Without the correct registration, there’s no way to find it.”

“Did Edie look like she was coerced?” Kyle choked out.

“My source tells me she looked drugged. She wasn’t steady on her feet, and the bloke was supporting her.”

“So, she was definitely abducted,” Kyle said, fear settling like a brick beneath his breastbone.

“I believe this was planned in advance and carefully executed. Whether Edie was the intended target is difficult to say. Perhaps the man was after any young woman he could easily take.”

“How would Edie have been drugged? Did she buy a drink on her way to the station? It had to have been something she ingested that morning.”

“According to her flatmate, Edie always made tea and toast in the mornings. The flat was searched yesterday, and the electric kettle and Edie’s favorite mug and water bottle were taken for testing.”

“Was the flat broken into?” Kyle asked.

“No, which leads me to believe that if Edie’s drink had been tampered with, it was by someone Edie or Leyla knew. Someone who’d recently been to the flat.”

“But they could have drugged Leyla as well.”

“Leyla prefers coffee and has a fancy espresso machine. A gift from some doctor she was seeing.”

“Has Leyla been formally questioned?” Kyle asked.

“She will be. Today. She’s coming in after her shift.”

“Will Sean be there, in the observation room?”

Rita shook her head. “He was asked to stay away.”

“He must be going out of his mind.”

“He is. There’s nothing worse than feeling helpless, which is why I’m not calling him and am getting my information elsewhere.”

Rita was distracted by an incoming text, and Kyle waited patiently for her to read it and respond to whoever had sent it.

“Things just went from bad to worse,” Rita said, shaking her head in disbelief. “It’s all over the news.”

“What is?”

“The accusations of nepotism. They’re saying that Edie’s case is getting preferential treatment and unlimited resources because her father is the chief constable. This headline is disgusting.” Rita held out her phone so that Kyle could see the photo Rita’s source had sent. It was a copy of an online article.

Unlimited Sterling for Top Brass

Kyle felt the blood drain from his face. “Will this affect the investigation?”

“It might, if there’s enough of a backlash. Policing is all about politics these days, and this is not something the populace is likely to ignore if it’s shoved into their face. And combined with the complaint to Professional Standards from Arthur Lovering…” Rita let the sentence trail off. “The sodding wanker,” she added under her breath.

“But is there any truth to these accusations?” Kyle asked.

Rita didn’t reply but gave him a pitying look, meant to remind him that although he was not only an adult but a successful crime writer, he was as naïve as a babe in arms when it came to the workings of government agencies. The timer dinged, and Rita went to take the quiche out of the oven.

“Tell your father lunch is ready,” she said, no longer a retired DI but a mother and grandmother. “I’ll make fish fingers for Ava.”

Kyle sighed and went out into the garden. Any discussion about the case was done for today.

Chapter 40

Lily

“Wait! I’m coming with you,” Lily cried as she hurried after Micah.

He was already halfway to the corner, his bag gripped in his hand as he strode purposefully toward the Underground. Micah stopped and turned, his face set in tense lines.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” Lily demanded when she caught up with him.

“Lily, I know you’re bored, but these women are not there for your amusement.”

“I’m not bored,” Lily snapped. “I want to help.”

“Why? Because it will make you feel better about your pampered existence?”

“What’s got into you this morning?” Lily exclaimed. She was both hurt and chastened by Micah’s unexpected criticism because on some level it had struck a nerve. She was bored. She had nothing planned for this morning, and she was eager to see how Amy and her baby were getting on. She wouldn’t admit it outright, but she was curious about the lives of the women who stayed at the shelter and wondered what would become of them once the charity ran out.

And why was Micah so angry with her? She had felt so close to him last night, but now he was cold and distant. And unnecessarily harsh.

“Nothing. Please forgive me,” Micah said, smiling contritely at her. “I’m just tired. I couldn’t get to sleep last night.”

“Surely there’s something in that bag that could have helped,” Lily said as she fell into step with him.

“I don’t like to douse myself with laudanum. I know what a dependency on opium can do. Do you mind taking the Underground?”

Lily shrugged. Micah’s apology had done little to soothe her ruffled feathers. Last night they’d worked as a team. Today they were like virtual strangers who were feeling their way awkwardly around each other, saying the wrong things amid the tension that seemed to have sprung up between them overnight. Or was she feeling uncommonly sensitive because of the thoughts that had plagued her last night as she lay in bed, overcome with longing for Micah? In the clear light of day, her fantasies were not only utterly inappropriate but completely mortifying. What had she been thinking? Perhaps Avery was right and she was just suffering from pre-wedding jitters.

Lily was relieved when the train pulled into the station and they boarded. The noise made conversation nearly impossible, so they sat in silence, looking out at the impenetrable darkness beyond the window as she made a conscious effort to keep her arms and legs from touching his. The ride wasn’t long, and they disembarked and walked the rest of the way to St. Mary’s, their comments mostly restricted to the weather.

Lily forgot about her wounded pride as soon as they entered St. Mary’s. Amy was running a fever, her face slick with sweat and her skin a mottled red. Her gaze was unfocused when Micah sat down on the side of her bed and took her hand, his fingers holding her frail wrist. It was a gesture of comfort but also a way to check her pulse. Micah then examined the incision, which looked angry and was probably hot to the touch, applied a smelly poultice, changed the bandage, then turned to Lily.

“Can you fetch a cup of hot water?”

“Of course.”

Lily went downstairs and asked Mrs. Barton to put the kettle on. Several women drifted in and out of the kitchen, some with babies or toddlers on their hips. They gave Lily a wide berth, their gazes sliding away from her fashionable dress and neatly styled hair. The women looked haggard, be they young or old, and a few had the dead-eyed look of people who moved through the day in a daze of despair. Even the children were quiet and clung to their mothers’ skirts, staring at Lily as if she were an oddity.

Once the water boiled, Lily brought a mugful upstairs and watched as Micah added some herbs from a linen sachet and allowed them to stew before holding the mug to Amy’s lips. She drank and sank back onto the pillow, her eyes closing in exhaustion. She looked lethargic, and Lily was certain she hadn’t seen her baby. In fact, the baby wasn’t even there, and for a brief moment, Lily thought it might have passed during the night.

Micah followed her gaze toward the other cot and said, “One of the other women is looking after the baby. Don’t worry. She’s well.”

“Does she have a name?” Lily hoped the question would rouse Amy out of her stupor, but Amy didn’t stir. Her eyes appeared to move rapidly beneath the pale lids, as if she were having a nightmare. “What did you give her?” Lily asked quietly.

“Feverfew and sage. To bring down the fever.”

“And what does that poultice you applied do? It smells awful.”

“Garlic and honey have antibacterial properties. The incision hasn’t festered, but the fever tells me that the body is fighting against infection.”

“Will she live?” Lily mouthed, making certain Amy couldn’t hear her.

“The next twenty-four hours will be crucial.” Micah sounded dispirited as he looked down at his patient.

“So, what now?”

“Now, I will see Patty. She has an abscess.”

“Shouldn’t she see a barber surgeon?”

Micah chuckled softly. “Is that what you would do?”

“No,” Lily admitted. Not for the first time, she realized how lucky she was to have a doctor for a father.

None of the Redmonds or their staff had ever been exposed to the horrors that often passed for modern medicine and dentistry. If Jason wasn’t able to address the problem himself, he found someone who could. Someone he trusted. And he made sure they cleaned their instruments before approaching any member of his family. His colleagues ridiculed him relentlessly for his fastidiousness, but Jason believed that cleaning the surgical instruments and washing one’s hands reduced the risk of infection and adhered to the practice religiously. When Micah had still lived with them, Jason used to joke that he marched to the beat of his own drummer, a nod to Micah who had been a drummer boy when Jason first met him.

Patty was about seventeen, a thin, dark-haired girl with a cheek so swollen it made her look distorted. She was clearly terrified, but the sight of Micah, whose manner was calm and reassuring, seemed to soothe her somewhat. The poor girl could barely speak, so Micah settled her in a chair, offered her a bit of brandy from a flask he had produced from his Gladstone bag, then instructed her to open her mouth so he could have a look. The stench was eye-watering, the infected tooth leaking pus into the girl’s mouth, but Micah didn’t flinch.

“You just rest for a moment while I prepare, Patty,” he said kindly. Micah turned away and extracted a rectangular box from his bag.

“What’s that?” Lily asked.

“Dental tools.”

The items inside looked as foreign as they were terrifying. Lily had no idea what they were for and how they might be used, but she hoped never to find herself on the receiving end of one of those devices of torture.

“What are those called?” she asked, when Micah selected three items and set them side by side on a clean linen towel.

“That one is the Wilcox-Jewett obtunder. The other two are a goat’s foot elevator and a dental key.”

The obtunder looked the most frightening. When Micah saw Lily’s horrified gaze, he smiled for the first time that morning.

“It’s to inject anesthetic into the affected area. It’s not as awful as it looks.”

Patty kept her eyes firmly shut, clearly too terrified to see what they were talking about since she was about to experience these instruments first-hand. Lily thought Patty might have bolted had she not been in so much pain.

“And the others?” Lily asked.

“The elevator helps to loosen the tooth before I pull it out with the dental key.”

“Good Lord!” Lily exclaimed, and instantly regretted her outburst. Patty looked like she was about to vomit, and Lily suspected that only the promise of relief kept her in her chair.

“Patty, would you like my assistant to hold your hand?” Micah asked. Patty shook her head, so Micah extracted a length of fabric and tied Patty’s head to the back of the chair. “Don’t worry,” he said. “This is just to keep your head in place so that I don’t hurt you when you jerk.”

“Mm,” Patty moaned miserably when Micah inserted the obtunder and injected something into her swollen gum. “Hurts,” she whimpered as tears sprang to her eyes.

“We’re almost done.” Micah patted her shaking hand. “Now, try to remain as still as you can and keep your mouth open. I will be as quick as I can.”

The next few minutes were filled with Patty’s desperate mooing, gasps from the women who had gathered to watch from the doorway, and Micah’s clipped instructions, but the infected tooth finally came out. Micah cleaned the area, offered Patty more brandy, and told her that she was the bravest patient he had ever had. Patty stared at him, tears running down her face and blood and pus leaking anew from her wounded mouth. Micah stuffed some cotton wool into Patty’s mouth and told her to keep it in place.

“You will feel better in a few days. Don’t drink anything hot. That will bring on bleeding. And try to eat only very soft things.”

“For how long?” Patty mumbled.

“At least two days. Once the bleeding fully stops, healing will commence.”

Patty nodded and stood up. She was so wobbly, she nearly fell over, but Micah caught her under the elbow and smiled at her. “Let’s get you to your bed. Keep your head elevated.”

The girl still looked terrified, but the pain had to be receding, and some color had come back into her sallow cheeks.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she said through the cotton wool in her mouth. “You are very kind.”

Once Patty was tucked up in bed, Micah let it be known that he was seeing patients, and anyone who had a complaint was welcome to see him at no charge. He checked on Amy twice, and although she was still asleep, the fever had broken, and she seemed to be resting comfortably. By the time Lily and Micah emerged into the overcast March afternoon, Lily was exhausted, hungry, and completely in awe of Micah’s generosity and skill.

Micah wanted to buy a couple of pies from a street vendor, but Lily protested. “Let’s get proper food. I have money,” she added, shaking her reticule meaningfully.

“You don’t need to pay for me. I can afford lunch,” Micah said gruffly. “Come on.”

They found a respectable-looking chophouse and went in, taking a seat at a table in the corner. Micah placed his order, and Lily asked for the same. She didn’t care what they ate, she was just happy to find herself alone with Micah and relieved that their easy friendship seemed to be restored after hours of working side by side.

“I want to train to become a nurse,” she gushed as soon as the waiter walked away.

“Why?”

“Because I want to help people. Like you. I want my life to matter.”

“Lily, my life is not nearly as thrilling as you seem to imagine. I come home covered in blood, pus, and worse, and that’s on a good day. There are those I save, and those I’m unable to help. I’ve delivered dozens of stillborn babies. I’ve watched their mothers bleed out, and I’ve lost countless patients to fevers, infections, and just sheer hopelessness. And after signing the death certificates and comforting the bereaved, I come home to an empty house and a cold bed.”

Lily was about to demand an explanation for that last bit when the waiter returned with their food and drinks. She made no move to pick up her knife and fork or to take a sip of the cider she’d ordered. She simply waited, sensing that Micah was finally ready to talk.

“Margaret and I parted ways not long after we were married. She remained in our home and continued to see the man who had fathered her child.”

“Are you saying that Bridget isn’t yours?” Lily exclaimed.

Micah nodded. “Margaret was already with child when we wed.”

“So, why did she marry you if she wished to be with this other man?”

Micah sighed and took a long pull of his ale. He set the glass down and met Lily’s gaze, his own so sad, she thought he might cry. “She didn’t want her child to be born a bastard, and her lover was already married. She strung me along, hoping I’d never have cause to learn the truth, but then it all came out.”

“Did you love her?” Lily asked softly.

Micah nodded. “I did. People warned me about her. My female patients said Margaret was a schemer and an unrepentant flirt, but I didn’t believe them. Women are often unkind to those they see as a threat. I thought it was baseless gossip.”

“But she loved this other fellow?”

Micah nodded again. “She loved him then, and she loves him still.”

“And do you still love her?” Lily asked hesitantly.

“No. These days, all I feel toward her is resentment. She used me for her own ends, and now I’m trapped.”

“Can you not sue her for divorce?”

“The Catholic Church doesn’t allow divorce.”

“But this is adultery, and abandonment. Surely there are circumstances in which a divorce might be granted.”

“Doesn’t matter. Margaret O’Shea and I are bound for life.”

“And what of her lover’s wife? Does she not have any say in the matter?”

“As long as he supports her and their children, she’s content enough with the way things are. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a fancy man of her own.”

“Oh, Micah. I’m so sorry,” Lily said. “What a dreadful situation.”

“I’m sorry too,” Micah said softly. “I will never have a family of my own, not as long as Margaret lives. And that’s my greatest regret.”

Lily’s throat constricted with sympathy, and she reached out and covered Micah’s hand with her own. “Margaret is a wicked woman,” she said. She would have liked to use stronger language but didn’t think it would bring Micah comfort. She was sure Margaret O’Shea had already been called every name in the book by those she’d wronged.

Micah nodded. “Grab your happiness with both hands, Lils. Avery loves you, and he will do everything in his power to give you a good life. Marry him, have as many babies as the Good Lord grants you, and cherish your family. In the end, that’s all any of us has got.”

“I’ve never known you to simply accept your fate,” Lily said.

Micah gave her a wary look. “What am I supposed to do, kill the woman? That’s the only way I would be free of her.”

“I wasn’t advocating murder, but there must be some way to get rid of her.”

“If you think of one, do let me know,” Micah said with a wry smile. “I’m open to suggestions.”

“Have you spoken to Father about this?”

“Not in detail. I was too ashamed to admit that I had been played for a fool. I simply told him that the marriage was not a happy one. I knew he wouldn’t pry.”

“He would never judge you, you know,” Lily said.

“No, he wouldn’t, but as there’s nothing he can do to help, I see no point in burdening him with my problems.”

“So, why did you tell me?” Lily asked, and instantly regretted the question. Micah had clearly needed to confide in someone, and now she’d gone and made him feel the fool for sharing his troubles with her.

“I’m not sure,” Micah said with a sigh. “I suppose I wanted you to know the truth of my life.” He looked at Lily, and she saw the searing regret in his gaze. “I suppose coming back here and seeing you all made me realize how different my life could have turned out had I married someone who actually loved me.”

Micah reached for his silverware and turned his attention to his plate. Lily took a bite of her cod, but her mind wasn’t on food. She was still thinking about Margaret O’Shea.

Chapter 41

Kyle

Kyle walked into the café and headed toward the table in the back corner, where Emily sat huddled against the wall, her dark head bent over her phone, her snake-print scarf so thickly wound around her neck, it looked like an anaconda was attacking her. She looked up and saw Kyle, and her eyes filled with tears. Emily stood and walked into Kyle’s arms, and he held her tight, wishing he could do more than meet her for a coffee.

“Em, how are you?” he asked.

“How do you think?” Emily replied. “Dad is prowling the flat like a caged lion, and Mum barely acknowledges me. I’d take her pills away, but I’m afraid she’ll crack. Edie was always her favorite.”

“Don’t say that,” Kyle replied, but he thought Emily was probably right in her assessment.

Emily was highly intelligent, decisive, and fiercely independent. She didn’t need her mother the way Edie did, and probably hadn’t in a long time. Of his three sisters, Emily was the one he related to the most, even though he’d grown up with Cassie and had only known Emily for a year. He wished they had known each other as children and young adults, but he was grateful to have found his sisters at all. If not for that DNA test, he might never have known he had two other siblings.

Kyle shrugged off his coat, settled across from Emily, and watched as she unwound the scarf and took off her jacket, as if his presence somehow made all that padding unnecessary. Kyle ordered black coffee, and Emily asked for a pot of Darjeeling and a muffin.

“Is there any news?” Kyle asked. He hadn’t heard from Sean since yesterday and didn’t want to ring him until he had spoken to his sister.

Emily sighed deeply. “Nothing good. It’s been suggested that Dad take a few days off. With the complaint from Lovering, the insinuations in the press, and the fact that he keeps trying to micromanage the investigation, he’s currently persona non grata.”

“Surely he knows that his interference can derail the case,” Kyle said. A good lawyer could use Sean’s involvement as a basis for getting the case against his client thrown out due to conflict of interest.

“He knows, but how can he stay away? This is Edie, Kyle. And Donna Martins can hardly ignore his calls, not when he used to be her SIO back in the day. Dad trained her.”

“Are there any developments?” Kyle asked. He had no doubt that Emily knew everything there was to know, and then some. She wasn’t the sort of person to rely on others for information.

Emily nodded. “The search of Edie’s flat turned up nothing. The kettle was clean, as was Edie’s mug. They found nothing suspicious. Same goes for Leyla’s brother-in-law. Ammar was in Manchester the day Edie went missing and as far as anyone can see had absolutely no reason to abduct her. He likes to spew his political opinions online, but there’s no history of violence or any connection to a terrorist organization, at home or abroad.”

“So, what now?”

“DI Martins interviewed Kieran under caution. She sent Dad a recording of the interview.”

“Does Dad have a reason to suspect Kieran?”

Emily shrugged. “Statistically, it’s usually the partner, and he thinks Kieran’s behavior was shifty.”

“Have you seen the video?” Kyle asked.

Emily reached for her mobile and pulled up the recording of the interview. “I asked Dad to forward it to me. I thought you’d want to see for yourself.”

“Is this even legal?” Kyle asked as he lowered the volume on Emily’s phone to prevent any of the customers at nearby tables from overhearing the recording.

“Who knows?” Emily replied. “Probably not. But Dad has lost all sense of proportion. He’s no longer the chief constable, but a frantic parent, and if he doesn’t get a grip, he’ll go off the rails, just like Mum.”

Kyle stared down at the screen, his gaze fixed on Kieran, who sat next to a balding middle-aged man, presumably his lawyer. Kyle wondered if this was the duty solicitor or if Kieran had called in legal counsel of his own. Kieran looked more annoyed than nervous and kept glancing toward what he probably thought was a two-way mirror. DI Martins and DS Peters entered the room and took their seats.

Kyle hadn’t met DI Martins before and was curious to observe the woman Sean had hand-picked to head up the most important case of his life. Donna Martins was a black woman in her mid-forties and had the body of a dedicated runner. She wore a well-cut pantsuit, her hair was pulled back into a neat bun, and her makeup was expertly applied. She was nothing like the crusty female detectives one often saw on TV, who cared little for their appearance. DI Martins was feminine and had the sort of sympathetic expression that invited confidences. She smiled warmly at Kieran before going through the preliminaries for the benefit of the tape.

“Mr. Bowen, you previously stated that you were at home, asleep, the day Edie Cadogan was taken, but the tracker on your mobile shows that you had actually left the house around eight a.m. and were near Edie’s flat at 8:27 a.m.,” DI Martins said. “Why didn’t you mention that?”

Kieran glanced at the solicitor, who said nothing, and turned back to the detectives. “I panicked. Everyone always assumes it’s the partner.”

“Every case is individual,” DI Martins replied graciously. “So, why did you go to Edie’s flat?”

“I wanted a word. In person.”

“And did you speak to her?” DS Peters asked.

“No one was in. I rang the bell, waited a few minutes, then left.”

“Where did you go?”

“Home. As I’m sure you already know if you have seen the tracking data from my mobile,” Kieran added bitterly. “So I couldn’t have done it.”

“You could have had an accomplice,” DS Peters said.

“Why would I kidnap Edie?” Kieran asked warily. “To what end?”

“You had argued the night before, and we only have your word for what was said,” DI Martins said.

“Couples argue all the time. And then they either make up or break up.”

“So, which was it?” DS Peters inquired.

“Edie said she didn’t want to see me anymore, but I thought that once we talked things out, she’d change her mind.”

“And would you have become violent if she didn’t?”

“I don’t have a history of violence, as you well know,” Kieran said.

“Why did you feel the need to see her first thing in the morning?” DS Peters asked.

Kieran paused and sucked in a deep breath. “I wanted to warn her,” he said at last.

“About?”

“About Darryl Blaine. And I didn’t want to do it via text.”

“What about Mr. Blaine?” DI Martins asked, her eyes narrowing.

Kieran looked deeply uncomfortable. “Look, I don’t want to drop anyone in it. And I’m not a grass.”

“Mr. Bowen, you are being questioned in connection with the abduction of your pregnant girlfriend. I suggest you worry less about others and more about yourself,” DI Martins said.

“I am worried about myself. If what I said gets out, I’ll be the next one to disappear.”

“What are you saying, exactly?” DS Peters asked.

“Anything you say to us in this interview is strictly confidential,” DI Martins added.

“What about the people behind that mirror?” Kieran asked. “For all I know, they’re bent and will report right back to Darryl Blaine.”

“There’s no one behind the mirror, Mr. Bowen.”

“Now, why don’t I believe you?” Kieran asked.

DS Martins waited. The solicitor noted something down in the file, and DS Peters watched Kieran without blinking.

Kieran nodded, as if having come to a decision. “The lounge is a front for Blaine’s real activities,” he said softly.

“And what activities are those?” DI Martins asked.

“Darryl Blaine deals in top-notch gear. None of that cheap stuff you get on the street. People trust him.”

“Trust him to do what?” DS Peters asked.

“Trust him not to kill them with fentanyl-laced smack. He caters to an upper-crust clientele. He also runs escorts and…” Kieran went quiet.

“And what?” DI Martins demanded.

“I think he brings in girls from Eastern Europe.”

“Did Edie know any of this?” Despite her impassive expression, it was clear that DI Martins was surprised.

“No, of course not.”

“And you didn’t think to warn her before?” DS Peters asked.

“Edie just wanted to sing, and Darryl Blaine not only paid well but exposed her to the sort of people who might take an interest and help to advance her career. She was in no danger as long as she agreed to and was paid for legitimate gigs. To get involved with Darryl on a personal level would be something else entirely, and I thought she needed to know what she might be getting herself into.”

“Do you think Darryl Blaine had anything to do with Edie’s abduction?” DS Peters asked.

Kieran shrugged. “I see no reason why he would want to abduct Edie, but he doesn’t share his reasons with me. And Edie looks just like those girls he peddles to his clients.”

“And did Edie ever mention anyone named Milo?” DI Martins asked.

“Yeah. She said she met some guy who works for World Beatz Records. He offered to submit her recording to the powers-that-be.”

“And did he?”

“I have no idea. But I did check out their website. I didn’t find anyone named Milo.”

“Did Edie describe this man?” DS Peters asked.

“No.”

“Were you upset that Edie didn’t offer to introduce you to her contact at World Beatz?”

“Why would I be?” Kieran asked.

“Because you’re a musician, and a contact at a major recording studio could help your career,” DS Peters said.

Kieran raised his chin and looked defiantly at DI Martins. “Are you charging me with a crime, Detective Inspector? If not, then I think I’d like to leave now.”

DI Martins nodded thoughtfully. “You are free to go, Mr. Bowen. But don’t leave town. We might need to speak to you again.”

“Right,” Kieran said. He stood and walked out without another word.

DI Martins announced that the interview was terminated. She waited until the lawyer left the room, then turned to DS Peters. “Bring in Blaine.”

The recording ended there, and Kyle returned the phone to Emily. “I think you should delete that,” he said.

Emily nodded. “I will. I’m just really worried, Kyle.”

“About?”

“I’m afraid Dad will take matters into his own hands. Once he saw that bit about Darryl Blaine, he lost it. He wanted to confront him. I talked him down. Kyle, you need to speak to him. He must keep his distance from the investigation. Too much is at stake.”

“I know,” Kyle said. “And he knows that too.”

“He’s not thinking straight.”

“I don’t think any of us are,” Kyle replied. “I have half a mind to confront Darryl Blaine myself.”

Emily sighed impatiently. “Keep your head, Kyle. This isn’t the time for vigilante justice. What matters is finding Edie.”

Kyle stared into the depths of his coffee. With every day that passed, the chances of finding Edie diminished, and they all realized that.

“I have to get back,” Kyle said once the silence became too heavy. “I’ll talk to Dad. I promise.”

Emily rewound the scarf around her neck and pulled on her coat. “I think I’m going to take a walk. I can’t bear to go back to that flat.”

“Be careful, Em,” Kyle said.

“I’m not the one you have to worry about,” Emily said, and walked out.

Kyle paid and stepped outside into the blustery afternoon. Despite what he had told Emily, he wasn’t ready to go home. He’d written a dozen books and had plotted intricate cases with carefully planted red herrings, but this was real life, and an official investigation. He had been marginally involved when Len was arrested two years ago, but this was different. He was terrified for Edie, and a voice he couldn’t seem to silence kept telling him that time was running short.

Suddenly cold, Kyle pushed his hands into his pockets and was surprised when his fingers closed around something metal. He pulled out the object and stared at it, his vision blurring with tears when he realized what it was. The charm bracelet, which was a bit naff, belonged to Edie, who’d taken it off to show Ava when the child grew restless and started to cry one afternoon when they were stuck in traffic. Edie had jumped out of the car as soon as Kyle pulled up before her building, forgetting to take the bracelet back from Ava, who was examining it with single-minded fascination. Kyle had meant to return it to Edie but had stuffed it in his pocket and forgotten all about it. He stared at the silly trinket, his fingers caressing the charms as if they were prayer beads.

Edie rarely bought expensive things. She was always losing stuff or forgetting where she had put it. Kyle stared at the bracelet, suddenly recalling what Nicole had said about Edie’s scarf. He knew he was being ridiculous and probably more than a little unfair, but he pulled out his mobile and selected Quinn’s number.

“Hello there,” Quinn’s voice said into his ear.

“Quinn, may I come round?”

“Eh, sure,” Quinn said. “Everything all right?”

“Not really,” Kyle replied truthfully.

“Is this about your sister?” Quinn asked gently.

“Quinn, I can’t bear not knowing. It’s like being suspended in midair, knowing you might crash at any moment. My chest is so tight, I can hardly breathe.”

“How far away are you?”

“A couple of minutes.”

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Quinn said, and rang off.

Chapter 42

Quinn

“What was that about?” Gabe asked when Quinn set her phone down on the worktop and reached for the kettle.

“That was Kyle. He’s on his way here.”

“I’m sorry,” Gabe said.

“What for?”

“For being an absolute idiot. I should have known this would happen.”

“What’s done is done.”

“What will you tell him?” Gabe asked once Quinn had turned on the kettle and opened the cupboard to take out the mugs.

“That depends on what I see.”

“And what if you see that Edie is dead?”

“If I tell Kyle that Edie is dead, he will tell his father. And then the chief constable will want to know how Kyle came by that information.”

Quinn set the mugs on the counter. “There are times when I feel blessed to have the ability to see and experience what others can only imagine, but at other times, I wish I could throw a switch and shut it off. And this is one of those times. It’s one thing to look into the past and relive the lives of people who would be long-dead anyway, but Edie Cadogan is not some Medieval maiden. She is a beautiful, talented girl whose whole life is still ahead of her.” Quinn wiped away an angry tear. “I don’t want to know, Gabe. I really don’t. And I don’t want to snatch Kyle’s hope away. Anything I tell him will have repercussions.”

“I’ll ring Kyle and tell him you’ve changed your mind.”

“Would you? I didn’t have the heart to refuse him. He’s so worried.”

Gabe slid his mobile out of his back pocket and was just searching for Kyle’s number when the doorbell pealed. “I think it might be too late,” he said morosely.

“I think you’re right,” Quinn said, and went to get the door.

Kyle looked haunted, his face pale in the sullen light of the autumn afternoon. “I’m really sorry, Quinn,” he said. “I had no right to put you in this position, but it’s been over a week now, and the investigation seems to have stalled. I keep thinking…” Kyle couldn’t finish the sentence, but there was no need. Quinn would be thinking the same thing in his place.

She nodded. She was sorry too and regretted her earlier reservations. Edie’s family was going through hell, and if she could help, even in this small way, how could she refuse? “Come through, Kyle. Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you.”

Quinn led Kyle to the kitchen and invited him to sit down. Gabe had gone, leaving them to it. He probably didn’t want to make Kyle feel more uncomfortable than he already did, but Quinn wished he would have remained, especially if what she had to tell Kyle was bad news. Quinn braced herself and held out her hand. Kyle drew out the charm bracelet and dropped it into her open palm. Quinn closed her fingers around the bracelet and felt the dainty charms dig into her flesh, but she ignored the discomfort. She shut her eyes and cleared her mind, waiting for an image to materialize, then let out her breath as relief washed over her.

“This bracelet doesn’t belong to Edie.”

“Who does it belong to?” Kyle asked. He clearly hadn’t expected that and seemed confused by Quinn’s pronouncement.

Quinn shrugged. “Someone else.”

“Are you sure?” Kyle asked, still looking shell-shocked.

“I am. I’m sorry, Kyle. I wish I had more information for you.”

“I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

Kyle sprang to his feet and strode toward the door. There was a brief gust of air, and then the door shut behind him. Quinn remained seated, confused by this new revelation. She usually couldn’t tell who the object belonged to unless she saw it in a vision, but although she had seen nothing, she knew with absolute certainty that the bracelet wasn’t Edie’s. She might have borrowed it from someone, or maybe it had been a gift from someone whose ownership had imprinted on the trinket. Either way, since Edie was not the original owner, a connection could not be established.

Quinn pushed to her feet and went to find Gabe, who was in the study, typing something on his laptop.

Gabe turned to face her, his expression one of concern. “Are you all right?”

“I didn’t see anything. The bracelet wasn’t Edie’s.”

“How could you tell?”

Quinn shrugged. “Just a feeling.” Her gaze traveled to the plastic bag containing the St. Christopher that she’d left in an ornamental box sitting on the desk. “Mind if I spend some time with Lily?”

“Not at all,” Gabe said as he vacated the chair. “Take all the time you need. I’ll get started on lunch.”

Quinn waited until the door shut behind Gabe, then reached for the medal. She was desperate to expunge the fear that had suddenly gripped her. The bracelet might not have been Edie’s, but she was certain that the next few days would prove significant.

Chapter 43

Lily

March 1888

Lily descended the stairs, acutely conscious of dozens of eyes turning in her direction. She wore a new gown, a pearl necklace with a diamond clasp that was a birthday present from her parents, and the ring Avery had proposed with. The house was lit with both gaslight and dozens of candles, the gentle light reflected in polished candlesticks, mirrors, silver platters, and cut-crystal glasses.

The din of conversation flowed over Lily as she greeted her guests, smiling politely, her head bobbing like a marionette’s as she accepted birthday wishes and congratulations on her engagement. Suddenly overwhelmed by all the attention, she scanned the foyer and then the drawing room, searching for an oasis of peace in a sea of unrest. Instead, she found Avery, who smiled happily when he spotted her and made his way toward her, resting his hand on the small of her back and guiding her through the throng toward her father, who was on the other side of the room, in conversation with Daniel Haze.

Daniel smiled warmly and held out his hands to her. “Lily, my dear. Happy birthday, and my heartfelt congratulations on your engagement. To you both,” he said, remembering to include Avery in his well-wishes. “May you grow old together.”

For Daniel Haze, who had not had the privilege to grow old with the love of his life, this was the most sincere wish he could offer, but Lily suddenly felt breathless, her heart fluttering against her ribs like a caged bird.

“Is Charlotte here?” Lily asked, watching Daniel for any change in expression.

Daniel’s dark gaze was sympathetic behind the thick lenses of his spectacles. “Of course she is. Charlotte may be stubborn, but even she knows when it’s time to call a truce.”

Lily’s anxiety decreased a notch as she tried to catch a glimpse of Charlotte’s profile among the guests. Why had her parents invited all these people? She would have preferred a dinner for her nearest and dearest, not this public celebration that made her feel like a curiosity everyone had come to gawk at.

“Lily. Avery, come into the study for a moment,” beckoned Katherine, who seemed to appear out of nowhere.

Lily wasn’t sure why her mother wanted to take her away from their guests, but Avery looked happy and relaxed, as if he already knew the purpose of the summons.

“I’ve arranged for a photographer to save having to visit an atelier,” Katherine exclaimed. “He’ll take a few engagement photos and then a few of Lily, to commemorate her birthday. And then you can rejoin your guests.”

Katherine seemed very pleased with this plan, and Lily nodded approvingly and followed her mother toward the study, eager for a few moments of quiet. The photographer, a dour-looking young man in a black suit worthy of an undertaker, had already set up his camera on the tripod and positioned a portable backdrop against the wall. One chair had been placed before the cascading fabric.

“If the young lady would take a seat,” he intoned. “Mr. Moorcroft, kindly stand behind your intended and place your hand on her shoulder.”

A pose meant to indicate possession, Lily thought bitterly as she lowered herself into the chair. Avery’s hand on her shoulder, holding her down, declaring to the world that she was his to command.

“Please, look at the camera, Miss Redmond,” the photographer said. “And perhaps you can try not to look so mutinous.”

Lily exhaled deeply, allowing her irritation to seep away. She was being unfair. Avery wasn’t the sort of man to oppress her. He was far from a tyrant. If anything, he was the sort of man who enjoyed a good party and was always the first to laugh at a joke or try to engage someone who found themselves on the fringes of a group. He was even friendly to Charlotte, teasing her out of her prickliness until she finally let down her guard and even allowed herself to laugh at his jokes.

The photographer took two photos of Lily and Avery, then asked Avery to leave the room so he could photograph Lily on her own. She sat back and stared into the lens, knowing this portrait was for her parents and she should try to look happy. The photographer was just about to take the photo when Micah appeared behind his shoulder. He smiled broadly, and Lily tried not to grin back but could barely suppress an answering smile. The flash went off, and the photographer glared at her reproachfully. She was meant to look composed and dignified, not grin like a loon, but she didn’t care.

“Just take another,” Lily said, annoyed with the man. “But I want this one too.”

“As you wish, miss,” the photographer replied. “If you wouldn’t mind, sir,” he said to Micah, who rolled his eyes and left the room, closing the door behind him.

A few minutes later, once the photographer was satisfied, Lily was finally permitted to rejoin the guests. She looked around for Micah but didn’t see either him or Charlotte, so she found Avery, plastered a smile on her face, and devoted herself to playing the role of the dutiful hostess as Avery guided her from group to group.

“Your face looks like it’s going to crack,” Charlotte said when Avery was finally drawn away to join a knot of men. “I think you need a glass of champagne.”

“I think you’re right,” Lily said.

Charlotte fetched them both a drink and handed a glass to Lily.

“Where were you?” Lily asked. “I didn’t see you before.”

‘I was out in the garden, with Micah. He was telling me about the last postmortem he’d performed. Fascinating case.”

“Not now, Charlotte,” Lily said. The last thing she wanted to hear about was a violent death and the marks it had left on the body.

Charlotte shrugged. “All right, then,” she said, raising her glass. “Happy birthday, and congratulations. This is going to be the most exciting year of your life.”

“You don’t need to patronize me,” Lily hissed.

“I wasn’t being patronizing,” Charlotte replied, clearly hurt by Lily’s accusation. “If this is what you want, then I’m happy for you.”

“Is that meant to be an apology?”

“Lily, you’re my oldest and dearest friend. I won’t pretend I’m not disappointed, or hurt, but it would be awfully churlish of me to try to belittle your happiness just because my life is quickly going nowhere.”

“Lottie, you will find happiness. You’ll see. You’ll meet someone wonderful—”

Charlotte cut across her. “I don’t want to get married and become a domestic slave to some boorish man.”

“Our fathers are not boorish,” Lily reminded her.

“Our fathers are an exception to the rule, although my father is trying valiantly to embrace old age. Just look at him.”

Lily’s gaze slid toward Daniel Haze, who was speaking earnestly to Avery’s mother. Now in his mid-fifties, like her own father, Daniel bore little resemblance to the man Jason had met when he had first arrived in England. Lily had seen a photo of them, taken at her parents’ wedding breakfast, Daniel handsome in a dark suit, her father looking dapper and smiling happily. They had been so young, and so desperate to make the world a better place. Lily didn’t think Daniel cared much about the world these days. The idealism had long since faded, and his relationship with Jason was based more on shared history and mutual regard than common interests. Time had a way of testing most relationships, and theirs had been no exception.

Daniel caught Lily’s gaze on him and nodded in her direction, obviously glad to see that Charlotte was beside her and they seemed to be getting along.

“He’s a good man, Lily,” Charlotte said.

“Who? Your father?”

“No, silly. Avery. If he wasn’t so in love with you, I might consider abandoning my vow of chastity for him.”

“Really?” Lily asked, genuinely surprised by Charlotte’s admission.

It had never occurred to her that Charlotte might have feelings for Avery. Charlotte was always so practical, so sensible. Imagining her in love was enough to completely destabilize Lily’s hard-won composure. Funnily, she could picture Charlotte and Avery together. They would make a good team, probably better than Lily and Avery, but Lily didn’t think Avery had ever really noticed Charlotte, at least not in the way she’d noticed him. Sensible, bookish Charlotte wasn’t the sort of girl men cast in the role of temptress, or cherished wife. Perhaps if Charlotte could learn how to show a little vulnerability, allow the man to feel like the hero from time to time. Katherine had impressed those lessons on Lily from an early age, fearful that she’d grow into a firebrand like her father, but Charlotte had grown up without her mother. She didn’t have anyone to instruct her in the art of getting a man since her stepmother was as incapable of flirtatious behavior as Charlotte herself.

“It’s all right, Lily,” Charlotte said softly. “You’ll be deliriously happy, and I will probably never see you again.”

“Oh, do stop being so maudlin. We will see each other all the time, and you will be godmother to my child.”

“Unmarried women are generally not asked to be godmothers. You’ll probably ask one of Avery’s stodgy married friends and become fast friends with his equally stodgy wife.”

Lily wanted to argue, to tell Charlotte that she was being ridiculous, and Lily would never willingly settle into the life Charlotte was envisioning for her, but she knew she’d be lying. Charlotte was only speaking the truth, and it was inevitable that Lily’s life would change.

“Excuse me,” Lily choked out. “I need a moment.”

She hurried away from Charlotte, intent on taking refuge in her father’s study, which should now be unoccupied since no guests would enter uninvited. The study was the one place in the house that Lily associated with scientific pursuits and unshakable common sense. She was surprised to find Micah. He was seated at her father’s desk, reading a recent medical journal with intense concentration. Micah looked up, his expression betraying his surprise.

“Are you all right?” he asked when Lily shut the door behind her.

“I just needed a few moments before going in to dinner.”

Micah nodded. “So did I. I’ve grown tired of answering endless questions about the United States. I’m not much interested in politics, and I don’t really want to tell your guests about my latest postmortem.”

“You told Charlotte,” Lily replied with a grin.

“Charlotte is genuinely interested. She files the information away, like a squirrel that stores its nuts,” Micah joked.

“What for?”

“For some future use we’re not yet aware of. Charlotte’s great tragedy is that she should have been born a man.”

“Micah!” Lily reproached him.

Micah shrugged. “I don’t mean it as an insult. She’s just not the sort of person who’d ever be content with her womanly lot. Neither are you,” he pointed out.

“Well, a womanly lot is what I have agreed to. And everyone is here to celebrate my capitulation.”

“Is that what this is? A capitulation?”

“I don’t know,” Lily replied truthfully. “It’s just that all of a sudden, I feel like I can’t breathe.”

“It’s normal,” Micah replied.

Except that it’s not, Lily thought. I wouldn’t feel this way if I were marrying you.

Good God, what was she doing? Lily berated herself silently. Micah was married. Bound for life to a woman who had no intentions of setting him free. There were no choices here, no options, and no decisions to make. He and Lily each had their own path, and the two would never cross, at least not in the way Lily’s heart longed for. Avery was the next best thing. The only thing. This was meant to be a happy occasion, a new beginning, but all she felt was dread and the growing certainty that something precious was coming to an end.

“Want a small brandy to steady your nerves?” Micah asked. “You look like you’re going to swoon.”

“Please,” Lily said, embarrassed that he had noticed her distress.

Micah poured them both brandy from the decanter her father kept on the sideboard and raised his glass in a salute. “To you, Lils, and your future happiness.”

Lily didn’t reply.

Micah finished his drink and set the glass on the sideboard, then looked at her and smiled encouragingly. “Shall we rejoin the party?”

Lily shook her head. She drained her brandy, set the glass aside, and drew in a deep breath. The feeling of panic drained away, replaced by a primal urge that wouldn’t be denied. She looked into Micah’s eyes and was sure she saw his own need reflected in his gaze. Afraid she might change her mind if she thought about it a moment longer, she threw her arms about Micah’s neck and pressed her lips to his, kissing him with all the desperate passion of an inexperienced young girl.

Micah responded, his arms wrapping around her and his mouth opening against Lily’s as she pressed her hips against him, a little shocked by the unexpected pressure against her abdomen. She wanted to remain in Micah’s embrace forever, to crawl inside him and live in his heart, but Micah gently pushed her off.

“No,” he said hoarsely, and Lily could see what it had cost him to reject her. “Lily, no.”

“Micah, I—”

She was about to pour out her heart to him when the door opened and Avery strode in, his gaze narrowing when he saw Lily and Micah standing so close together. “There you are. Lily, everyone is waiting for us.”

“Go on,” Micah said softly. Lily shot him an anguished look, but he smiled at her dolefully, as if desperate to erase what had just transpired between them. “Go on, Lils,” he said again. “It’s rude to keep your guests waiting.”

Lily accepted Avery’s arm, and he led her toward the dining room. Everyone was already seated, the candles flickering, and the air filled the funereal scent of lilies that Katherine had chosen as centerpieces. All eyes turned to them, as if they were already married and this was their wedding celebration. It felt surreal, as if it were happening to someone else. Her parents were smiling happily. Avery’s mother’s face shone with pride, and his younger sister stole discreet glances at Adam, who was oblivious to her admiration and watching his sister and her fiancé.

Lily’s gaze found Charlotte, and Charlotte smiled and gave her a small nod of encouragement. Lily and Avery took their seats, and Lily watched, still somewhat bemused, as her father clinked his knife against his crystal goblet and asked for silence. He was about to wish his daughter a happy twenty-first birthday and congratulate her on her engagement to the man of her choice. Except that the man of her choice stood in the doorway, his gaze liquifying Lily’s insides in a way that wasn’t brotherly at all.

Chapter 44

Lily woke with a sore head and an aching heart. She had drunk too much champagne last night and had found herself alone with Avery at the end of the evening. She’d stepped out into the garden for a breath of air, and Avery had followed her outside, eager for a few moments alone with his beloved. Avery had held her close, kissed her, and allowed his hands to roam more freely than they had ever done in the past, safe in the knowledge that they were alone, and Lily wouldn’t refuse him now that she was so nearly his.

Lily had not pushed him away, but all she’d felt was an echoing emptiness, a void that Avery could never fill. Eventually, they’d gone back inside. Avery had been pleased, but Lily’s stomach had been writhing with misery, and all she had wanted was to be alone. She’d pleaded a headache and wished Avery a good night, allowing him to kiss her once again before he asked Fanny for his coat and hat and vanished into the night.

Now, in the clear light of day, Lily acknowledged what she’d known since she’d spotted Micah walking down the street the day he’d arrived. She could never marry Avery. She forced herself to get out of bed, dressed in a somber morning gown, and arranged her hair in a simple twist. She was in no mood to be fussed over this day.

When she left her bedroom, the house was quiet, her mother and brother still asleep after last night’s festivities. The door to Micah’s bedroom was ajar, and Lily peeked in, but the bed was neatly made, and none of his books or personal items were on the bureau. Micah was very neat in his habits, something he’d learned early on during his impoverished childhood, but the room had an abandoned feel, much like Lily herself.

Lily braced herself for a difficult conversation as she headed downstairs. On days when Jason didn’t have to go to work, he liked to savor a second cup of coffee after breakfast, reading the morning paper in contented solitude. She hated that she was about to ruin his day, but some things couldn’t be helped, and she had to get it off her chest now, while she still had the courage of her convictions.

Jason looked up and smiled. “Good morning, darlin’. Did you sleep well?”

“I had too much champagne,” Lily replied, avoiding the question. “Fanny, may I have some tea and toast, please?” she said to the maidservant, who’d come in to clear away Jason’s empty plate.

“Of course, Miss Lily.”

Once Fanny had left the room, Lily turned to her father, who was watching her closely. She smiled uncomfortably. “Where’s Micah?” she asked, her courage failing her at the last minute.

“Micah is gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?” Lily asked, her anxiety about disappointing her father momentarily receding.

“Micah is on his way to Liverpool. From there, he’ll sail to Boston.”

“But he didn’t even say goodbye.”

“I thought it was best if he just left.”

“What do you mean?” Lily cried. “Daddy, what are you talking about?”

Jason laid a gentle hand over Lily’s and looked at her in a way that brought tears to her eyes. “I know the look of love, darlin’, and I see it in you. And in him. It was best that Micah leave now. Some lines can never be uncrossed.”

“So you knowingly sent away the man I love?” Lily whispered.

“I did. Micah is a married man, Lily. He has a child.”

“A child that’s not even his,” she exclaimed.

Jason looked momentarily shocked, but quickly recovered his composure. “Bridget is Micah’s daughter within the law and in the eyes of his Church. Micah is not free to begin a relationship.”

“I don’t want to marry Avery,” Lily cried, angrier with her father than she’d ever been.

“Then tell him so. He’s a grown man. He can take it. You will meet someone else, someone who makes you feel the way Micah does.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Lily, you’re so young, and there are so many opportunities waiting for you.”

“And what if I’m not interested in any of them?”

“The world is not kind to women who thwart its tenets. You can do whatever you wish to do, but you have to do it from a position of legitimacy, attained only through a respectable marriage.”

“Hypocrite!” Lily cried. “You have done nothing but thwart society’s tenets. You still do.”

“I am a man, sweetheart,” Jason said apologetically. “A wealthy, titled man. Society will forgive me just about anything, but it won’t forgive you. Believe me, I’ve seen enough women who’ve been chewed up and spat out by the world. I don’t wish that for my daughter.”

“And will you turn your back on me if I disobey you?” Lily demanded.

“You are my child, and I love you. I will never turn my back on you, but I will not condone an action that will destroy your life, and by extension, this family. Sweetheart, please, put your faith in me. Have I ever steered you wrong?”

“No,” Lily muttered.

“Then trust me. The fire that consumes you will diminish and then eventually burn out. You’ll grieve your love, and then you will find that you are ready to move forward.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” Lily asked petulantly.

“You know I am.”

“Your first fiancée betrayed you, Daddy. You had no choice but to move forward. But Micah is the most honorable, kindest man I’ve ever met.”

“And it is because he’s honorable and kind that he knew he had to leave now, before he caused irreparable harm. It was an act of love, Lily. Take it as such.”

Lily opened her mouth to protest, but Fanny arrived with her breakfast, and Lily bit back her words. She was angry, heartbroken, and lost, but she knew her father was right in everything he had said. He had only her best interests at heart, and he wouldn’t see her dishonor herself. She understood only too well what happened to women who chose to become mistresses rather than wives. She wouldn’t hurt only herself and any future children she might bear; she would hurt her parents and her brother. The Redmond family would be disgraced, and she had no right to take everyone down with her. She loved them too much for that.

“I understand, Daddy,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”

“The hurt will pass,” Jason said, smiling sadly at his daughter. “I promise.”

Lily nodded. “I’d best hurry. I have a fitting later today.”

Jason shot her a look of surprise. “You mean to go through with it, then?”

“Avery is a good man and doesn’t deserve to be left at the altar. I will go through with it.”

“Perhaps it would be wise to postpone the wedding. Give yourself time to figure out what you truly want.”

“I want a life of my own, Daddy,” Lily said. “I’m through being a child.”

Jason looked like he was about to argue, but Lily pushed away her untouched toast and stood.

“Have a good day, Daddy.”

“You too, darlin’,” Jason said to Lily’s retreating back.

She didn’t think she’d ever have a good day again, but she was no quitter. An expression she’d heard from Micah. Thinking of him made her heart ache with longing, but her father was right. Leaving her was the ultimate act of love.

Chapter 45

Nicole

“Dinner is ready,” I said as I walked into the lounge.

Kyle was watching the news, his gaze glued to the screen. Once again, the newsreader was talking about Edie’s case, but the focus had shifted from the investigation to the allegations made against the chief constable. As Sean had predicted, the outcry had intensified, and there were several people coming forward and accusing the police of discrimination and nepotism. One woman had written an open letter to the press, saying that her younger sister had gone missing eight months ago, but after a cursory investigation, the police had closed the case, concluding that the girl had run away. The woman, Anna Bartek, said that her sister would never have run away. It was her belief that her sister’s case wasn’t taken seriously because they weren’t citizens of the United Kingdom and had come to London from Krakow on a work visa.

I sank down on the sofa next to Kyle, an elusive thought niggling at me until I was finally able to bring it into focus and reframe it within the context of the news story.

“Kyle, Edie mentioned a Polish woman named Anna that she’d worked with at the café. She said Anna had asked a lot of questions about Sean. Edie thought it was because Anna’s sister had run away, and Anna was worried about her. Could it be the same person?” I asked.

“I think that’s unlikely,” Kyle said. “But I will certainly mention it to Sean. No connection is too tenuous when you have nothing to go on. I just hope DI Martins is willing to listen. I have a feeling that some people will try to distance themselves from Sean until this shitstorm blows over.”

He turned off the television and turned to me. “How’s your research going?”

I shrugged. “Slowly. I’m due to meet Quinn tomorrow. Maybe she’ll have some solid clues.”

“And what about Charlotte’s books?” Kyle asked.

“I’ve read the first two. They’re a quick and easy read, the writing typical of the time period.”

“And the plots?”

“Well constructed and skillfully executed. A bit tame by today’s standards, but I can see how the series would have been very popular in its day.”

“Anything about Lily?”

“Miss Lucy Redmond, as she’s known in the books, is resourceful and clever, but it’s Lottie who’s the lead investigator and ultimately cracks the case.”

“Yet her name comes first in the title,” Kyle pointed out.

“Haze and Redmond doesn’t flow as well. I think that may have been purely a creative decision.”

“So, do you think that Lottie solving the case was a way to one-up Lily in fiction since Charlotte felt inferior to her in real life?”

“Impossible to tell. Perhaps as the author, especially one who felt she couldn’t use her real name, Charlotte wanted to show the world what she was truly capable of. Or maybe there was something else at play.”

“Such as?”

“I think perhaps Charlotte was angry with Lily.”

“For disappearing?” Kyle exclaimed.

“People often rage at those who’ve left them behind, whether they had gone willingly or not. I think she missed Lily and wished she were there.”

“That’s understandable. And very human.”

“Do you feel angry with Edie?” I asked carefully.

“I feel angry with everyone, to be honest.”

“Tell me.”

“I’m angry with Edie for being so trusting and not taking better care. I’m angry with Sean for not teaching her to look after herself and for jeopardizing this investigation. I’m angry with Carla for going to pieces and not supporting Sean and Emily through this. I’m angry with myself for feeling helpless and angry. The list goes on.”

“What you’re feeling is perfectly normal.”

“I know. It’s just fear talking. Do you think Redmond and Haze would have been able to solve this one?”

“I think even Redmond and Haze would have been out of their depth in modern-day London.”

“Take away the technology and what you have left are people, who haven’t changed much since the beginning of time. The motives are always the same. Jealousy, greed, fear, revenge.”

“It was a lot easier to disappear in Victorian London than it is today. Not like anyone carried identification or was registered with a government agency. You could be Kyle Walsh today, John Smith tomorrow. And no one would be the wiser. Unless a body was discovered and correctly identified, a person could just slip through the cracks.”

“Is that what you think happened to Lily?”

I shook my head. “I don’t believe for a moment that Jason Redmond would allow his daughter to slip away. I think he knew what happened to her.”

“What makes you say that?”

“The fact that there’s so little information on the investigation. As the superintendent, he could have had people looking for Lily for years, but I really don’t believe that was the case.”

Kyle nodded. “He knew she was dead. That was the only thing that would keep him from looking for her.”

“Yes,” I said with a heavy sigh. “He knew she was dead.”

I stole a peek at Kyle but didn’t verbalize what was on my mind.

“No,” Kyle exclaimed. “Edie is not dead. She’s out there, somewhere, waiting for rescue.”

I hoped Kyle was right and that rescue would come before it was too late. I went back into the kitchen to set the table for dinner, giving Kyle a few minutes to ring Sean. I knew it was a long shot, but something told me that Edie’s possible connection to Anna Bartek was significant.

Chapter 46

Despite—or maybe because of—everything that was going on, I couldn’t wait to meet Quinn. She had suggested we meet at a small café that did excellent French pastries and fancy coffee drinks. The place was charming and private, especially midmorning, when the breakfast rush had passed, and the lunch crowd was yet to appear. Quinn was already there, waiting for me. She hadn’t seen me yet, and I couldn’t help but notice that she looked disappointed and tense. She smiled when I called out a greeting and slid into a chair across from her.

“So, what’s good here?” I asked, more to break the tension than because I was hungry.

“Oh, everything,” Quinn replied. “Gabe was going through withdrawal when this place closed during the pandemic. He was practically wasting away. I think he has tried everything on the menu.”

“What’s your go-to choice?” I asked.

“I like the almond croissant. Or the pain au chocolat.”

“That sounds good.”

We placed our orders and spent a few minutes catching up with Lily’s movements in the weeks leading up to her disappearance. Quinn’s account of the engagement party was so vivid, I could almost see the house glowing with candlelight and the beautifully attired guests sipping from crystal glasses and dining on exquisitely prepared delicacies. It was difficult to reconcile this vision to the house as it was today, with its modern kitchen and rarely used formal dining room.

As she spoke, I had a feeling that Quinn was building up to something, and I wanted to give her the space to tell me in her own time. She waited until the server had delivered our order to the table before taking out the bag containing the St. Christopher and sliding it across the table. I stared at her, unsure what to make of it.

“That’s it? You’re done?” I asked. “You know what happened to Lily?”

Quinn shook her head. “I don’t.”

“So, why are you returning the necklace?”

“It was about a fortnight after the party that the photographer delivered the photographs he’d taken. They were in a folder, ready to be framed. Lily asked for the photo you found in the study.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because she wanted to make a keepsake. She purchased the leather frame, inserted the photo, then took off the St. Christopher and slid it inside. She left the frame on the mantel in her father’s study.”

“And then?” I cried.

“And then it all went dark.”

“You mean she died?” I choked out.

Quinn shook her head. “It doesn’t mean that she died. It only means that no further memories were imprinted on the object.”

“But why did she leave the St. Christopher for her father?”

“Lily had always felt closer to Jason than she did to Katherine. She respected him and looked up to him. She couldn’t leave without letting him know that she loved him and wanted St. Christopher to guide him once she was gone.”

“But where did she go?” I exclaimed.

Quinn smiled. “I think there’s only one place Lily would have gone. Boston.”

I smiled as understanding dawned. “Lily wanted everyone to think that she’d gone missing. That was the only way she could protect her family from the scandal that would ensue if it became known that she was cohabitating with a married man. When her father found the St. Christopher, he knew, which is why the search for her was a cursory one. He didn’t feel it would be appropriate to squander resources when he knew precisely where his daughter had gone.”

“I think so too, but there’s only one way to find out for sure.”

“How?” I asked.

Quinn smiled. “Daisy.”

“Daisy?”

“Daisy is my niece. She’s studying in Boston. And she has the gift. If she’s willing to help, we just might find out what happened to Lily.”

“But how would Daisy see into the past without an object that belonged to Lily?” I asked. The logistics of the psychic ability still eluded me despite Quinn’s explanation.

“Daisy will have to find something that belonged to Lily.”

“Surely that’s not as simple as you make it sound,” I remarked.

“No, it isn’t, but Daisy is extremely resourceful when she wants to be. Like her mother,” Quinn said, an odd expression crossing her face.

“Has Daisy agreed to do this?”

“I haven’t asked her yet. I wanted to find out if you wish to proceed.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Quinn shrugged. “You’re a writer, Nicole. You can give Lily whatever ending you desire, especially since there are no known descendants.” Quinn broke off a piece of her croissant and popped it into her mouth. “Despite all the tragedy, you still tend to give your characters a happy ending. I thought that perhaps—” She allowed the sentence to trail off, her meaning clear.

“You don’t think Lily’s life was a happy one?”

“Given what she chose to do, I can’t imagine that her life would have been easy. According to the records you found, Margaret O’Shea lived to see old age.”

“Meaning that Micah was never free to marry Lily.”

“Precisely. In those days, shacking up wasn’t an acceptable lifestyle choice. Lily would have been a pariah in Boston society. Those who had the power to help or hurt Micah would have treated her no better than a common whore.”

“If she did go to Boston, then she had made the ultimate sacrifice to be with Micah,” I said.

“And as we both know, love doesn’t always conquer all.”

I knew what Quinn was saying. I should invent my own ending and give Lily and Micah some semblance of a happy life, since in reality, their life would have been difficult at best, intolerable at worst. There was a reason Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina had thrown herself under a train after years of living in sin with her lover. Society had the power to destroy love, and once a wedge was driven in, it only widened the chasm and chipped away at desire, trust, and hope.

I had found no trace of Lily Redmond anywhere in the world. Perhaps she’d never even made it as far as Boston since ships had still sunk routinely during transatlantic crossings. But if she had arrived safely, perhaps her life in Boston had been brief and tragic, her death unrecorded in the annals of history.

“So, should I ring Daisy?” Quinn asked as she studied me across the table, her gaze asking me if I was sure I wanted to know.

I nodded. “Yes.”

For better or worse, I had to know. I was too invested.

Chapter 47

Daisy

Daisy Crawford wound a wooly scarf around her neck and zipped up her coat. It was the week before Thanksgiving, but it was cold and windy, most trees already bare, their naked branches weaving a latticework against the nearly white sky. The climate in New England was harsher than the gentler seasons of her homeland, but Daisy loved it. It was liberating to be away from everything she had ever known or been manipulated into believing. She had craved a fresh start, and this was as far away as she could reasonably get without applying to school in Australia or New Zealand.

She loved Boston, and she loved Americans, in all their incarnations. They were so free, and direct. Sometimes that directness was cutting and hurtful, but it was also refreshing and wonderfully honest. And everyone always remarked on her British accent. Suddenly, she was this exotic creature everyone wanted to meet. A few of the more gullible acquaintances had even asked her if she’d ever met any members of the royal family. As if. British subjects didn’t routinely take tea at Buckingham Palace or party with Prince Harry. Not that he was doing a lot of partying these days.

Daisy was sure some of her friends were hangers-on, but she didn’t care. After the isolation and uncertainty of the pandemic, she was happy to have friends, go to parties, date lovely American boys, and attend classes in person. For the moment, life was great, and she didn’t have to make any long-term decisions. She might remain in Boston, move to Los Angeles or New York once she graduated, or go home. That was the beauty of youth. She had plenty of time to figure things out.

The request from Quinn had been something of a surprise, but once Quinn had explained the situation, Daisy’s Victoria’s Secret-ensconced bosom had swelled with pride. Quinn was entrusting her with a project, something that would go into a book and be immortalized thanks to her involvement. Daisy had no idea how to go about finding something that had belonged to the long-dead Lily Redmond, but she loved a challenge, and she’d have plenty of time over Thanksgiving break, since her roommate was going to visit her family in Vermont, and most of her friends would be spending time with family. Several friends had invited Daisy to come to their families’ Thanksgiving dinners, and she would definitely go to Chrissy’s house. Chrissy was her closest friend in Boston and the one she trusted most, but not enough to tell her about her psychic ability.

Daisy had learned to push that part of herself deep inside and keep it locked, safe from jeering comments and incredulous glances. She knew she’d use it to her advantage when the time came, but she’d had no desire to enmesh herself in anyone’s past since seeing disturbing images of her birth mother. Learning the truth of her parentage had been traumatic and infuriating, especially for a girl in her teens, who’d been loved and sheltered all the days of her life. Her biological mother was gone now, murdered by a revenge-crazed lunatic, but Daisy still thought of her daily. What would she make of this? Would she want her to help Quinn?

Daisy grinned. Of course she would. Jo had been an investigative journalist. She’d lived for this sort of thing. And a mystery was a mystery, whether it had taken place a hundred years ago or last week. Besides, it would be a fun way to test her mettle and see just how useful this gift really was in the real world. After she and Quinn had discussed it at length, the two had decided that it would probably be easier to find something that had belonged to Micah Donovan rather than Lily Redmond, since Micah had left something of a legacy in his adopted hometown. So that was where Daisy would begin.

Crossing the campus, she entered her dorm, let herself into the room she shared with Elaine, and shrugged off her coat. She made herself a cup of tea, grabbed a few biscuits from a tin she kept on her desk, and booted up her laptop.

“Micah Donovan, I’m coming for you,” Daisy said under her breath.

“What’d you say?” Elaine muttered from beneath the covers of her bed. She was nursing a massive hangover from last night’s party and would sleep until five minutes before her class, which wasn’t until 3:00 p.m.

“Nothing, Elaine. Go back to sleep,” Daisy said, her attention already on the hits her query had returned.

Chapter 48

Armed with all the relevant information she could find, Daisy set off on a scout of Dr. Donovan’s neighborhood in South Boston. She’d been to Southie a few times with friends but hadn’t paid much attention to her surroundings since they’d gone directly to Shenanigans, a favorite watering hole of Chrissy’s. But the bar was of no interest to Daisy today. This was a reconnaissance mission, and there was nothing more effective than boots on the ground.

After walking around for nearly forty minutes, Daisy was forced to admit defeat. The house at the address where Micah Donovan had lived was old, but not old enough to have been around in the late nineteenth century. It was a postwar redbrick structure that housed a tiny Mexican restaurant and a Chinese takeaway on the ground floor and flats above. The clinic Dr. Donovan had set up in Old Harbor Street was long gone, replaced by a karate studio, where a group of boys and girls under the age of ten were currently in the middle of a class. Some of them looked bored, probably only there to please their parents, while a few others were coiled with tension, their gazes focused, their commitment worthy of tiny assassins.

Disheartened, Daisy stopped into a corner café and ordered coffee and a buffalo mozzarella and roasted pepper panini, which she ate at a small table by the window while plotting her next move. The only other noteworthy place to visit was the Saint Augustine Chapel and Cemetery further down Dorchester Street. According to the Wiki page, Dr. Michael Donovan had been buried there after dying from the Spanish Flu contracted from one of the patients he’d been looking after in his clinic. He had been sixty-two years old at the time of his death and survived by his wife and daughter.

Daisy had no interest in Margaret and Bridget Donovan. She wanted to know if Micah Donovan had left anyone else behind, individuals who were lost to history and whose names did not appear in the brief paragraphs devoted to his good works.

Finishing her meal, Daisy headed out into the overcast afternoon. According to the satnav on her mobile, the church was a few streets away, but her view was obscured by other structures. The photo on the Wiki page depicted a modest building that didn’t boast gothic architecture or a tall spire like many other historic churches in Boston.

To her relief, the gates weren’t locked, so Daisy walked through the neat graveyard and approached the door of the church. It was said to be the oldest Catholic Church in Boston and had originally been constructed as a crypt for Father François Matignon, the first Catholic priest in Boston. Father Dennis J. O’Donovan was also buried there, but as far as Daisy could tell, he was not a relation. She fully intended to find Micah’s grave, but first she wanted to explore the inside of the church, where Micah would have worshipped. There was something poignant about walking in the footsteps of someone who’d come before, especially a person whose existence she was now aware of and charged with deciphering.

The church was tiny when compared to the cathedral-like grandeur of Old South and Old North churches. It was more intimate, and Daisy felt a little awkward about trespassing in a Catholic church. The priest, who was about sixty, very thin, and with a shock of gray hair, was deep in conversation with a middle-aged woman who was dressed in black and appeared to be weeping. Perhaps she’d recently lost someone, Daisy thought as she slid into the last pew and waited. She didn’t dare interrupt.

After the woman finally left, the priest turned to Daisy. Although he looked approachable enough, his expression was quizzical. She didn’t suppose many girls her age came to this place by themselves and at a time when no services were scheduled. Did they even still hold services here or bury anyone in the cemetery? Surely it had to be full.

Daisy stood and walked toward the priest, who was watching her with interest, his head cocked to the side. “Hello,” she said.

“Hello yourself,” the priest replied.

“I wonder if I might ask you a question,” Daisy began. She wasn’t sure if she should have addressed the priest as Father, and her lack of proper etiquette might be seen as disrespect.

“You’re far from home, aren’t you?” the priest said, and smiled in welcome. The smile transformed his face and made him look considerably less forbidding.

“Yeah. I’m at UMass,” Daisy said by way of explanation.

He nodded. “Excellent school. What are you studying?”

“History.”

“Any particular area or history as a whole?” he joked.

“European,” Daisy replied. “But American history is fascinating too,” she added, so as not to sound as if she were discounting the history of the place she now called home.

“I’m Father Anthony,” the man said. “And you are?”

“Daisy. Daisy Crawford.”

“Welcome, Daisy Crawford. What did you want to ask?”

“I’m researching Dr. Michael Donovan for a paper I’m writing for my civics class. I understand he’s buried here.”

“He is,” Father Anthony confirmed. “Did you want to see his grave?”

Daisy nodded, grateful that he was willing to talk to her.

They stepped out into the graveyard and walked along a path until they reached a simple arched stone. A cross was etched just beneath the apex, and below that was the name.

Michael Joseph Donovan

1855-1918

Daisy stood silently for a moment, studying the monument, then turned to Father Anthony. “Do you know anything about him?”

“I know he was a good man.”

“I mean, besides that.”

“What do you need to know for your civics paper?” Father Anthony asked, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I was just hoping to get a sense of him,” Daisy replied evasively.

“He helped a lot of people. People who couldn’t afford proper medical care or medicines.”

“Yeah, I had gathered that,” Daisy replied. The man wasn’t exactly forthcoming, and she could see her quest going pear-shaped before it had even truly begun. As of this moment, she had absolutely nothing useful to pass back to Quinn.

“What exactly do you want to know?” Father Anthony asked again.

“I suppose I want to know more about his personal life,” Daisy said. “Try to flesh him out as a human being.”

Father Anthony shot her another quizzical look but didn’t comment. He probably realized that there was more to her interest, and she wasn’t telling him the whole truth.

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving, Daisy?” he suddenly asked.

“I’ve been invited to a friend’s house for dinner. Why?”

“I help to serve Thanksgiving dinner at a soup kitchen every year. One of the other volunteers happens to be a descendant of the Donovans. If you’d like to come by and help out, I can make an introduction. I’m sure she’d be happy to talk to you.”

“Really?” Daisy asked, unable to believe her good fortune.

“Yes, but on one condition.”

“What condition?” Daisy asked warily.

“Tell me why you really want to know. I don’t believe for a moment that you’re writing a paper for your civics class.”

Daisy sighed. “While researching our family history, my aunt came across correspondence that mentioned Michael Donovan, or Micah, as he was referred to by the ancestor who’d written the letters. The ancestor’s fate is unknown, but it would seem that the relationship was…” Daisy trailed off, unsure how to best phrase her thought. She didn’t want to imply to this Catholic priest that Micah might have been an adulterer, but there was no other way to explain her purpose without lying.

“Romantic,” Father Anthony supplied. “You could have just said so, you know.”

“I didn’t want to accuse the man of adultery,” Daisy explained. “I know he was married at the time.”

“I said he was a good man. I never said he was a saint.”

“So you know who I’m referring to?”

“I’m not one for idle gossip, but if Erin wants to tell you about her family history, I certainly won’t discourage her, especially if that history intersects with your own.” Father Anthony turned and began to walk back toward the building. “What time are you invited for?”

“Five o’clock.”

He nodded. “You can come to the soup kitchen any time after twelve. We’ll be there to prepare and start to serve at one. You’ll still have plenty of time to get to your friend’s house.”

“Thank you. I will. Where am I going?” Father Anthony gave her the address, and Daisy saved it on her mobile. “I’ll see you on Thursday, Father Anthony,” she said.

“See you, Daisy Crawford,” Father Anthony said with a grin, and disappeared inside the church.

Chapter 49

Kyle

DI Martins had flat-out refused to allow Sean to watch the interview with Darryl Blaine through the two-way mirror, but she did send him a copy of the recording with strict instructions to delete it as soon as he was finished. This breach of protocol could undermine the case if it ever came before the Crown Prosecution Service, but Sean was adamant that he needed to see the interview for himself and judge if the man was hiding something. He allowed Kyle to watch the interview with him, since he’d already seen the one with Kieran, and probably because Sean could use the moral support.

Settling on Sean’s sofa, they fixed their attention on the laptop Sean had set up on the coffee table. They both tensed as DI Martins and DS Peters entered the room and took their seats across from Darryl Blaine and his solicitor. The solicitor was a sleek woman in her early thirties and would not have looked out of place among a group of Scandinavian models on a catwalk. This woman was obviously affiliated with a respected law practice and probably charged more per hour than most police constables earned in a week. Sean’s gaze was fixed on her, and Kyle could see the anger blazing in his eyes.

“Claudia Larsen,” he said under his breath. “She’s a barracuda.”

“Clearly Darryl Blaine has something to fear,” Kyle said.

Sean shook his head. “He probably has her firm on retainer. Men like him are well prepared should government agencies come sniffing about.”

“Were they able to find evidence to support Kieran’s claims of drug dealing?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean Darryl Blaine is innocent. It just means he’s smart.”

DI Martins introduced the participants for the tape, then turned to face Darryl Blaine. “Mr. Blaine, you’re being interviewed under caution in connection with the abduction of Edie Cadogan.”

Darryl Blaine inclined his head in understanding. He didn’t look nervous, exactly, but he was definitely uneasy and probably wondering what the police had on him that had led him to being interviewed under caution.

“Mr. Blaine, do you know Kristina Bartek?”

“No. Should I?” Darryl Blaine replied, looking genuinely nonplussed.

“Kristina Bartek worked at the Xanth-E Lounge before she went missing last year.”

“Many people have worked at my club, Detective. I don’t know them all by name.”

“Two people who’ve had dealings with you have now gone missing,” DS Peters said.

“An unfortunate coincidence,” Blaine replied.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” DI Martins said.

“Then it’s up to you to find proof that the two disappearances are somehow linked,” Darryl Blaine said.

“Oh, I will,” DI Martins replied. “For the tape, I’m showing Mr. Blaine a photograph of Kristina Bartek. Do you notice anything about Kristina?”

“Such as?”

“She’s very young,” DS Peters said.

“I don’t hire underage staff.”

“Kristina was seventeen at the time of her disappearance. She worked in the kitchen as a dishwasher.”

“That explains why I don’t remember her,” Darryl said.

“According to Kristina’s sister, Anna, Kristina was a talented singer and had aspirations of getting into the music business,” DS Peters said.

“So?” Darryl asked, looking confused.

“Kristina approached you and asked if she might take the stage one night. You asked to hear her sing and told her she was very good.”

Darryl smiled and nodded, as if suddenly recalling the incident. “Yes. Now I remember. She did sing for me. And she was good, but not good enough to perform for an audience. She had the sort of raw talent that needed polishing.”

“And you offered to help her polish it, if I’m not mistaken,” DI Martins said. “You said you could put her in touch with someone who might help.”

“Did I?”

“That’s what Anna Bartek told us.”

“And her word is gospel, is it?” Blaine snapped.

“No, but it seems that a man called Milo approached Kristina and told her that he was a friend of yours. Do you know anyone named Milo, Mr. Blaine?”

“I don’t.”

“Well, he clearly knows you.”

Darryl Blaine shrugged.

“Two young women who bear a striking resemblance to each other have gone missing, and the only thing they have in common is that they have both worked at the Xanth-E Lounge and have mentioned a man called Milo.”

Darryl looked to his solicitor, who looked at DI Martins as if she were the dirt on Ms. Larsen’s very expensive shoe. “Detective, my client has answered your questions. He has also permitted a search of his business premises, where, if you recall, you found nothing incriminating. Your so-called evidence is purely circumstantial. You can’t even prove this Milo exists. Now, either charge my client or release him.”

DI Martins looked furious, but she could hardly argue. “Interview suspended at 11:12. You may go, Mr. Blaine.”

“Thank you, Detective. I do hope you find both Edie and Kristina,” Darryl Blaine said smoothly.

“Good day, Detectives,” Ms. Larsen said, and followed Darryl Blaine outside, a look of such smugness on her face, it made Kyle’s blood boil.

“Goddammit,” Sean spat out. “I really thought Donna would manage to get something out of him.”

“Perhaps she pulled him in too soon.”

Sean nodded. “I agree. There isn’t enough to hold him or force his hand.”

Sean slapped his hand against the surface of the coffee table. He was angry and frustrated and probably wished he could question Darryl Blaine under less formal circumstances.

“Look, Dad,” Kyle said. “It’s only natural that Blaine would deny any involvement, but this is still progress. There’s a clear connection between him, Edie, Kristina, and this Milo character.”

“Yes, but who is he?” Sean demanded. “Who is Milo, and what’s his role in this? I think it’s fairly obvious he’s not a music executive.”

“If he’s one of Blaine’s suppliers, perhaps he looks for young women who can act as drug mules. Both Kristina and Edie look so innocent, no one would ever suspect them of anything.”

Sean shook his head. “If he was looking for drug mules, he wouldn’t want their faces plastered all over the news. No, there’s something else at play here.”

“I’m sorry, Dad, but I have to go. I’ll ring you later.”

Kyle left the flat and headed out into the blustery autumn morning. He wished he could speak to Anna Bartek, but any involvement on his part might interfere with the case and taint the evidence. Kyle had to leave the detective work to the professionals, but he was certain that Anna knew more than she was saying.

Chapter 50

Daisy

Daisy decided to have a bit of a lie-in on Thanksgiving Day. She got up at ten, had a light breakfast of tea and toast, then packed her rucksack with an outfit to change into for Thanksgiving dinner and the hostess gifts she’d prepared for Chrissy’s mum, Ella. According to Chrissy, Ella loved nothing more than a good cup of tea and dark chocolate, so Daisy had bought a specially mixed blend of Souchong Oolong from a tea shop in Copley Place Mall and a box of Godiva chocolates to bring with her as a thank-you for being invited. This was her first Thanksgiving, and she was looking forward to experiencing this American tradition.

Pulling on a pair of leggings and an old sweatshirt, Daisy applied a little makeup and wound her hair into an artful topknot before heading out. Elaine’s brother was coming to collect her at eleven, and Elaine had promised that they’d give Daisy a ride to the soup kitchen, which was on their way. She might be a few minutes early, but better early than late when trying to impress someone, she decided.

There was a surprising amount of traffic, and Daisy walked in at five minutes to twelve to find Father Anthony and a half dozen volunteers already at work. There was much to do, and everyone had their orders. Daisy was tasked with setting out plates, cups, cutlery, and Thanksgiving-themed serviettes. The other volunteers were busy heating up the food, setting out huge serving bowls of tinned peas, carrots, and corn, baskets of dinner rolls, and boats of gravy. A heated debate about whether orange rind brought the cranberry sauce to a whole new level or detracted from what was already simple and perfect was in progress between two women, and someone had left the sweet potato casserole in the oven too long and had nearly scorched the marshmallows on top. The dish looked revolting but smelled good, and Daisy wondered if Ella would be making something similar.

Just before go-time, several fully cooked turkeys that had been donated by a supermarket chain were delivered and set out in pride of place. Father Anthony would carve and serve the meat.

Once the doors were open to the public, a steady stream of people lined up for the food. Daisy was put on cranberry sauce and gravy duty and spent the next few hours dishing out one or both until she thought her arms would fall off. Everyone smiled at her and wished her a happy Thanksgiving despite her British accent, and it made her feel all warm inside to realize that she had made a difference to someone whose life was probably a daily struggle for survival. These people might not know where tomorrow’s food would be coming from, but today they were warm and dry and well fed. She now understood why the volunteers had chosen to use ceramic plates and real cutlery instead of disposable items. It made these people feel like they were worth the effort and were attending a real Thanksgiving dinner rather than some slapdash affair that didn’t require much effort.

It was once the crowd had thinned and only a few people came up for seconds of coffee and pie that Father Anthony came to speak to Daisy.

“Thank you for your help, Daisy. It was much appreciated. I’ve mentioned your request to Erin, and she would be happy to speak to you.”

Daisy had been introduced to Erin when she arrived, but with so much to do, they really hadn’t had an opportunity to talk. Erin was in her sixties, a short, plump, grandmotherly woman with an iron-gray bob and bright blue eyes. She had seemed receptive, but once she got going, she had barely taken her eyes off her task and made sure to speak to every person that came before her with their plate. Now she looked tired, but gratified, and she smiled at Daisy and motioned for her to join her at one of the empty tables.

“Grab me a cup of coffee, if you don’t mind, dear. I’m dead on my feet,” she called out. “Milk and two sugars.”

Daisy made the coffee, poured herself a cup of tea, and carried the cups to the table.

“Oh, thank you,” Erin moaned once she’d taken the first sip. “I was dreaming of that coffee for the past hour.” She sighed contentedly. “A piece of pie wouldn’t go amiss, but I’m going to my son’s house and don’t want to ruin my dinner.”

“I’m going to dinner too,” Daisy said. “It’s my first Thanksgiving.”

“Hopefully not the last. It’s always been one of my favorite holidays. I hope you try all the trimmings.”

“I will,” Daisy promised. She was hungry and more than ready to eat something.

“So, Tony tells me you’re researching Michael Donovan.” Erin grinned. “Don’t look so shocked. I’ve known Father Anthony for fifty years. He used to pull my pigtails and push me on the swing. Maybe if I’d agreed to go out with him, he wouldn’t still be a virgin.”

She laughed like a teenager, and Daisy laughed with her. She liked this woman and found her easy to talk to.

“So, what’s your connection to the Donovans?” Erin asked.

“My aunt is a descendant of the Redmonds,” Daisy said. She hated to lie to Erin, but to admit that she was researching Erin’s ancestor for a book seemed wrong somehow. “Have you heard of them?”

Erin looked surprised, then nodded. “I have.”

“Can you tell me about it?” Daisy asked when Erin failed to volunteer anything further and seemed to fix her gaze on something beyond the window.

“I can do better. I can show you,” Erin said. “But not today. Are you busy tomorrow?”

“No. There are no classes tomorrow.”

“Good. Come to my house for lunch. Say, one o’clock? I live with my son and his family, but I have a separate entrance. My apartment is in the basement. It’s just down the street from Saint Augustine’s.”

Daisy made a note of the address and pushed to her feet. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. And thank you.”

“You might not thank me once you hear what I have to say, but I don’t suppose your generation cares as much about the past. You have more interesting things to think about, and that’s as it should be. It’s not until you start to get old that you start rehashing the loves and tragedies of days gone by.”

“I’m majoring in history,” Daisy said, “so I am interested in the past. Always have been.”

Erin nodded approvingly. “I look forward to our chat. Enjoy your first Thanksgiving, Daisy.”

Chapter 51

Daisy woke early, probably because Elaine was crashing around the room like a mad elephant.

“What are you doing?” Daisy demanded. “It’s so early.”

“It’s Black Friday, or don’t you have that where you come from?” Elaine demanded. “The deals are amazing, and I have to get a head start on my Christmas shopping.”

“I thought you only shop online,” Daisy said drowsily.

“Not on Black Friday, I don’t. Want to come?”

“No, thank you. I’m going back to sleep.”

“Suit yourself,” Elaine said. “Oh, and don’t touch my leftovers. I’m saving those for lunch.”

“Whatever,” Daisy growled, and pulled the duvet over her head.

She had her own leftovers, the bulging bag pressed into her hand by Ella as she was leaving. Ella had made sure that Daisy got a little of everything. Chrissy had stayed at her parents’ house for the night, but her brother had run Daisy back to halls and made sure she got in safely. That was the first time Daisy had met Tyler and thought she’d definitely like to see him again.

Daisy got up a few hours later, showered, picked on some leftovers, and spent two hours working on an essay that was due Monday. Having completed the assignment, she changed and headed out, giving herself a little extra time to get to Erin’s house since public transportation was probably running on a holiday schedule. Daisy wasn’t sure if she should bring something, so she settled for a bunch of autumnal flowers that she bought from a greengrocer located near the bus stop. She arrived a few minutes early and knocked on Erin’s door, which was painted green and sported a decal of a hat-wearing turkey with the words “Gobble, Gobble” just beneath the bird’s orange feet.

“Hello, Daisy. Oh, how lovely,” Erin exclaimed when Daisy handed her the flowers. “Please, come in.”

She led Daisy into a comfortable lounge furnished with a plush sofa and armchair in moss green, a coffee table, matching end tables, and an overstuffed bookshelf that also held a number of porcelain figurines. They obviously all came from the same collection and had a whimsical quality that would appeal to children. She recalled seeing something similar at the mall. Precious Moments, or something along those lines. A large flatscreen TV was mounted on the wall opposite the sofa, and there was a surprisingly modern carpet on the floor that made Daisy think of a sunset in the Caribbean.

“I hope you like spaghetti and meatballs,” Erin said. She chuckled. “I bet you were expecting Thanksgiving leftovers.”

“Spaghetti and meatballs is perfect,” Daisy replied politely. She had no idea what she had been expecting, but spaghetti and meatballs definitely wasn’t it.

“You do eat meat, don’t you? And gluten? You really never know these days. I suppose I should have asked.”

“I eat everything,” Daisy hurried to reassure her. She didn’t really care for minced meat, but she wasn’t there to eat, and forcing down something she didn’t like was a small price to pay for information.

“Good. I had a craving and made a batch of meatballs this morning. I make my own sauce too. Don’t like the stuff from the jar. Anyway,” Erin said as she set a vase with Daisy’s flowers on an end table, “first things first.”

Erin disappeared into what had to be the bedroom and returned with a thick, ancient-looking album. One didn’t see such albums anymore, unless one visited elderly relatives. The cover was vinyl and looked cracked and worn, the gilded border almost completely rubbed off. The thick pages were falling out, and there were papers and cards stuck randomly inside. Erin settled on the sofa next to Daisy, laid the album on the coffee table, and opened it to the first page.

Several sepia photographs were glued to the gray card of the page, all of dour-looking couples in period dress. Daisy knew enough about the fashions of the day to date the photographs to the late eighteen hundreds.

“Very few photographs from that time have survived, but thankfully, there are a few left,” Erin said, lovingly smoothing down a corner that had come untucked.

“Is that Micah?” Daisy asked, staring at the photo.

“This here is Liam and his wife Maura on their wedding day,” Erin said. “Liam O’Connell was the son of Mary Donovan, Micah’s sister. Liam was born out of wedlock. His father was a Confederate soldier and was killed before he and Mary could make it legal. Mary married another fellow when she arrived in Boston a few years later. The marriage didn’t last long, but it provided her with a name for her son.”

Daisy leaned down to study the picture. Liam was around twenty-five, and although she couldn’t make out his coloring, she could see that he was an attractive man. His wife was probably all of eighteen, a dark-haired, dark-eyed girl whose lips quirked in a way that suggested she might enjoy a dirty joke. There were three more photographs on the page, but Erin didn’t explain who the couples were since they likely had no relevance to Daisy’s inquiry.

“Now this is Michael and his wife, Margaret,” Erin said as she turned the page and pointed to another photograph of a young couple. “But as you already know, everyone called him Micah.”

Micah Donovan also appeared to be in his mid-twenties in the picture, and although his hair could have been any shade of medium brown, Daisy knew from Quinn that in real life it had been a copper-red, his eyes sky blue. He was incredibly good-looking, even by modern standards, and had an earnest expression Daisy found endearing. His wife, Margaret, wore artfully arranged blond curls and had the look of a cat that had got at the cream. Her eyes must have been brown, and she looked directly into the camera, her self-satisfaction impossible not to notice. Knowing what she knew, Daisy supposed Margaret was thrilled to be married, given that her daughter Bridget was already on the way.

“May I take a photo?” Daisy asked.

“Go on.”

Daisy snapped photos of both Micah and Liam’s wedding portraits and turned to Erin. “Is that the only photograph you have of Micah?”

“It is. To be honest, I don’t even know how it came to be here. Liam must have had it.”

“What happened with Micah and his wife?” Daisy asked.

Erin sighed. “The story I’ve been told—and mind you, this was gossip that passed through several generations by the time my mother told me about them, and probably less than completely accurate—was that Margaret was already pregnant by the time she married Micah. And the baby wasn’t his. Of course, once Micah realized that he’d been duped, the marriage crumbled. Not that there was much of a marriage. Margaret was still seeing her lover on the quiet.”

“Why didn’t he marry her?”

“Because he was already married, dear,” Erin said, as if that should have been obvious. “Had a wife and a houseful of children.”

“Do you know his name?”

“Leary or O’Leary. What does it matter now?”

“It doesn’t,” Daisy conceded.

“Well, once Micah was certain Bridget couldn’t be his, he left the family home and camped in a room above the clinic that he’d opened for the poor. Of course, in those days, if you were married in the Church, that was it. The only way out was death, and Margaret was healthy as the proverbial horse,” Erin said, and laughed. “Not that I’d wish death on anyone, especially a young mother. But you can see how that might have complicated things.”

Daisy nodded, hoping that if she remained quiet, Erin would just keep talking.

“They went on like that for a few years, Micah working all the hours God gave him and Liam right alongside him. They were only about ten years apart, so more like brothers than nephew and uncle,” Erin explained.

“So, what happened?”

“Micah, who’d been taken in by Captain Redmond after his father and brother died in prison, had grown up in England. He was educated there and still had close ties to the Redmonds. It was when he went to visit his adopted family that he met Thomas Oakes.”

“Thomas Oakes?” Daisy echoed. That was the first time she was hearing the name, and she was fairly certain that Quinn wasn’t aware of this connection. And why would she be if Micah had never mentioned the name to Lily?

“That’s right. Micah and Thomas met on the voyage back to America. Thomas was a young doctor who’d decided to emigrate. His area of expertise was obstetrics, and in those days, that was rare. Many women still relied on midwives and female relatives to deliver their babies. And given that more than half the patients who came to the clinic were women who were either pregnant, trying to get pregnant, hoping not to get pregnant, or suffering from complications after birth, Michael thought Thomas was a godsend.”

Erin took one look at Daisy and chuckled. “Not what you were expecting to hear, was it?”

“No. The ancestor I’m researching went missing shortly after Micah sailed back to America. We thought—”

“You thought that she’d followed him to Boston, and they lived happily ever after?” Erin asked, clearly amused by the idea.

“Well, yes.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Daisy dear, but Micah never remarried. He lived above the clinic for several years and then rented a room from Dr. Oakes, who’d bought a house in Tudor Street by that point. Micah boarded with the Oakes family until his death.”

“And Liam? Did he survive the flu pandemic that killed Micah?” Daisy asked.

“He did. Liam continued to live and work in the area until his death in 1937. He had four children, my grandfather and his three sisters. If Liam had kept in touch with the Redmonds, there’s no record of it. I’m sorry.”

Daisy smiled. “Please, don’t be. You’ve given me so much information to go on. My aunt will be thrilled.” Daisy paused. “I wonder, might you have something that belonged to Micah?”

Erin shook her head. “If Liam did have something of Micah’s, it’s long gone now. The man’s been gone for over a hundred years. To be honest, my mother did mention that Liam and Micah had fallen out in later years, but she never knew why. They still worked together but kept their distance when away from the clinic. It’s sad how families fracture, isn’t it? There are so many relations that had stayed behind in Ireland that the American side of the family had lost touch with. I had always dreamed of visiting the old country. I imagined I might meet some distant cousins and see the places my great-great-grandparents had come from.”

“It’s not too late,” Daisy said.

“We always said we’d go once we retired, but then my husband passed, and my son and his family have no interest in going. At least not now, while the children are still so young. And what’s the fun in going on my own?”

“There are tours,” Daisy pointed out. “Could be fun.”

“Could be,” Erin said, but there was no conviction in her voice. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

Daisy nodded, but her mind wasn’t on meatballs. She couldn’t wait to speak to Quinn.

Chapter 52

Kyle

“Darryl Blaine has done a flit,” Sean announced when Kyle called him at home to check in. “Left shortly after the interview.”

“Do you know where he’s gone?”

“Scarpered off to Munich. Evidently, he has business interests there, and I very much doubt they’re legitimate,” Sean said angrily.

“Do you think he’s worried about being arrested and charged?”

Sean sighed resignedly. “It’s possible, but according to passport control, he does go about once a month, so this trip might have nothing to do with Edie.”

“Dad, what about Anna Bartek?” Kyle asked.

“What about her?”

“Might she be involved in some way? She worked alongside Edie, which is quite a coincidence, and she was also the one to publicly accuse you of nepotism and discrimination. I know this is a long shot, but what if she took Edie in order to bring attention to her sister’s disappearance?”

“That would be truly diabolical, but I’ve met people who’ve done worse,” Sean admitted. “I have considered the possibility of Anna’s involvement, and so has DI Martins. Anna has an alibi for both the night before and the morning Edie was taken. She was waitressing at an Italian restaurant, where she worked until nearly eleven, then went home. Her flatmate confirmed that she got in about eleven thirty and didn’t leave until 9:30 a.m. the following morning for her shift at the café.”

“So she’s been definitively ruled out?” Kyle asked, disappointment tasting like ashes in his mouth. He’d really hoped Anna could lead them to Edie.

“Yes. And she’s pressing her advantage.”

“How?”

“She’s written another letter to the papers, in which she has accused the Met of—and I quote—half-assing it. The absolute cheek. Half-assing! What does she think this is, New York? We don’t half-ass things in the Met. We might cock up from time to time, but we never half-ass anything.”

“No, I don’t suppose you do,” Kyle replied, although he wasn’t at all sure he agreed.

In any number of organization things fell through the cracks, got swept under the carpet, and evidence was withheld or made to disappear by individuals who had something to gain or lose should the truth come out. There were always bent coppers, so it was entirely possible that Darryl Blaine had been tipped off about the impending search as well as a possible arrest and made sure that nothing incriminating was discovered.

“So, has Anna’s accusation served its purpose?” Kyle asked.

“Oh, yes. A task force has been appointed to work Kristina Bartek’s disappearance.”

“How long has it been since the case was closed?”

“More than six months. Kristina went missing at the end of last year.”

“What did they base the decision to close the case on?” Kyle asked, wondering if Edie’s case would get the same treatment if she wasn’t found within the next few weeks.

“The investigating officer concluded that Kristina had done a bunk. She’d been seeing a bloke her sister didn’t approve of. There was no evidence of foul play, but Anna insisted from the very start that Kristina would never run off without saying goodbye. Anna was certain her sister had been kidnapped.”

“How thorough was the investigation into Kristina’s disappearance?”

“Admittedly, not thorough enough. The ISO was always working on the assumption that Kristina had run away and found evidence to support that theory.”

“And do you think this was because Kristina was not a British subject?”

Sean scoffed. “No way. Kristina’s disappearance was taken as seriously as anyone else’s, but, like I said, the ISO never found any evidence of a crime.”

“And now?”

“And now a new ISO has been assigned, and maybe she will.”

“Well, I hope they find Kristina, if only to put her sister’s mind at rest,” Kyle said. “But surely she would have made contact at least once in all this time if she were at liberty to do so.”

“Teenagers are selfish, Kyle. They don’t think of the pain they cause, only of their own needs and desires. Kristina could be anywhere by now. With her boyfriend or without.”

“But she didn’t take her passport, so she couldn’t have left the country,” Kyle pointed out.

“Our borders are not as secure as we would like to think. People come and go illegally all the time.”

Kyle felt something twist in the pit of his stomach. “Dad, do you think Edie is still in the country?”

“I have no idea, son. No idea at all,” he said.

Kyle heard Carla’s plaintive voice in the background, and Sean’s attention instantly shifted away from the conversation.

“I’ll ring you if I hear anything,” Sean said, and ended the call.

Chapter 53

Daisy

Daisy longed to speak to Quinn, but Quinn was at Alex’s school concert when Daisy rang and couldn’t devote the time to discussing Daisy’s findings. Daisy spent the rest of Friday afternoon on her own, her thoughts firmly on the past. She was disappointed that she hadn’t been able to learn anything about Lily Redmond from Erin, but perhaps Quinn had got the wrong end of the stick and Lily hadn’t been as in love with Micah as she had thought. Maybe her feelings for Micah had simply been the result of cold feet or a realization that she didn’t love Avery Moorcroft. Clearly, Avery had dodged a bullet there. Or maybe not. Maybe he’d mourned Lily for the rest of his life and had never really loved Charlotte.

Funny how some things remained the same, no matter how much the world changed. Whether people declared their love via handwritten notes smuggled by sympathetic couriers or proclaimed it to the world on social media, the feelings were the same. Love, hate, jealousy, uncertainty, and sometimes desperation. Was that what Lily had felt, or was it possible that her disappearance had nothing whatsoever to do with romance? Perhaps she’d been taken, just like that Edie Cadogan that Quinn had told Daisy about. Edie wasn’t that much older than Daisy, so the story had hit home.

Some people banged on about how much things had changed now that men were being held accountable for their actions, but as far as Daisy could see, nothing had changed at all. Women had been vulnerable before, and they were vulnerable still, and it was up to the individual to see to their own safety. Daisy wasn’t daft enough to walk across campus alone late at night or to get so drunk at a party that she wouldn’t know if some lad had his way with her. Of course, walking alone at night or being drunk didn’t give anyone the right to victimize her or make their actions her fault, but there were always those who took advantage of an opportunity, because deep down, they had no sense of right or wrong and would grab whatever they could get if they thought they would get away with it. And sometimes, those people were the ones you trusted most because they knew how to keep their darker side hidden from the world.

Which brought her back to Micah Donovan. Something Erin had said niggled at Daisy, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. Her mobile buzzed, and she read the incoming text. It was from Chrissy. Chrissy and a couple of friends were going on a pub crawl, and Chrissy wanted to know if Daisy wanted to come, but she wasn’t in the mood to go to a bar. She replied to Chrissy, then silenced her phone. It wasn’t often that she had the room to herself, and she was enjoying her solitude.

Daisy made a cup of cocoa, grabbed a few biscuits in lieu of dinner, and settled on her bed with her laptop. She selected a favorite playlist on her mobile and set it on low. She liked to have background music, but she didn’t want to be distracted.

Daisy didn’t bother to search for Michael Donovan. Whatever there was to find, Quinn and Nicole Rayburn had found it already. She was more interested in Dr. Thomas Oakes. She had realized what it was that had struck her as odd while she was making the cocoa. Why would Michael Donovan live with his partner’s family for years and years? It just seemed odd. Granted, he might have been lonely, and being a part of a family would have taken care of that, but even for the turn of the century, the arrangement seemed unusual.

There were a number of Google results for Dr. Thomas Oakes, and Daisy read through anything that could be relevant, including a few blog posts dedicated to the lives of Irish immigrants in Boston at the end of the nineteenth century. It appeared that Dr. Oakes had not been very popular with the local clergy. As an obstetrician, he had saved countless lives and had dedicated himself to the needs of the community, but he had also advised the women who came to the clinic on methods of contraception, not something the Catholic Church approved of. One particularly vengeful bishop had tried to excommunicate Dr. Oakes, but it seemed he hadn’t had enough ammunition to make the charges stick, since none of the patients would testify against the man who had risked his own reputation to help them.

 Daisy huffed with impatience. All these do-gooders were depicted as saints who had done nothing but help the poor and act as a shining example to a community. Even Dr. Oakes’s wife was mentioned. She had also worked at the clinic as a nurse and had assisted both Dr. Donovan and her husband until she retired in 1918.

Curious, Daisy clicked on the Images tab, hoping to find photos of the clinic and its staff. There were only three photos that appeared to correspond to her search. The rest were more modern and probably had met one or two of the search criteria, but not all. Clicking on the first photo, Daisy enlarged it and studied the two-story building. There was a discreet sign over the door that simply said “Clinic,” and the windows were painted over with white paint, presumably to maintain the privacy of the patients. The second photo was of Dr. Oakes himself. He had to be in his thirties when the photo was taken. Unruly dark hair fell into his eyes, and he had an intelligent dark gaze and a neat beard. He reminded Daisy of a young Sigmund Freud. She stared at the photo for a few minutes but saw nothing that could offer up a clue.

The third photo was a bit grainy since it must have been published in a newspaper and wasn’t of good quality to begin with. The photo showed seven people: three men at the back and four women at the front. There was a caption containing the subjects’ names, but Daisy had no trouble identifying the men. They were Michael Donovan, Liam O’Connell, and Thomas Oakes. The four women were the nurses, Elizabeth Mulligan, Kelly Haggerty, Orla Sullivan, and Lucy Oakes. Daisy stared at Mrs. Oakes, then enlarged the photo some more, until the faces blurred, and she saw nothing but pixelation.

Returning the photo to its original size, Daisy copied it and emailed it to Quinn. Then, satisfied with the day’s efforts, she logged into Netflix and spent the rest of the evening binging Emily in Paris.

Chapter 54

Micah

April 1888

It was a lovely spring day, the sky an aquamarine blue, the newly unfurled leaves whispering in the gentle breeze that blew off the water. These gorgeous days had to be enjoyed, since there weren’t too many of them to be found, squeezed in between the frigid winds of winter that sometimes blew well into May and the oppressive heat of summer that embraced the city shortly after. Micah had promised himself that he’d take a quick walk to clear his head, but as usual, it never happened. The patients came in nonstop, some on their own, some as couples or entire families. The tiny waiting area was heaving, and the two women who volunteered their services as nurses were run off their feet. Liam had to leave early, and Dr. Oakes was on shift at the hospital, so Micah braced himself for the closing-time rush.

The clinic normally shut its doors at six o’clock, but there were always stragglers and patients who took longer to treat than expected. It was close to seven by the time the last person finally left, the woman’s nasty burn cleaned, treated with a soothing salve, and bandaged to keep the area clean. She paid with two loaves of soda bread and promised to bring some eggs when she came back to have the bandage changed in two days’ time. The two nurses hastily tidied up, bid Micah a good evening, and hurried home to start on dinner and spend some time with their families.

Alone at last, Micah pulled off the smock he wore to protect his clothes from the various secretions that inevitably ended up all over him, locked the cabinet that contained not only supplies but the clinic’s meager stock of medicines, and prepared to head upstairs to his rooms. He was tired and hungry, but there was nothing in the cupboard other than a wedge of cheese and a few eggs. The soda bread would come in handy. Too bad there was no butter. He’d have to stop by the shop tomorrow on his way home from the hospital and pick up a few much-needed supplies. Tomorrow was payday, so he’d splurge on a fillet of beef, a pound of bacon, and a few bottles of beer.

The door opened behind him, and he called out, not bothering to turn around. “Sorry, we’re closed.” People came by at all hours, and unless it was a dire emergency, he had to end the day at some point. He didn’t hear any sounds of distress, which was a good sign.

The person didn’t respond but didn’t leave either, and Micah suddenly felt his every nerve ending vibrate, his skin prickling as if a charge of electricity, the sort he’d seen generated at a fair last year, had been applied to his extremities and passed right through him, zapping him from within. His heart thumped heavily in his chest, and his knees felt weak. He could hear the person’s sharp intake of breath and finally turned around, both terrified and excited by what he was about to see.

The young woman stood just inside the room, a brown leather valise at her feet. She wore a traveling outfit in periwinkle blue and the dainty hat he remembered from London. Her eyes were huge with anxiety, her face sun-kissed after weeks aboard an ocean liner. She must have spent a lot of time on deck since the weather would have been fine this time of year. She had lost weight, and her mouth was slightly open, her bosom heaving as if she were about to have an attack of nerves. She let out a shuddering breath, and then she was moving toward him.

Micah crossed the room in three strides and pulled her to him, his lips coming down on hers without a moment’s hesitation. Her hat fell to the floor, and she clung to him as if she were drowning. Perhaps they both were. He’d done everything in his power to dissuade her. He’d left without saying goodbye and spent the voyage home grieving what might have been. And now she was here, and there was no going back. The die was cast, and he wasn’t about to refuse the sacrifice that had been made in his name, nor was he going to turn his back on love, not when it felt like this.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Lily whispered into his neck. “I’m sorry. I know what this means for us both, but I love you.”

“Dear God, Lils, only you would chance something like this,” Micah muttered as he kissed her mouth, her eyelids, her pert nose.

Somehow, he found the presence of mind to lock the door and lead Lily up the stairs without tearing off her clothes and taking her before they even got to his bedroom. He slammed the door shut with his foot and pushed her toward the bed, his fingers tearing at the tiny, cloth-covered buttons down the front of her traveling dress. Sweet Jesus, how many buttons were there!

Their joining, when it finally came, was the most natural, passionate, life-affirming act of devotion, and for the first time since Margaret had demolished his heart, Micah felt as if he was finally home. They’d figure out the practicalities later, but for the moment, they’d earned the right to be happy, and free. Once wasn’t enough, and before he knew it, the room was lost in shadow and the sheets bore evidence of their ardor as well as Lily’s virginal blood. He’d have to change the linens before they went to sleep, but for now, Micah couldn’t seem to find the strength to get out of bed.

Their limbs were tangled, and their skin still flushed and cooling in the evening chill. But their hearts beat in unison, and they were giddy with the wonder of this moment. Lily pressed her lips to Micah’s chest, kissing him just above his heart, and he rested his cheek against her temple, which was still damp.

“Does your father know?” he asked softly.

“I think he probably suspects. Mother will never forgive me.”

“Lily—”

“I don’t care,” Lily whispered urgently. “I’ve thought it through, and this is what I want, whatever the cost.”

“The cost will be high,” Micah replied, his soul crashing back to earth after soaring in the heavens.

“Then we’ll pay it together, me and you. It was always going to be us, not us and them,” Lily said, presumably referring to Margaret and Avery.

Micah smiled, surprised by how deeply happy her words made him. “Us,” he said softly, trying the word on for size. “Me and you, for the rest of our lives.”

“I don’t need a vicar to give me permission to love you,” Lily said fiercely. “I’m married to you in my heart, and that’s what matters.”

Micah chose not to point out all the things that could and would go wrong for them and how the strain of having to hide their feelings for each other, public opinion, and other complications could tear at them until their love frayed at the edges and the passion turned into resentment and fear. He swore silently not to let that happen. He would do whatever it took to hold on to happiness this time.

“Lily, there are people who’ll know who you are and think of you as my sister. Then we’ll have to add incest to the list of sins we’re committing.”

“Then I’ll change my name. Lucy,” Lily said with an impish grin. “A distant Redmond cousin. All they have to know is that there’s a familial connection and there’s nothing improper in me spending time with my cousin Michael. In fact, as my only male relative in Boston, it is your duty to see to my well-being and safety. You’ll have to accompany me everywhere, I’m afraid. Oh dear, what a burden that will be.”

Lily was smiling up at him, and even though he was thoroughly exhausted, first by working for nearly twelve hours without breaking to eat and then making love to her several times, somehow he found himself inside her again, her lips seeking his and her legs wrapping possessively around his waist.

“Don’t ever let me go, Micah,” Lily whispered as he collapsed on top of her, still trying to catch his breath in the aftermath of his climax. “No matter what we come up against.”

Micah lifted himself up and looked deep into her eyes. “I love you, Lily. And I will love you till my dying day.”

Chapter 55

Nicole

“Are you sure?” I cried. “Can you forward it to me?”

“Already done,” Quinn replied gleefully. “It’s definitely her. I’ll make a historical detective of Daisy yet.”

I opened the text from Quinn and enlarged the photo. There she was, standing in front of Dr. Thomas Oakes—his wife, Lucy Oakes. Only she wasn’t Lucy. She was Lily. Lily Redmond. An older, more mature version, but Lily all the same. How on earth had she wound up married to a doctor Micah had met on his return voyage to Boston? It seemed an odd coincidence, but there was no mistaking that fierce gaze and that half-smile.

“I think there are a few dots missing,” Quinn said.

“That’s the understatement of the year.”

“If only we had something that had belonged to one of them. Something from that time period.”

“How on earth would you get something like that?” I asked, disheartened. I could make up a story that would fit the facts, but I genuinely wanted to know the truth of what had happened.

Was it really possible that Jason Redmond had not known his daughter was living in Boston? Likewise, was it probable that he hadn’t realized that his protégé, Micah Donovan, hadn’t only worked with Lily on a daily basis but had lived with her as well?

“Besides Liam O’Connell, Lily was the closest thing Micah had to family in Boston. Perhaps it made sense to live with his adopted sister rather than spend his nights alone, in a cramped flat above the clinic,” Quinn suggested.

“Lily obviously found love with Thomas,” I agreed.

“They were married for nearly forty years and had four children together,” Quinn supplied. “I looked them up. Their eldest was a well-respected cardiologist, and their daughter, Michaela, was one of the first female psychiatrists.”

“Michaela, eh?” I asked.

“Hm-hm,” Quinn replied, and I could hear the grin in her voice.

“And were any of their children redheaded, by any chance?”

“The youngest.”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Right there with you,” Quinn replied.

“And why would Thomas Oakes agree to such an arrangement, do you suppose?” I asked, but I had already formulated a theory.

“Because he was probably gay,” Quinn replied. “In those days, in that neighborhood, he would have been crucified if the truth came out. So, the three of them found a solution that worked for them all. Lily and Micah lived as husband and wife without anyone calling Micah an adulterer or Lily a whore. They had the family they longed for, and no one suspected their children were born out of wedlock—or if they did, they wisely kept it to themselves—while Thomas was above reproach and could continue to practice medicine and live among his neighbors without a whiff of suspicion.”

“Think he had a lover of his own?” I asked.

“I hope he did,” Quinn replied. “We’ll never know who his lover was, but it doesn’t matter. We now know what happened to Lily, and I strongly suspect that her parents knew too.”

“Lily decided to throw caution to the wind and follow Micah to Boston,” I said. “She didn’t tell anyone, for obvious reasons. They would have tried to dissuade her. So, she made her preparations, then took a cab to Leicester Square, which is less than half a mile from Charing Cross. We don’t know which port she sailed from, but it doesn’t matter. She probably purchased a ticket in a different name. Perhaps that was when she became Lucy. She would not have known about Micah’s friendship with Thomas Oakes until she arrived in Boston, but at some point, a plot was hatched, and it worked.”

“Do you think Charlotte and Avery knew as well?” Quinn asked.

I grinned. “I do, for several reasons. Charlotte and Avery married less than a year after Lily disappeared, so clearly they realized she wasn’t dead. Also, Charlotte named the main protagonist Lucy Redmond, and there is a character in one of the later installments, a Dr. Thomas Woods, who’s somewhat eccentric and shares a house with a male companion. It’s never said outright, but the suggestion is there, if one knows what to look for. Although in Victorian times, readers wouldn’t immediately jump to the conclusion that the relationship is anything other than friendship. They would simply accept that they’re devoted companions, like Holmes and Watson.”

“Oakes, Woods, it’s all tree-related,” Quinn mused. “What’s the companion’s name?”

“Lemuel O’Connor.”

“Liam O’Connell,” Quinn said with unwavering conviction.

“Liam O’Connell was married and had four children,” I reminded her.

“Doesn’t mean a thing. Plenty of homosexual men married and had children. They didn’t have much choice, not in those days.”

“I don’t think Erin O’Connell would appreciate me shoving her great-grandfather out of the proverbial closet.”

“So, change the names,” Quinn said. “Charlotte did. At least some of them.”

“Those clever Victorians,” I said with a chuckle.

“Not so clever that we couldn’t expose them.”

“Now if only we could find Edie,” I said with a heavy sigh.

“That’s above our paygrade, I’m afraid,” Quinn said. “We’ll have to leave that one to the police.”

“I bet Jason Redmond would have found her,” I said, only half joking.

“I bet he would have. He was a formidable man. I wish I had known him.”

“Me too. And I wish I had your gift, Quinn. To see life as it really was and not just how I imagine it would be beyond my wildest dreams as an author.”

“I can’t show you, but I can tell you,” Quinn said. “Perhaps we can collaborate again. I have quite enjoyed this little project.”

“Me too. And please, thank Daisy for me. We wouldn’t have cracked it without her.”

“Daisy is a little disappointed that she couldn’t see it for herself, but I think she’s got a taste for historical sleuthing.”

“We might not be Redmond and Haze, but we came pretty close.”

I heard a wail in the background, and then Mia’s angry voice calling to Quinn. “Mum, Alex kicked me.”

“Sorry, I have to go. Kids are at it again.”

“Speak soon,” I said, but Quinn had already ended the call.

“So, you’ve figured it out?” Kyle asked when I told him about the conversation.

“We did. I’m going to change the names, though. I don’t think it’s wise to out anyone without express permission.”

“I tend to agree. It’s not for us to unmask the players in this pantomime. Let them keep their secrets.”

“Any word from Sean?” I asked carefully. Edie was a sore subject these days, and I hated to keep reminding Kyle that there was no news.

“I’ve been ringing him, but no answer. I think he’s losing hope, Nic.”

“With good reason. All this time and nothing. Not one piece of solid evidence.”

“It’s like Edie vanished into thin air.”

I wrapped my arms around Kyle and pressed my cheek to his chest. There were only so many times you could placate someone. We all understood what this meant. With every passing day, Edie slipped further and further away from us, the truth of what had happened to her eluding one of the best police services in the world. Already the news outlets were devoting less time to the story, and the photographers had disappeared days ago. We were no longer of interest to them. New stories were getting the clicks. New victims’ photos had replaced Edie’s smiling face.

We had no choice but to live our lives, focus on our families and work, and pray that someday we would get closure and find out what had happened to Edie. I gave Kyle a kiss and retreated to my study. I was ready to begin setting down my story.

It was several hours later, when I was nearly done with the third chapter, that Kyle burst into the study.

“Mum just rang. They have a suspect in custody.”

Chapter 56

We weren’t permitted to visit Edie in the hospital. Immediate family only. But we did see Sean when he stepped outside to speak to us, his face tight with fury, his hair grayer than it had been only a few weeks before. He climbed into the car to avoid the reporters and asked Kyle to drive around should they decide to swarm the vehicle.

It had apparently all happened very quickly, and we wouldn’t have known anything if not for Rita’s source at the Met, who said that Edie had been located in the cellar of a commercial building in Croydon. No other information had been provided, only that several people had been taken into custody and were being questioned in connection with the case.

“Is Edie going to be all right?” Kyle asked. He was pale, his eyes begging his father to tell him that Edie would live.

Sean nodded. “Physically, she will recover, but her life will never be the same.”

“What did they do to her?”

Sean’s eyes welled with tears, and he shook his head. “I can’t talk about it, son. I’m just so angry, and afraid.”

“That’s all right, Dad. You don’t have to,” Kyle said softly. “Can I get you anything?”

“No. You two go on home and tell Rita that she has my eternal thanks.”

“What does Rita have to do with this?” I asked.

“She was the one who figured it out and connected the dots,” Sean said. “She noticed similarities to a past case she’d worked on, before she took retirement.”

We returned home to find Rita on the sofa, having a kip, the baby monitor on in case Ava should wake. Rita immediately sat up, her bleary gaze fixed on Kyle, who just nodded.

“I’ll put the kettle on,” she said as we followed her into the kitchen.

“So, are you going to tell us?” Kyle asked once we were seated around the table, mugs of tea steaming before us.

“Tell you what?”

“Tell us how you cracked the case, Mum,” Kyle said, giving her an impatient look. He needed to know and wasn’t in the mood for all the theatrics.

“I didn’t crack it,” Rita said modestly.

“But you had a hand in finding Edie.”

“Only marginally. I’m retired, after all.”

“Mum, spill,” Kyle ordered, and Rita finally smiled.

“Well, it was back in the late nineties that several young people went missing from various parts of London. The assumption was that they had run away from home or had died of a drug overdose in some bedsit and were never identified. But the kids that had gone missing never had a history of drug use, nor did they have any reason to run away. They came from good homes and had nice, comfortable lives.”

“So, what happened to them?” I asked.

“Most of them were never found, but the one that was found was still alive, if only just. Bethany, her name was. She was able to tell the detectives what had happened to her. She’d been taken from a bus stop after a young man chatted her up, telling her he was new to London and asking for directions. He sat down next to Bethany and injected her in the thigh with a sedative. She was taken to a house in the country, where several of her organs were removed. She would have died had the police not raided the house within hours of her operation.”

“Is that what happened to Edie?” I exclaimed, utterly horrified.

Rita nodded. “We’ve all heard stories of missing migrants and trafficked young women, but this is something else. These people weren’t interested in migrants or refugees. They were interested in healthy young people whose files they could access through the NHS. This way, they knew exactly who was a fitting candidate for organ donation, and who wasn’t.”

“Who’s running this ring?” Kyle asked.

“Someone in Germany. The local police picked them up yesterday, just before DI Martins raided the facility in Croydon. It turned out to be an underground clinic.”

“And how did they know about Croydon?” I asked.

“A burner phone belonging to Darryl Blaine was seized during the search of the Xanth-E Lounge. It’s not a crime to have a burner, but there were several calls to someone named Roman Novizio, and a call to Edie’s mobile number on the morning of her disappearance. Darryl Blaine rang Edie just as she walked into the Tube station. The idea was to distract her while a man, possibly this Roman, jabbed her with a sedative. He then pretended to be the concerned boyfriend and led her out of the station and into a waiting transit van. They probably changed vehicles as soon as they thought it was safe and delivered Edie to Croydon.”

“Who’s this man?” Kyle asked.

Rita smiled smugly. “Darryl Blaine is not nearly as smart as he believes himself to be. His cypher was easily broken by a forensic technician who has a fondness for languages and was able to cross-reference the mobile numbers on the burner phones. Roman is a variation of Rome, which is a city in Italy, as is Milan. Novizio means novice in Italian. Novice in Croatian is novak. Milan Novak has a record as long as my arm and has been on Interpol’s most wanted list for a few years now for offenses ranging from murder to human trafficking to selling organs on the black market. He’s connected to a Croatian gang that operates in London.”

“So Milo is Milan?” I exclaimed.

Rita nodded. “And he’s an associate of Darryl Blaine. Novak rang Darryl Blaine on the day of Edie’s disappearance and several times in the days that followed. Darryl Blaine must have warned him that the police were aware of his involvement, even if they didn’t realize that Milo was really Milan Novak. Darryl Blaine must have put Novak onto both Kristina Bartek and Edie Cadogan. And Lord knows how many others.”

“How were they able to learn about the facility in Croydon?” Kyle asked.

“The German police are not as gentle as the Met. They picked up Darryl Blaine in Munich and asked him a few questions. Unfortunately for him, Blaine also happened to have a case containing a human kidney at the time of his arrest. He tried to dump it, but it was too late. And his fingerprints were all over the case.”

“And no one ever suspected him before this?” Kyle demanded angrily.

“Darryl Blaine made frequent trips to Germany, Belgium, and France, so he was tapped by Novak’s associates to deliver some of the harvested organs to clients in those countries.”

“And this Milan Novak abducted the victims himself?” I asked, wondering why someone so high up in a criminal organization would bother to take such risks.

“He’s young, good-looking, and very charming when he wants to be. I think for him, this was fun. Not so much for Darryl Blaine.”

“Why do you say that?” Kyle asked, his disbelief obvious.

“Darryl was not a willing participant. The gang had something on him, something major that they used as leverage.”

“Will he go to prison?” I asked.

“Probably on a lesser charge. His cooperation will earn him some brownie points with the jury, if he lives long enough to testify.”

“And Milan Novak?” Kyle asked.

“Was picked up in Dover a few hours ago.”

“Did Kieran know?” I asked. It was my understanding that Kieran had been the one to introduce Edie to Darryl Blaine. “He knew about the drugs.”

“Kieran knew nothing about the abductions, but I’m sure he will live with the repercussions for the rest of his days,” Rita said. “As will Sean.”

“How do you mean?” Kyle asked, clearly concerned by what Rita was suggesting.

“Now that Edie is home, Sean has two options open to him. He can try to weather the storm of bad publicity brought about by the accusations made against him, or he can gracefully bow out and put an end to the suggestions of nepotism and incompetence.”

“But would taking early retirement not act as an admission of guilt?”

“Yes, in a way, but Sean is to blame to some extent. The inquiry into the disappearance of Kristina Bartek was botched, and Sean did handpick a detective he trusted to lead the investigation into the abduction of his daughter. Other parents aren’t afforded such a luxury, nor are they permitted to meddle in the investigation. Besides, Sean’s done his bit. It’s time to let a younger man, or woman, take up the reins. Sean can enjoy his retirement and spend time with his children and grandchildren.”

“Grandchild,” Kyle corrected her.

Rita smiled at Kyle in that way a mother had to let her children know she was always one step ahead of them. “Grandchildren,” she reiterated.

“You mean Edie is keeping her baby?”

Rita shook her head. “Sean said that Emily is about three months along, but now wasn’t the time to make the big announcement, not with Carla in the state she was in.”

“Sean didn’t say anything to me,” Kyle said petulantly.

Rita smiled again and shrugged. In some ways, Sean and Rita would always remain partners.

“Mum, what exactly is Edie’s condition?” Kyle asked quietly, finally getting around to the one question he could no longer avoid. We were yet to get a clear answer.

“I don’t know,” Rita said, and looked away.

“You do. You just don’t want to say,” Kyle reproached her.

Rita sighed. “Edie miscarried two days ago, but it was probably the pregnancy that saved her life. Donna Martins’ theory is that once her abductors had taken a blood test and realized that Edie was pregnant, they decided to keep her imprisoned until she gave birth. They would either sell the baby on the black market or maybe use it as they had the others.”

“You mean?” I choked out, my stomach heaving as my mind presented me with a horrific possibility.

“There’s many an infant that’s born with serious health issues and requires a transplant to save their life.”

My hand flew to my mouth as I tried not to imagine the fate of the poor baby who was deemed disposable.

“Did they find anyone else when they raided the underground clinic?” Kyle asked.

Rita nodded. “They found several sets of human remains and one teenage boy whose kidney had recently been removed. I’m certain it’s a match for the kidney found in Darryl Blaine’s possession.”

I thought I was going to be sick. This was all too real and way too terrifying. Yes, Edie was lucky, but it was all relative. She would have been lucky had she never been targeted in the first place since what had happened to her would inform every decision she made and haunt her every time she left the house.

“Do you think they’ll find Kristina Bartek?” Kyle asked.

“The SOCO officers are taking that clinic apart even as we speak. If Kristina was there, then perhaps her sister will finally get some closure.”

“What evil some people are capable of,” I said, my mind conjuring up the underground clinic despite my best efforts to clear my mind.

“There’s nothing as frightening as human greed and the desire for power. And where one monster is taken down, another takes their place.” Rita sighed heavily and pushed to her feet. “I’m off home.”

“I’ll drive you,” Kyle said.

“Thank you, son. I’ll see you tomorrow, Nicole. I’ll be here bright and early to spend time with my granddaughter.”

Chapter 57

It was later, once Kyle and I were in bed and we’d talked the situation to death, that Kyle said, “It’s a weird coincidence.”

“What is?”

“Two missing daughters of high-ranking police officials, over a hundred years apart. Two cases, both now solved with the help of the women in my family. And two such different outcomes.”

“That’s life, though, isn’t it? It’s the luck of the draw.”

“Yes, but it’s amazing what people will do to get what they need,” Kyle said.

“How do you mean?”

“If you’re correct, then Lily Redmond married a virtual stranger and allowed her children to bear his name in order to be with the man she loved. A situation that would never happen in today’s society. And Edie nearly lost her life because some people are so desperate, they will pay any amount of money to buy organs on the black market to save their loved ones.”

“You sound as if you sympathize with them,” I said.

“I do. There’s no telling how far someone will go to save their child, or their partner. And unfortunately, there are people who prey on that. Some things never change.”

“No, they don’t,” I said. “Will this be the plotline for the next book?”

Kyle looked pensive. “No. Too close to home. I’d rather invent a completely different story, one that has nothing to do with my sister. Nic, I keep circling back to what Leyla said. Do you think it’s time to retire DI Shaw?”

“Absolutely not,” I replied, and grinned. “I think she’s got a few more cases left in her.”

“I think so too,” Kyle said, and I could have sworn he sighed in relief. “Perhaps I’ll draw on Lily’s story instead.”

“I can’t help but wonder how that marriage came about,” I said. “It looks a neat solution now, from the divide of nearly one hundred and fifty years, but can you imagine what it cost them? All of them,” I said. I couldn’t begin to imagine making a lifelong commitment to a man I barely knew just so I could hide my true feelings from the world.

Not for the first time, I thanked my lucky stars that I had been born in a time when women had rights and people didn’t have to resort to such drastic measures to ensure they could live and work without persecution. It wasn’t so long ago that a child born out of wedlock would be branded a bastard through no fault of their own and have to carry that awful label their whole life. Lily and Micah’s children would never have become doctors or married into respectable families had their true parentage been revealed since most doors would be firmly closed to them.

My heart went out to the young girl who’d had to make such sacrifices to make a life with the man she loved, and to Micah, who’d obviously been imprisoned in a loveless marriage for decades with no possibility of parole. I was glad they found happiness, or more accurately, found a way to create and protect it.

Chapter 58

Lily

The room was completely dark, freezing rain lashing against the windows and the wind howling like a keening woman. It felt as if they were the only two people left alive in the world, adrift on a tiny vessel lost at sea. She wished they were. It wasn’t nature they had to fear but people, individuals whose goodwill could vanish and whose anger and prejudice could turn ugly in a matter of moments. It was people who made the rules and people who enforced them, even if they sometimes hid behind loftier ideals and stone walls.

Lily angrily wiped her tears away, her hand subconsciously going to her still-flat belly. They’d been so discreet, so careful, but now it would all come out and there’d be no turning back. The only option was to get away and hide out somewhere until the baby was born, but then what? She could never leave her baby, not even if she were sure it’d be loved and cared for. Once again, she was faced with an unthinkable choice, and this time, there were no viable options, only sacrifices.

Turning around, she buried her face in Micah’s shoulder and he drew her close, his voice a mere whisper carried on the icy draft streaming from the ill-fitting window.

“I can take care of it.”

She knew what he meant. They’d spoken of it earlier, and she had flat-out refused. What he was suggesting went against everything she had been raised to believe, and she recoiled at the prospect, but it was the only alternative that would allow her to remain in Boston. To be with him. Forever.

“All right,” she whispered back, and felt his hot tears mingle with her own.

He hadn’t made the suggestion lightly. He’d thought it through. Had wrestled with his conscience and had surrendered his every belief to stay with her. He’d never say so aloud, but Lily knew that he’d just sold his soul to the Devil.

“I’ll speak to Thomas tomorrow. It might take some persuading, but he will see the benefits of the arrangement. He’s a clever man, and there’s already been talk about his lack of interest in the opposite sex. He might have to move on if he doesn’t find a way to nip the speculation in the bud.”

“And should he refuse?”

Micah sighed. “He won’t. He won’t want to leave Liam.”

“My parents can never find out the truth, Micah.”

“Your parents are the least of our problems, Lils. Besides, if you ever reconcile, the state of your marriage won’t be the first thing on their minds.”

“No,” Lily agreed. “Do you think they’ll ever forgive me?”

“I’d like to think that they will. But I’m fairly certain they’ll never forgive me.”

Lily nodded. Last she heard, her father had written Micah out of his will, but he had listed her as a beneficiary. There was still hope of a truce then.

“Would you like me to be present when you speak to Thomas?” Lily asked.

“No. I think it’s best if we talk alone.”

“Life will never be the same, will it?”

“If there is one thing that’s a certainty in this world is that life never remains the same. Now, go to sleep. We have an early start tomorrow,” Micah said and kissed her temple, his arm curling around her middle.

“Okay,” Lily said, but she knew she wouldn’t get to sleep. After tomorrow, there’d be no going back.

Chapter 59

Lily gazed into the gentle eyes of her new husband as he slid the band Micah had handed to him onto her finger. The three of them were now forever locked in a tight embrace, sworn to keep a secret they would take to their graves. She knew she should be frightened, ashamed, and worried, but what she felt was utter peace. Some would see what she had just done as a sin, an unforgivable lie, but Lily didn’t agree. She wasn’t the first or the last woman to consent to a marriage in name only to protect her family. And she would protect those she loved. All of them.

She supposed this didn’t make her so different from Margaret O’Shea, who’d married Micah to protect her unborn child, her lover, and herself, but Margaret had lied and cheated, whereas Lily and Micah had been completely honest with Thomas. He was going into this with his eyes wide open, and would benefit as well, since vicious tongues were already wagging, and sly glances had been cast in his direction. If Thomas didn’t prove them wrong, horrible slurs would come next, followed by both verbal and physical attacks. Thomas could easily go somewhere else and start anew, but there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t be found out. He was ready to stop running, whatever the cost.

Few people had come to the wedding, since most of their friends and neighbors were Catholic, and Lily and Thomas were married in a Protestant church, but they’d be sure to attend the party, which was to be held at the home of Liam and Maura. Maura and some of the other women had been cooking for days, glad to give something back to the people who’d worked so hard to help them and keep their children safe and their families intact. There was even going to be dancing, since several of their more musically gifted friends had volunteered to play.

The ceremony over, Lily and Thomas walked out into the warm sunshine, their smiles as bright as those of any newly married couple ready to embark on a life together. Thomas turned to speak to Liam, while Micah reached for Lily’s right hand and slid a thin gold band onto her finger.

“What are you doing?” Lily whispered.

“Gilding the Lily,” Micah replied with a smile that went right to her heart.

“What do you mean?”

“No band of gold can improve on your perfection, but I still need to lay claim to you and my child, in order to acknowledge that you married me today in every way that matters.”

“I don’t need a ring to remind me of that,” Lily said. “Not when I have your heart.”

“You’ve had my heart since the day you were born, Lils. Only now you have other parts of me as well,” Micah joked. Lily laughed and linked her arm through his. “Save me a dance,” Micah said.

Lily nodded. “I’ll save two. But don’t tire yourself out too much, dancing with all the single girls. It’s my wedding night, and I mean to enjoy it.”

“Can we have the bride and groom pose for a wedding portrait?” the photographer asked, and Lily turned to her husband, beaming at him like she was the happiest woman on earth.

Epilogue

Quinn wasn’t sure why she did it. The case was solved, and Nicole had her story, but she wasn’t ready to let the Redmonds go. She’d grown attached to them and wanted to know more of what had become of the family that was now extinct, at least on paper. She reached for the leather frame that she had yet to return to Nicole and closed her eyes, allowing the past to collide with the present as Jason Redmond’s elegant hands swam into view. He was holding the photograph, gazing down at the portrait of his daughter, and although she couldn’t see his face because she was looking out through his eyes, she knew that Jason was crying.

He ran a gentle finger over Lily’s face, then pulled out the St. Christopher and stared at it as if it might hold all the answers. The house around Jason was quiet, the black crape draped over the mirror and the silent clock bringing tears to Quinn’s own eyes. She couldn’t see the casket in the other room, but she felt Jason’s utter desolation and the unbearable sense of loss that had wrapped itself around his heart like barbed wire. He’d lost his daughter, and now Katherine was gone, her battle with the cancer that had slayed her in a matter of months finally over.

Jason sighed deeply, pushed the necklace behind the photo, and smiled at his wayward daughter. Then he shut the case, replaced it on the mantel, and left the room. Tomorrow he would bury his wife, and then he would spend a few days with Adam before booking passage to Boston. He had long since forgiven Lily for her unspeakable betrayal. He was growing old, and he wanted to spend what time he had left with his daughter and her unorthodox family. Despite his grief, Jason smiled. He’d lost the love of his life, but he had four grandchildren to meet. And he had missed the country of his birth. Every ending was a new beginning.

Quinn set aside the photograph, coming back into herself now that the story was complete. She hated to admit it, but Gabe and Rhys had been right. For the first time since the pandemic, she felt like her old self, and she relished it. Perhaps she and Nicole would work on another project together. Or perhaps she’d allow Rhys to talk her into another season of Echoes from the Past. She had options, and that was all anyone could ask for.

The End

If you enjoyed this story and would like to learn more about Quinn, Gabe, and their extended family,

Please turn the page for an excerpt from The Lovers

Echoes From the Past Book 1

And if it was Jason Redmond that piqued your interest,

The Redmond and Haze Mysteries Books 1-12 are available on Amazon.

Notes

I hope you have enjoyed The Gilded Lily. I can never resist a good genealogical mystery, in either the past or the present, and need to put my characters through the wringer.

I love hearing from you and would like to know if you are still enjoying the series and would like to see more installments. You can always reach me at www.irinashapiroauthor.com or irina.shapiro@yahoo.com. If you’d like to join my mailing list, please subscribe at http://irinashapiroauthor.com/mailing-list-signup-form/

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An Excerpt from The Lovers

Echoes from the Past Book 1

Prologue

The darkness was absolute, the interior of the chest smelling rank and damp. Their bodies were pressed together, crammed in an unnatural position, limbs stiff after hours of immobility. At first, there was still hope, but it had run out, as had the air, as the tight-fitting lid prevented even the smallest amount from seeping in. His arms felt like lead, but he gathered what was left of his waning strength and lifted his hand to her face. He didn’t need to see it; her features were burned into his brain, as were those of their child. Please, God, keep the babe safe.

Her skin was still warm, but she was already gone, as surely as he would be in the next few minutes. His lungs were already burning, a sheen of sweat covering his face. He pressed his lips against her unresponsive mouth in a final kiss as a last thought flashed through his dying brain:

It was all worth it.

Chapter 1

October 2013

London, England

Sean Adams leaped from the cab of his digger and pushed his way through the crowd of men gathered around a large opening. For a moment, he thought it was a sinkhole, here in the middle of London, but what he was looking at was some kind of subterranean chamber that had been uncovered as a result of his efforts. The ceiling of the chamber—nothing more than a thin layer of rotted wooden beams—had caved in, revealing a narrow space beneath, the walls of which were solid stone. The men peered into the hole, curious to see what it held.

“Step aside, step aside,” Foreman Milne bellowed. He stood at the edge of the opening and shone a torch into the dark recess of the chamber. “What have we here?” he asked no one in particular as he removed his hard hat and scratched his egg-shaped head. Foreman Milne was a good-natured man most of the time, not averse to joining his crew for a pint and singing loudly and off-key once he’d had a few, but at this moment he was vibrating with irritation. He had no time for delays; he was on a schedule, and the management was breathing down his neck.

“What is it, boss?” someone called out. “A buried treasure?” The men chuckled. They found all kinds of rubbish at every new site: bits of furniture, rusted prams, sometimes even old cellars that had been used as air raid shelters during the last war, complete with tin cups, wooden benches, and old newspapers. But this looked different. The chamber was completely empty, except for one large rectangular object.

“Bring me a ladder, lads. A long one,” the foreman called. “Adams, you’re with me since we have you to thank for this ‘fortuitous’ find.”

Sean reluctantly followed his boss into the dank hole. The roof was mostly gone, but the walls were still intact, built of rough-hewn stone nearly a foot thick. They were cold to the touch, even on a pleasant day like today. The opening looked like it might have been a large well in its day, but there was no indication that it ever contained any water. The walls were not covered with mildew, and the packed earth at the bottom was dry as bone.

“Toss me down a pair of cutters,” the foreman called out to the men gathered at the top. “This thing appears to have a lock on it.”

The two men stood awkwardly next to what appeared to be an oversize sea chest. It took up most of the space, leaving barely any room for Milne and Adams to stand. The chest looked sturdy and was secured with a chain and an old-fashioned padlock, which was rusted with age and neglect. Foreman Milne gently kicked the chest with his foot, and the two men heard something rattle within. He then ran a finger along the lid. It came away dusty, but the wood beneath appeared to be in good condition. The chest was elaborately carved and painted, the colors still vibrant despite the layers of grime.

Sean was bursting with curiosity and wished Milne would just get on with it. His brother, Joe, worked on a site where they'd found a leather pouch full of antique coins. The story had been in all the major newspapers and even on the telly. Joe had been interviewed, and the segment appeared on the news. The coins were now part of an exhibition at the British Museum, and Joe still told the story of his historic find every time he had a captive audience.

“Shall I do it, boss?” Sean asked the foreman, his voice quivering with excitement. The older man shrugged and moved aside as much as the small space would allow, his face creased with displeasure. He handed Sean the cutters and leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, his posture indicative of the impatience that he was trying to keep in check. Foreman Milne wasn’t the type of man who suffered from acute curiosity or an overactive imagination. He assumed they’d found some rubbish that would need to be cleared away, resulting in wasting several hours of their time. To him, it made no difference who opened the chest.

Sean cut the rusty chain and kicked away the lock when it clattered to the stone floor. He took a shaky breath before lifting the lid and peering inside.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he breathed out as he quickly crossed himself. Sean stepped back, nearly colliding with Foreman Milne, who’d taken a step forward to shine a light into the chest. It was full of bones, the skulls grinning eerily out of the gloom.

The men above were craning their necks for a better look, blocking nearly all the light in the process. Someone already had his mobile out and was snapping pictures of the chest, the flash blinding in the dark space.

“No photos,” Milne bellowed as he stood in front of the open chest. “Get away with you.”

“Sean, call the police. Now!”

Chapter 2

October 2013

Surrey, England

Quinn threw another log on the fire and went to pour herself a cup of tea. A steady rain had been falling since the night before, bringing with it a howling wind and a bone-chilling damp, which seemed to seep into the stones. The room was lost in shadow, the lowering sky and pouring rain having leached all light out of the October afternoon. But the fire glowed in the hearth, casting shifting shadows onto the stone walls and filling the room with a welcome warmth, the crackling of the logs momentarily blocking out the moaning of the wind.

Quinn sat down on the sofa and wrapped her hands around the hot mug. The heat felt good, so she held the mug for a few minutes without drinking, absorbing the pleasant warmth, which brought her a welcome sense of comfort. Despite the cold and the rain, it felt good to be home, even if that home wasn’t quite as she had left it. She’d returned to England only a few days ago, landing in Heathrow on a golden autumn morning. She’d collected her cases from the carousel and made her way out the door toward the queue of taxis waiting at the curb.

She filled her lungs with crisp air and smiled at the brilliant foliage, which stood out in jarring contrast to the cobalt blue of the cloudless sky. After months of relentless heat and merciless sun of the Middle East, it was lovely to feel a cool breeze on her face and the nip of the coming winter already in the air. Quinn looked as if she’d just come back from a tropical holiday, her face and arms tanned to a golden glow. Still, the six months she’d spent on a dig in Jerusalem had left their mark, both physical and emotional, and she was relieved to be home at last. No one paid her any attention as she waited patiently in line for her turn at a taxi. To anyone who bothered to notice her, she was just an average young woman, casually dressed in jeans, T-shirt, and a worn leather jacket. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy bun atop her head, and her face was devoid of any makeup, except for some lip balm she’d put on before disembarking the plane. She looked like any other tourist, but in archeological circles she was a star, at least until the next big find.

Unearthing the Roman sword dating back to the Great Revolt of 66 CE was a tremendous coup. The sword had been discovered lodged in the drainage system running between the City of David and the Archeological Garden, and it was found only a few feet away from an ancient stone depicting a menorah. The menorah had been etched into the stone with something crude and sharp, like an old nail or a chisel, but it was close enough to Temple Mount to be of tremendous interest and confirmed what the original menorah might have looked like. Researchers from the Israel Antiquities Authority put forth various theories on the significance of the find.

Quinn had to admit that she had been more interested in the sword. It was still in its leather scabbard, which was miraculously well preserved. The scabbard kept some of the decorations from being obliterated by time and the elements, allowing a glimpse into Roman craftsmanship of the period. The sword likely belonged to a simple infantryman, but it was so much more than a sharp hunk of metal. It was not only a tool but also a work of art, a lovingly crafted weapon that would have been treasured and well maintained by its bearer. The sword would remain in Jerusalem, but Quinn had published her findings and had agreed to interviews with CNN, the British Archeology Magazine, and the Archeological Journal, scheduled back-to-back for the day after her arrival. The sword might be thousands of years old, but the news of its discovery would fade fast, and the interviews had to be published while public interest was still at its peak.

And now she was finally at home, having fulfilled her obligations and free until the spring semester began just after the new year. She’d intended to pick up a few classes at the institute, devote time to research, apply for new grants that would fund the next dig when they came through, and spend time with Luke. At least that had been the plan while she was still in Jerusalem—but things had changed.

It felt strange to walk into the house and face all the empty spaces. They glared at her like hollow eye sockets, eerie and blank. Luke had cleared out before she returned, partially to avoid awkwardness and partially because he’d been in a rush to leave. He hadn’t even given her the courtesy of breaking up with her in person. He’d dumped her via text, telling her that he had accepted a teaching position in Boston and would be gone by the time she returned. This was no longer their house, their little love nest, but it was still her home, and despite the sadness that filled the quiet rooms, she loved it.

Quinn snuggled deeper into the sofa and gazed with affection at the familiar room. The house had once been a private chapel, built by some devoted husband for his devout Catholic wife, but it had been confiscated by the Crown during the Dissolution of the Monasteries and allowed to fall into disrepair once everything of value had been stripped, sold off, or melted down. It stood empty for centuries, forgotten and desolate, before being offered to Captain Lewis Granger, a distant cousin of the family that still owned the estate at the beginning of the nineteenth century.

The young captain had been embroiled in a scandal involving the young wife of a well-respected general, dishonorably discharged from the army just before Waterloo, and sent home to England. He had disgraced himself to the point where he could no longer show his face in London, at least for a time, and so he appealed to his cousin, begging for sanctuary, which Squire Granger reluctantly offered. Lewis Granger might have been a libertine and a gambler, but he had a penchant for architecture and history. He turned the ruin into a home, rebuilding the crumbling structure with his own two hands and the help of a few lads from the village, who were more than happy to earn a few quid during a time when well-paying jobs were scarce and returning soldiers tried to pick up the pieces of their lives and find any employment going.

Squire Granger had been so impressed with Lewis’s efforts that he bequeathed the chapel to Lewis in his will, and it had remained in the family until the last descendant sold the house to Quinn three years ago. Niles Granger was a young man who was thoroughly at odds with Lewis’s legacy. His spiky hair was dyed platinum blond; he wore unbearably narrow trousers and horn-rimmed spectacles, proclaiming himself to be a hipster and an artist. Niles had no interest in history or architecture, and he wanted nothing more than to get away from all that “old shite,” as he so eloquently described it. He unloaded it gleefully and never looked back, using the profits to buy a dilapidated loft with space for a studio, where he created works of unfathomable modernity using splashes of bright colors, bits of trash, and phallic symbols strategically displayed for maximum shock value.

The rest of the estate had been bought years earlier by an eccentric millionaire who converted the huge manor house into Lingfield Park Resort. Despite its proximity to the resort, Quinn’s house felt completely private. The chapel was nestled in the woods at the edge of the property; none of the guests ever ventured in that direction, warned off by the “Private Property” sign nailed to a tree and a lack of a walkable path. There was a narrow lane, just wide enough for one car to pass on the other side of the house, which led into the village, but the lane saw so little traffic that Quinn felt as if she were living alone in the woods.

Now, three years later, Quinn was still charmed by the stained-glass windows set high in the stone walls and vaulted ceilings painted with an image of the heavens. Not much had remained of the original chapel, but there was something about it that always made Quinn feel welcome and at home. She supposed it was all the hopes, dreams, and prayers that had been absorbed by the stones over the years. Prayers didn’t just dissipate into thin air—they soaked into the walls, buttressing the structure with their strength and healing energy. As an archeologist, she found it immensely appealing to live in a place that was imbued with so much character and steeped in history.

When originally built, the chapel had been one large open space, but Lewis Granger had divided it into two rooms, the back room serving as a bedroom and furnished with an antique four-poster bed and carved dresser, which Niles had been only too happy to throw in as part of the deal. The dark wood was polished to a shine, the bed hangings made of embroidered damask in mauve and gold. Once that bed had been the center of Quinn’s universe, the place where she spent lazy afternoons with Luke as they made love, shared their dreams, and made plans for the future. Now, the bed was used only for sleeping and reading when sleep wouldn’t come.

Quinn still felt fragile and bruised by Luke’s sudden desertion, but now being on her own didn’t seem as frightening as it had two months ago when she suddenly found herself single. She’d felt adrift for a while, remembering several times a day that she no longer had anyone to return to. But like all shocks to the system, the knowledge eventually became part of her new reality, and Quinn threw herself into her work, eager to feel like her old self again. There had been a few offers and casual flirtations at the dig but nothing that blossomed into anything real; she supposed she hadn’t allowed it to. She hadn’t been ready to move on.

At first, Quinn managed to forget about Luke for a few hours at a time, then for whole days, but now she was back home, and her loneliness was suddenly sharper and so much more oppressive than it had been in Jerusalem, where she was surrounded by people. The silence of the chapel, which she normally found soothing, weighed heavily on her, its density disturbed only by the sound of the falling rain and the ticking of the clock.

Quinn took a sip of tea and closed her eyes. She hated rainy days; they forced her to stay indoors. On fine days, she went for long country walks, walking until she exhausted herself enough to enjoy a few hours of dreamless sleep. But on a day like today, there was nothing to do but brood. She didn’t even have a dog. Her job demanded frequent absences, and it wouldn’t be fair to leave a puppy behind to be looked after by someone else for months on end. She did wish for a companion, though. Perhaps she could get a little dog and leave it with her parents when she went overseas. The thought cheered her up as she imagined a furry little ball of affection snuggled in her lap, making her feel less alone.

Quinn nearly spilled her tea when there was a loud knock at the door. She wasn’t expecting any visitors, not so soon after arriving at home, and there was no one she could think of who’d just drop by unannounced. Quinn set her mug down and went to answer the door. Perhaps it was one of the guests from the resort who’d ventured too far off the path and got lost. Quinn opened the door, surprised to find an actual visitor.

“May I come in, or do I have to stand here in the rain?” Gabriel Russell asked as he smiled down at her.

“Of course. Sorry, Gabe. Come on in. May I offer you some tea?”

“You sure can. And add a dollop of whiskey, for medicinal purposes,” he joked as he took off his wet coat and hung it on a coatrack before taking a seat on the sofa in front of the roaring fire.

Quinn held out the mug to Gabe and reclaimed her spot on the sofa. The melancholy that crept up on her earlier was gone, and she was suddenly grateful for the unexpected visit. Gabriel Russell wasn’t just her boss but also one of her closest friends. They’d met years ago on a dig in Ireland when she was just a student and he was the dig supervisor and had remained close ever since, always staying in touch even during the most tumultuous moments of their lives. Gabe invited her to join the faculty at UCL Institute of Archeology when he accepted the position as head of the Archeology Department, and they shared a nice, comfortable relationship unmarred by stodgy professionalism or academic rivalry. They wanted different things, and Gabe, who preferred a desk job to digging in the dirt, supported Quinn and rejoiced in her success. Luke had taught several classes at the institute as well, using Quinn’s friendship with Gabe as a way in.

Gabe was in his late thirties, with shaggy dark hair worn just a little too long and dark blue eyes fringed with ridiculously long lashes. His nose was a trifle long, and his eyebrows curved like wings above his hooded eyes, making him look stern and unapproachable at times, but that was only until he smiled. Gabe had a radiant smile that made him look sheepish and endearing at the same time. He could probably charm the knickers off Her Majesty, if they ever had occasion to be in the same room, which was why he was as popular with the faculty as he was with the students.

Few people knew this, but Gabe could trace his roots back to the Norman invasion, having descended from Hugh de Rosel, who’d accompanied William the Conqueror to the shores of England and had been rewarded for his loyalty with estates in Dorset. Gabe’s family still lived in Berwick, although Gabe was the only male left of the noble line. It was Gabe’s grandfather’s obsession with history that influenced young Gabe and led to a degree in history and archeology.

Quinn folded her slim legs beneath her and turned her gaze to Gabe as she took a sip of her own tea, eager to hear what brought Gabe to her door on such a filthy night. He’d never been one for unannounced visits, so whatever it was had to be important.

“It’s really coming down out there. I nearly missed the turn; I didn’t see the sign for the village. Are you over the worst of the jet lag?” Gabe asked as he studied her features. Gabe had always detested small talk, but after several years of interdepartmental politics, he learned not to blurt out what was on his mind, as he had done when he was younger. Quinn smiled into her mug. She found this newfound political correctness somewhat amusing but went along with it nonetheless. Gabe would get to the point eventually, and she was in no rush for him to leave.

“It took about two days to adjust, but I’m back to my usual routine. It’s nice to be home.”

“Oh? Looking forward to a nice long winter, are you?” he joked.

“After roasting in the desert for six months, a cold winter sounds like a dream come true. I won’t even complain about snow.”

“We’ll see about that. I wouldn’t say no to a couple of weeks in a warm sunny place. Haven’t had a holiday in longer than I can remember. Ibiza would do me very well right about now.”

“Maybe you can take Eve after Christmas,” Quinn suggested. Gabe always spent Christmas with his parents but liked to take off for a week after the holiday, having had enough family togetherness, particularly since his mother had a long list of chores for him to complete before returning to London.  Being an only child, it fell to him to see to the never-ending repairs needed to maintain the family home.  His father was getting on in years and could no longer manage the upkeep on his own but was too stubborn to hire a handyman.

“Actually, Eve and I are no longer, but that’s not why I’m here,” Gabe said but didn’t elaborate. Eve had been the latest in a string of women in Gabe’s life, an editor at a fashion magazine who was glamorous, vivacious, and dangerously independent. She was the type of woman who had lovers, not partners, and Quinn strongly suspected that she’d moved on to someone else while Gabe wasn’t looking. Quinn never could understand why a man as intelligent and warm as Gabe always went for women who could never quite give him their full attention and bailed at the first sign of trouble. She had never known Gabe to be truly in love with any of his amours and wondered what kept him from finding someone who could really touch his heart.

Perhaps he feared commitment, or was wary of getting hurt. After her experience with Luke, Quinn could commiserate. She’d always craved a relationship that could sustain her, but her choice of partners hadn’t been any wiser than Gabe’s. There had been a few men who professed to love her, but sadly, she’d never become their number one priority and was discarded as soon as something better came along, as it had with Luke. The future she offered him couldn’t compete with a professorship at Harvard University.

Quinn was actually surprised that Gabe made no mention of Luke’s departure. Luke would have informed him since he’d been on the faculty and would have had to give notice. Perhaps Gabe even warranted a phone call or an e-mail, and not just a text, Quinn thought bitterly.

“So, why are you here on a rainy Friday night?” Quinn asked, her expression coy. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss Luke or Eve, but she was too curious to remain silent any longer.

“Have you seen the news?” Gabe asked as he took a sip of his whiskey-laced tea and sighed with pleasure as the alcohol hit his bloodstream.

“No, why?”

“Human remains were discovered yesterday at a construction site in Mayfair. They’d just broken ground a few days ago for another building of luxury flats few of us can afford. It seems there was a hidden chamber below ground that never appeared in the blueprints.”

“And they called you?” Quinn asked, unsure of why exactly Gabe was involved. “Hardly your area of expertise.”

“The foreman called in the Met and the coroner, but they quickly ruled it out as a recent crime.”

“So, why’s it on the news? Don’t skeletal remains normally get reburied or left where they were found?” Quinn asked.

This wasn’t the first case of human remains being found during excavation. The ground beneath London was full of surprises. Workers routinely came across remains of plague victims who’d been carelessly thrown into pits and buried en masse. At times, they even dug up what used to be whole cemeteries and reburied the dead in another part of town. Unless the remains belonged to someone of historical interest—like Richard III, whose remains had been resting under a parking lot for centuries—they didn’t get much press. These were nameless, faceless relics of another time, a time when people were buried in paupers’ graves and plague pits and forgotten about. There wasn’t much to be learned from these remains, historically speaking, so they were usually just left in their final resting place as a sign of respect or moved somewhere safe.

“This find was special,” Gabe replied with a sigh. “The remains were in a large chest of some kind, padlocked and chained. The two skeletons inside were lying face-to-face, as if sharing a final kiss as they lay dying. Clearly, they didn’t die of natural causes, especially since there are scratch marks on the inside of the lid. Those two were murdered, their bodies hidden and denied proper burial.”

“Do you think they were someone of historical significance?” Quinn asked, her interest piqued.

“I have no idea, but some tosser took pictures with his mobile and sent them to the media. The Globe picked up the story, and it went from there. The skeletons are now being referred to as ‘the Lovers,’ and they’ve become a real human-interest story. The public want to know who they were and what happened to them,” Gabe said with a faint lift of his eyebrows. “If the media runs with this, we’ll have another Romeo and Juliet on our hands.”

“They’ll lose interest in a few days,” Quinn replied. She was very familiar with the fickle nature of the public. Unless the find was significant, people’s attention very quickly strayed to something more current.

“I don’t think so. I’ve actually had a call from someone at the BBC just this morning. They’re thinking of doing a program based on various finds of historic interest that have cropped up all over the country these past few years. Think of them as historical scavenger hunts, if you will, like Time Team. Interest is high since Richard’s remains were found earlier this year. People are intrigued by the notion that they are going about their daily lives and not suspecting for a second that they might be walking over the mortal remains of a royal.”

“In all probability, those poor people in the chest were as far from royalty as one can get,” Quinn said. Modern people didn’t invent crime; murder had been around as long as humans themselves, and many a murder had gone unsolved, especially in times before the creation of a police force or forensic science.

“It’s still good publicity for the institute and might result in some generous grants from the powers that be.”

“Why do I have the feeling there’s more to this?” Quinn asked with a smile. She could see the sheepish look on Gabe’s face as he met her gaze. He was getting to the good part.

“I want you to take on this project, Quinn. You are the best forensic archeologist I’ve ever worked with, and you can use your gift to learn about the victims,” he added softly.

Quinn’s eyes flew to Gabe’s face in alarm. They never discussed her “gift.” She’d told him about it a long time ago, in a bout of alcohol-infused self-pity in a pub in Ireland, and now she couldn’t take the revelation back. Gabe had respected her confidence and never brought it up again, allowing her to forget that there was one other person out there in the world who knew of her uncanny ability to see into the past. She’d never told anyone else, not even Luke, frightened of the implications the knowledge might have on her life and her work. It was her ability to see into the past that had influenced Quinn’s choice of career—that, and a desperate need to tell the stories of people who could no longer speak for themselves. But she could hardly use the information she’d gleaned as scientific research. Every bit of information had to be documented and supported by fact, so Quinn kept a lot of what she saw to herself, using her secret knowledge as a road map to finding out more about the people whose possessions she came across and dressing the information up as scientific discovery.

Quinn had been able to learn quite a lot about a twenty-two-year-old man called Atticus, a dark-eyed, handsome youth who came to Judea from a province of Rome in search of glory. He died far from home and left behind a child born to a Jewess who’d been married off in haste to hide the disgrace of having lain with a Roman soldier. The sword that belonged to Atticus had been rescued from the clutches of history, but not his story; it would die with Quinn since there was no one she could share it with without betraying her ability—no one except Gabe.

Gabe came to her because he was fully aware of the limitations of this particular assignment. In all probability, historians might never be able to put a name or a face to the two skeletons in the chest, and his only hope of making this project appealing to the BBC was to truly dig deep and find out who the victims were. He was using her most treasured secret against her, knowing that she was likely the only one who could find out the truth about the two people locked in an eternal embrace in that dark chest.

“Why are you doing this to me, Gabe?” she asked warily, her voice devoid of any hint of accusation. She knew why. Gabe would give anything to possess her gift, if only for his own academic ends. He genuinely loved history, and to see into the past as it had really been rather than as it had been imagined was something that, as a historian, would send him into raptures.

“Quinn, your ability is nothing to be ashamed of. You’ve been given an amazing gift, one that’s invaluable in your chosen profession. You can not only use physical evidence to find out more about your subjects but actually see into their lives, hear their thoughts. Why are you so reluctant to use it?”

“Because publicly admitting to it would make me look like a quack and destroy my credibility as a scientist. Can you just imagine me discussing my visions on BBC? People would go from calling me a historian to calling me a psychic, a label I don’t really care for.”

“But you are psychic, and you are the real deal.”

Quinn shook her head. She’d fought her ability ever since she was a child, resentful of the responsibility it placed squarely on her skinny shoulders. She didn’t want to see people who were long dead going about their business, nor did she want to hear their thoughts or feel their joy and pain. She just wanted to be a normal kid, if such a thing were even possible. Her life could never be normal anyway, given the way it had begun.

“I’ll think about it,” she replied with a grudging half-smile.

“All right, do. I’ll be going now. I’ll wait for your call. If I don’t hear from you by Sunday night, I’ll give the project to someone else—like Monica Fielding, for instance.”

“Like hell you will,” Quinn retorted, suddenly furious. Gabe knew offering this find to Monica would shake her out of her complacency. Quinn supposed that every person eventually came across someone who got under their skin for reasons they couldn’t quite explain. It wasn’t just professional rivalry that pitted the two women against each other, it was a personal one as well. Monica genuinely disliked Quinn and made no secret of it, actually going as far as to question Quinn’s credibility in television interviews and periodicals. She had some sort of personal score to settle with Quinn and wouldn’t be satisfied until Quinn became a laughingstock and a pariah in the scientific community.

“I’ll do it,” Quinn blurted out without thinking. “I’ll take it on.”

“I thought you might.” Gabe’s victorious smile said it all. “I’ll give BBC a call and tell them you’re on board.”

Chapter 3

December 1664

London, England

Elise de Lesseps smoothed down the skirt of her gown and patted her hair into place, suddenly reluctant to enter the room. She’d been in her father’s study countless times, to tidy up mostly, but this morning she felt strangely nervous. This summons felt different, more official somehow. She wasn’t here to restore order but to be spoken to on a matter of some importance; she was sure of it.

“Oh, stop being such a ninny,” she said sternly to herself under her breath. “There’s absolutely no reason to be frightened.”

But the brave words did nothing to dispel her sense of foreboding. She’d seen the young man come and leave this morning, had heard the thunder of hooves on frozen earth, and knew that something of significance had occurred. She just couldn’t imagine what. Elise refused to entertain the notion that it was bad news. They’d had more than enough of that lately. The anxiety of not knowing made her hand shake as she finally raised it and knocked on the solid oak door.

“Come,” her father called out. He stood with his back to the room, gazing out the window. The diamond-shaped panes glittered in the morning light, bright winter sunshine filling the room, which was freezing cold, the fire having been laid but not lit per her father’s instructions. Hugh de Lesseps conserved firewood whenever possible; his own comfort was of little importance to him these days.

Elise stood just inside the room, waiting for her father to speak. He finally turned around, his expression unreadable. Elise couldn’t help noticing the stooped shoulders or the stern set of his lips. Her father had aged drastically during the past year. His once-dark hair and beard were now streaked with gray, and his powerful frame had shrunk, making him appear older than his forty-seven years. Hugh de Lesseps’s deep-set eyes studied his daughter, his head cocked to the side, as if he were listening to some inner voice.

“What is it, Father?” Elise asked, now even more worried than before. “Are you ill?”

“Sit down, child,” Hugh said. “I would speak with you.”

Hugh lowered himself into the carved hardback chair behind the massive desk and clasped his hands, his fingers intertwined. Normally, her father leaned back, but today he was hunched forward, his shoulders stiff with strain. His eyes slid away from Elise toward the cold fireplace, as if he was reluctant to speak, and he remained silent for a few moments before finally facing her again.

“Elise, I’ve had a messenger this morning,” he began.

“Yes, I saw him leave,” Elise replied. “What news?”

Her father took a deep breath as his eyes met hers over the breadth of the desk. “I won’t beat about the bush. You’re old enough to know the truth, and since your mother died, you have been the lady of this house and a mother to your sisters.”

Her father sighed, as he did every time he mentioned his late wife, who’d left them only last February. Nothing had been the same since. The house seemed cold and empty, even on the warmest and sunniest of days. The laughter had died, as had the music. Hugh often called his wife frivolous while she was alive, but he always said it with a smile, glad to see his wife laughing and dancing with her daughters. Their two sons were grown men now, one living in Massachusetts Bay Colony and one in Port Royal, Jamaica, where he was most useful to his father.

Caroline de Lesseps had been a child bride, a girl of fifteen when Hugh married her, and she’d retained something of that innocence and joy, a quality he loved above all else in a woman who never aged in his eyes. She’d been only thirty-six when she died, but to him she was still the young, beautiful girl who took his breath away the first time he saw her. It had been a marriage of convenience arranged by the families of the couple, but the relationship had blossomed into one of love and respect and became a true partnership. Many men married again once the period of mourning was over, but Elise was certain that her father wouldn’t look at another woman for a long time to come, if ever. No one could replace his beautiful Caroline, and secretly she was glad.

Hugh de Lesseps pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he had a terrible headache, then looked up at his daughter, his expression one of utter misery.

“The messenger was from Lord Asher. I owe him a great deal of money since the cargo he’d paid for is now at the bottom of the sea. I am not in a position to repay him, at least not at this time. Since the sinking of the Celeste, our financial situation is dire, Elise.”

The Celeste went down in a storm just off the coast of Jamaica in September, taking with it all her father’s precious cargo and its crew. Hugh de Lesseps owned one more ship, the Sea Nymph, but no ships crossed the Atlantic during the winter, and it would be nearly a year before Hugh saw any profit from the sale of the cargo the crew would bring back from the West Indies.

“Is Lord Asher demanding payment?” Elise asked carefully. She had more of an education than most girls of her station and understood only too well the ramifications of losing the cargo and the vessel. Her father would need ready capital to purchase goods, which would be shipped to Jamaica and sold, the profit used to purchase Jamaican goods that would then be transported to the American colonies. A third cargo would then be loaded on the ship for the voyage back to England, the hold loaded with tobacco, furs traded from the savages, and wooden spars, which would be sold to the Navy for the building of masts. Only once the cargo was sold in England would a profit be realized and the debt to Lord Asher repaid.

“Lord Asher has offered to allow me a grace period of two years to pay the debt, but on one condition. He wishes to take you as his bride.”

“Me? Why? I hardly know the man,” Elise exclaimed. Lord Asher was a wealthy and powerful man who had the ear of the king and could choose any woman for his wife. Elise had neither title nor fortune, and the dowry her father had set aside for her was hardly enough to tempt a man of Asher’s wealth and position. Why would he want her?

“Lord Asher has offered to forgo the dowry,” her father added, his expression pained. “It seems he has no need for it.”

Elise slowly rose to her feet, her legs suddenly too wobbly to hold her up. She grasped the back of the chair for support as she faced her father. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“I’m sorry, Elise. I promised your mother that I would see you happy, but if Lord Asher calls in the debt, I will be ruined. Your brothers will lose their livelihood, and your sisters will have no dowry once they come of age. I can’t afford to refuse.”

“I understand,” Elise breathed. She felt faint but remained standing upright, her knuckles white on the back of the chair.

“You will be the wife of a great man. Your sons will be of noble birth, and you will be received at court. I know that Edward Asher is not your heart’s desire, but you will benefit from this union, as will your sisters. Our family will weather this crisis.”

“Yes, Father,” Elise replied woodenly. “May I go now?”

“Go on. You need some time to absorb this news.”

“When does Lord Asher wish to marry?”

“In three weeks’ time, at the New Year.”

“That soon?” Elise willed herself not to cry, but her voice sounded shaky.

“You will be ready.” It wasn’t a question but a statement. She would be ready; she had no choice. The bargain had been struck and she was the chattel that would be transferred as payment of debt—human cargo replacing material goods.

Elise didn’t bother to shut the door behind her as she fled the room. She needed time alone to sort out her tumultuous feelings and prepare a story for her sisters. Amy and Anne were only thirteen and nine, too young to understand the implications of the Celeste’s sinking. They’d lost their mother less than a year ago, and now they would lose their sister as well. To show them the depth of her despair would only make the inevitable separation more difficult for them, so Elise had to put on a brave face and make them believe that this match was of her own choosing.

Elise climbed the stairs to her room and shut the door, locking it behind her. The girls would be expecting her in the parlor, but she couldn’t bear to face them just yet. She couldn’t calmly work on her sewing when she was battling rising hysteria. In three weeks, she would be married off to a man she barely knew. Elise had met Lord Asher once when he visited her father on a matter of business. She’d seen him twice more since then, but no words had been exchanged besides a curt greeting. Lord Asher had bowed to her, his eyes never leaving her face as his lips stretched into a half-hearted smile. Elise assumed he was just being polite, although a man of his station had no obligation to be polite to the likes of her.

Elise sat in front of the cold hearth and pulled a warm shawl about her shoulders, but it did little to warm her. She closed her eyes and tried to picture herself standing next to Edward Asher in church as a vicar bound them for eternity, giving her new husband complete control over her life. Edward Asher was an imposing man, to be sure, but old enough to be her father. He has to be at least five and forty, Elise thought miserably. She shuddered and opened her eyes. The only way to accept this new reality was to focus on the positive things about her future husband. Elise was hard-pressed to find any, but she had to, so she began with his looks.

Lord Asher was of above-average height, and despite his age, he was still in good physical form. He didn’t run to fat, nor had he lost his hair. She supposed he wore a wig when at court, but when he’d come to visit her father, he wore his own hair, which was a rich brown with only a few strands of gray silvering the temples. His gray eyes were not unkind, and he did smile easily, which spoke of a good temperament. As far as Elise knew, he had no children, at least not ones still living.

Elise supposed that any girl of her station would be honored to marry a man like Lord Asher, who would pluck her from complete obscurity and elevate her practically overnight to become one of the ladies of the royal court. To be wealthy and titled and received by His Majesty Charles II was the stuff of dreams for young maidens, but that had never been Elise’s aspiration. She’d never been inside the palace, but she had seen courtiers out and about, carousing in the Strand and enjoying pleasure cruises on the river. They were like peacocks, draped in yards of exquisite fabric and lace, painted like whores, and adorned with bows, ribbons, and ridiculous curly wigs, which made even the most masculine of men look like overgrown poodles. Most people gleefully accepted the new fashions when Charles II took the throne, tired as they were of the black and gray of Puritan rule that had been the order of the day for so long. The theaters had reopened, music and color burst into people’s lives with a gaiety most had forgotten, and suddenly, life was good again. Everyone, from the wealthiest nobleman to the poorest wretch, was glad to be alive.

But now, after half a decade of excess and frivolity, the unbearable glitter of royal glamour had begun to fade, and the common people were beginning to tire of the careless spending of their new king, their lot in life still not much better than it had been during the reign of his father and the tyranny of Oliver Cromwell.

Elise had no desire to become one of the cheap, painted ladies of the court, who indulged in sinful games, thinly veiled sexual innuendo, and provocative masques, the only purpose of which was to showcase their charms and catch the interest of a new lover. Elise was a good, Christian woman, and she wanted nothing more than to be like her own mother: a faithful wife and loving mother, with a husband who was loyal and devoted even after decades of marriage. And she’d come so close to achieving that dream.

Elise had been nursing a tender affection for Gavin Talbot, her father’s clerk, for the past two years. Gavin was kind, thoughtful, and hardworking. He would never be rich, but through hard work and careful planning, he would surely be able to offer his family a comfortable living. And he was handsome. Gavin had sandy hair and wide blue eyes that shone with good humor. He’d always had a kind word and a smile for Elise, even when she was still a young girl and beyond his notice. Now that she was a woman of seventeen, Gavin was in his mid-twenties and ready to start his own family. No betrothal had taken place, but there was an understanding between them that with her father’s permission, they would marry once the year of mourning for her mother was over. Elise had never spoken to her father of her feelings for Gavin, but she was sure he knew. Hugh de Lesseps was an observant man, a man who was a devoted father to his girls, and who, she believed, genuinely wished for their happiness. He would have consented had this catastrophe not struck their family, Elise was sure of it.

And now Gavin was as far removed from her as the moon. Her father had a debt to repay, and she was the currency. There was no one else. Elise bit her lip to keep from crying. She had no choice. If she refused, her father and brothers would be ruined, and her sisters would have no chance of a respectable marriage. It was her duty to honor her father’s wishes and make a good marriage that would benefit the whole family. Few girls had the luxury of choosing their own husbands, and even fewer had expectations of a happy marriage. Lord Asher would be good to her, and she would want for nothing. Perhaps she could even help Amy and Anne make an advantageous match when the time came.

Elise sprang to her feet when she heard footsteps outside her door and the excited voices of her sisters. She forced a smile onto her face just as the two girls burst into the room. “Father says there’s to be a wedding,” Amy exclaimed. “Oh, that’s so exciting. I can’t wait until I am a bride.” She sighed dramatically and did a little pirouette.

“Father says there’s to be dancing and a great feast. Do say we can come, Elise,” Amy pleaded.

“You’ll have to ask Father. You two are too young to attend, but perhaps you can watch from the gallery, if the wedding is to be held here.”

Amy continued to perform dance steps as she gazed at herself in the cheval glass, but Anne stood quietly by the door, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. She was the more sensitive of the two and had taken their mother’s death very hard. Her grief was still as fresh as it had been when their mother breathed her last, and Elise worried how she would cope once her big sister was gone. Amy was too young and frivolous to give her sister the support she so sorely needed.

“You’re going to leave us,” Anne whispered as she ran to Elise and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Oh, what are we going to do without you?” she said and began to sob.

“Come now, Annie. It won’t be so bad. I’ll be a great lady, and you might be able to visit me in my house across the river. Just think of it.”

Anne’s eyes grew round with wonder. She’d never been across the river. There was no call for the girls to leave their house in Southwark; everything they needed was right there. But Lord Asher lived in the Strand, where Elise’s new home would be. She’d never seen Lord Asher’s house, but she’d heard her father speak of it. Grand, it was, he said, and well appointed, with tapestries on the walls, carpets on the floors, and fine furnishings. There were many servants: maids, cooks, grooms, and gardeners. Perhaps Hugh de Lesseps viewed this turn of events as fortuitous. Elise only wished she could bring herself to feel the same.