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“I can explain more after I’ve spoken to Dr. Wakefield, sir.”

“Tristan?” Violet Delacourt’s voice carried from the sitting room.

“Yes, my darling? Fret not.”

Gideon saw him past Delacourt’s frame. Wakefield bent to kiss Violet Delacourt’s cheek, then straightened his lapels and strode out in the hall to face them.

“You wish to speak to me, Inspector?”

“We do.”

Wakefield’s eyes flicked to Electra for a moment. “Very well. I will tell you whatever I may if it will assist your investigation.”

Violet Delacourt had trailed the two men into the hall, and she curled a hand round Wakefield’s arm. “Tristan, what is this about?”

“I do not know, my love, but I am willing to speak to Inspector Pierce and Miss Poole.” Wakefield stared at Electra for so long that it unsettled Gideon, but the moment he considered saying something, the man turned his attention back to his fiancée, whose hand he patted reassuringly.

“Is there a room where we might speak?” Gideon directed the question to Roger Delacourt, who stood staring at his future son-in-law, shock and confusion written in every line of his face.

Mrs. Jones stepped into the hallway. “I can take them to the study, sir,” she said to Delacourt.

“Of course, yes. Very good.”

Mrs. Jones passed a glance over the three of them and then turned on her heel, as if expecting them to follow.

Wakefield, nearest to her, gently lifted Violet Delacourt’s hand from his arm and then followed directly behind the housekeeper. Gideon and Electra trailed them from a few paces back.

“He does not wish to speak to me,” Electra whispered. “He knows what I am. His own fiancée is the one who chose me.”

“I still want you in the room,” Gideon whispered back. “You may be able to see or sense something that I cannot.”

He could almost feel her satisfaction at the declaration. Their arms brushed as they walked.

“Very well,” she whispered with a glance his way.

Once they’d entered the wood-paneled study with a fire burning low in the grate, Mrs. Jones turned up the gaslight, then left the room, shutting the door behind her.

Two tufted settees sat facing each other adjacent to the fireplace, and Gideon and Electra sat side by side on one, though Wakefield remained standing.

“Have a seat, Doctor,” Gideon urged.

The young man rolled his head on his shoulders, then flicked the tails of his evening coat back, and settled across from them, stretching an arm out against the back of the settee. A false performance of ease, Gideon thought.

“Would you tell me the nature of your relationship with Miss Iris Delacourt?” Gideon asked.

“Well, she is the sister of my fiancée.”

“And what else?”

“A kind, intelligent young woman.”

“To you personally, Doctor.”

Wakefield narrowed his gaze. “What are you implying, Detective Inspector?”

“Miss Collier handed over a key to her lodgings to Iris Delacourt for the purpose of you and Iris having a rendezvous there. Isn’t that true?”

Wakefield’s jaw tightened so hard, his teeth could be heard grinding. “Who told you that?”