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A startling clang made the three of them swivel and stare—a robed altar boy had been clearing a table at the reverend’s pulpit and now chased after an ornate chalice he’d dropped. It clattered down a few steps toward the front pews before he managed to scoop it up. When he stood, his cheeks were red as beets, making his straw-blond hair appear even more radiant.

The reverend raised a hand as if to indicate to the boy he wasn’t in any sort of trouble, then, with a tight look of stifled exasperation, turned back to Leo and Jasper. “If you will excuse me. I will keep Mrs. Pierce in my prayers.”

“We’re going to need more than prayers,” Jasper said under his breath as they turned to leave, a shilling poorer and at another dead end.

Chapter Sixteen

Their next stop after leaving St. Emmanuel’s unfolded with little more success.

Leo and Jasper arrived at the address in Marylebone, where Victoria Herrington’s former housekeeper now worked, just in time. Mrs. Michaels had been tying the ribbons on her bonnet, about to set out on her half day to visit relatives in Bromley, when they turned up at the servant’s entrance. The older woman expressed annoyance at being delayed, especially as it was to answer questions about her former employer—whom she had not particularly liked.

“I’m not saying I was happy when she died,” Mrs. Michaels said after the three of them had settled at the servants’ table in the unoccupied kitchen. “I’ve never wished ill on anybody. But my former mistress was very odd and very difficult. Honestly, after that business with her stolen brooch, I was always on edge, fearful she might point to me as a thief next time something went missing.”

Leo didn’t understand her meaning and directed a quizzical glance at Jasper, who explained, “A friend of Mrs. Herrington’s stole a brooch in retaliation for a perceived slight, and Mrs. Herrington accused a maid of the theft.” He then said to the housekeeper, “Miss Chandler reported that when your mistress learned the truth, she apologized profusely.”

Mrs. Michaels harrumphed, unimpressed. “What use is an apology when your name’s been tainted? In service, the accusation alone can ruin a person’s prospects.”

Leo trusted the housekeeper was correct. “How did Mrs. Herrington learn it was her friend and not the maid?” she asked.

“She hired a private detective. He questioned all of us, but it wasn’t until the brooch turned up at a pawnbroker’s shop that he traced it back to Mrs. Herrington’s friend.”

“A detective,” Leo echoed, thinking of how Mrs. Lawlor’s mother had hired Mr. Castelan. “Do you recall his name?”

Mrs. Michaels sighed impatiently. “Bentley, I think. Detective Bentley.”

“And how long was this before Mrs. Herrington married?” Jasper asked.

Meeting his eyes briefly, Leo knew he was thinking the same thing: Augusta and Victoria had both worked with private detectives before their marriages.

“Maybe a year? Why do you ask?”

“Just being thorough,” Jasper answered, then went on to pepper her with more questions, including Miss Chandler’s suspicions about Mr. Herrington.

“It was an odd business,” Mrs. Michaels agreed, “but there was nothing nefarious in it that I could see.” The housekeeper tapped her foot impatiently and lifted the miniature fob watch strung on her necklace. She was too eager to be on her way to truly give them her full attention, Leo sensed.

She and Jasper rose from their chairs, preparing to leave. “Miss Chandler mentioned a maid, Marion,” Jasper said as the housekeeper jumped to her feet. “She couldn’t recall her surname. Can you?”

Mrs. Michaels answered as she walked them hastily toward the exit. “Of course I do; I hired her, didn’t I? Marion Clark. She quit her position before Mr. Herrington sold the house and dismissed the staff. I gave her a letter of character to take with her to her next position, but I’ve no idea where she went.”

Leo thanked her for her time as they stepped outside. Without acknowledgement, Mrs. Michaels bustled past them toward the pavements.

“I am suddenly reminded of how fortunate I am to have the housekeeper I do,” Jasper said softly as they followed Mrs. Michaels. “Remind me to be more appreciative of Mrs. Zhao.”

“You are already appreciative of her,” Leo replied. “And she is more than a housekeeper.”

Mrs. Zhao was family.

“It is odd, isn’t it?” Leo went on, taking Jasper’s arm when he offered it. “Both Mrs. Lawlor and Mrs. Herrington had interactions with private investigators before they were tricked into marriage.”

“One was for a dishonest suitor, the other for a theft,” Jasper said. “The two don’t seem to have anything in common. But I can have PC Mills go through our listing for private inquiry agents to find this Bentley fellow. Follow it up, just in case.”

They hailed a cab, and Jasper was giving the driver instructions to take them to Scotland Yard when Leo had another idea. “Can you take us to Hill Street in Mayfair, instead?” she called up to the driver.

He nodded, and Jasper climbed into the cab, his expression fixed with doubt. “We’ve already had two disappointing interviews today. Are we aiming for three?”

“I know Mrs. Lawlor hasn’t been cooperative,” Leo replied. “But now that there is confirmation that Sebastian Lawlor and Rupert Herrington were one and the same man, she should be informed. She was lucky to come out of her ordeal alive. Victoria Herrington wasn’t. Maybe Mrs. Lawlor will now feel some inclination to help us find Mr. Gray.”

Jasper didn’t look convinced but sat back on the bench without debate. As they started across town, he reached for Leo’s hand.