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“When she emerged from the dance hall,” Electra said, “there was a man on the pavement outside. He might have called to her. I heard no words, but she turned his way.”

“Can you describe the man?” Gideon asked.

“Unfortunately, I cannot. He stood in shadow. Of average height, I’d say. Perhaps dark hair, but I could not see him well.”

“Did he mean her harm, do you think?” Violet asked, her eyes wide with alarm.

“I think he startled her, but I did not sense fear. Only surprise.”

Violet pointed to the paintbox and the necklace lying beside it. “If you touched the necklace, might you see something else?”

Gideon cleared his throat. “Only if you are willing,” he said quietly, as if to her alone.

“I am,” Electra told him.

She gathered the necklace into the palm of her hand and then closed her other hand over it. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, thinking of the young woman she’d seen in the photograph. Willing herself to see something that might help them find Iris Delacourt. Anything that might tell them where she’d gone.

She sensed images forming, like a fog lifting. A hallway. Iris strode down the hall, then swung back as someone approached.

A lanky, sandy-haired young man in spectacles, his brows bent in anger, came into view. He snarled as he said something Electra could not hear.

A hand came up, as if Iris had lifted her hand out to stop him from approaching. Then images flashed quickly as she spun around and rushed down the hall. She stopped at a door with a bronze plaque labeled KERRIGAN and pushed her way inside a room cluttered with crates and shelves and piles of fabric.

Iris approached a long table, pressing her hands atop it. She seemed to be attempting to catch her breath. One hand came up to press against her chest, and Electra’s own heart thundered behind her ribs.

Then Iris twisted to look behind her, and a young woman came through the door. Pretty. Blonde. Calliope Collier. The same young woman who’d approached Iris in the dance hall. She looked worried as Iris approached her.

A moment later, the sandy-haired man entered the room, hand outstretched, finger pointing at Miss Collier. He shouted, face red, his mouth twisted as if in rage, spittle flying from his lips. But all his ire seemed to be directed at Miss Collier as Iris watched.

Miss Collier did not flinch from the man’s wrath. Indeed, she pushed on his narrow chest, pushed until he stumbled back across the threshold and then shut and bolted the door.

Electra’s own body trembled in fear, as if she could feel Iris Delacourt’s own.

Calliope Collier turned, planted her back against the door. But she only rested a moment before she crossed the room, pulled Iris into a hug, then pulled back to clasp her hands.

Iris looked down. The other young lady had pressed something into her palm. A key.

“Our secret,” Electra heard Calliope say, and she jolted in her chair.

It was extraordinary to hear anything when she saw someone’s memories.

She opened her eyes and pressed a hand to her chest. Gideon kneeled at her side a moment later.

“What is it, Electra?” His voice was uncharacteristically soft, and it soothed her racing heart a bit.

“I was startled for a moment, but I am all right.” She reached out to touch his sleeve, meaning to reassure him.

“May I get you anything, Miss Poole?” Violet asked, her eyes wide, as if Electra’s reaction had shocked her too.

“I’m well. Just need a moment to catch my breath.”

The young woman watched her with a mix of wariness and anticipation.

“I think perhaps I saw your sister at the museum, in the office where she works. A young man approached her and looked quite angry.” Electra glanced at Gideon, who’d pulled his chair closer to her and sat down again.

“My God,” Miss Delacourt gasped. “Did you see him harm her?”

“No.” Electra glanced at Gideon. “But I do wonder if it might be the young man Miss Collier had the conflict with.”