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“So…” She paused. “If the Crown arrested the owner, would the rest of us be safe?”

He cocked his head, studying the woman. Was she contemplating giving up the name of the owner to him? “Perhaps. Do you know who the owner is?”

She shook her head vigorously. “She… He did not kill anyone. The Crown is wrong.”

“Perhaps,” Ford agreed, taking note of her little slip-up.

“I want to be safe,” she whispered.

Ford nodded. “I promise to protect you. All of you.”

She ducked her head, hiding her eyes. “What do you want to know?”

“I want more details about the night the aristocrat was murdered. If I understand correctly, you were supposed to service him that night.”

She nodded, a little sob leaving her body.

“How well did you know the man?”

She shrugged. “Well enough to know what his naked body looks like, not well enough to know his name.” Her lips still trembled; she seemed distressed by the memories.

“Did he ever talk to you about his enemies? Someone he was afraid of?”

She shook her head. “No. He didn’t tell me much of anything like that. But he was rude and boastful. Telling me how he would be the best client I ever had.” She shuddered. “He wasn’t. I am not sorry he died. But I wish I didn’t have to see it.”

Interesting. “What about the man who called himself Erebus. Do you know him?”

She wrinkled her brows. “I don’t recognize the name.”

“He was tall,” Ford parroted the description Colette and Triss provided. “Very tall, wearing a wig, and a fake mustache.”

She shook her head again. “I don’t remember.”

He wouldn’t get much from this woman about the potential murderer, but he might get his suspicions confirmed about Triss. He was certain Harmony had been about to give up the identity of the brothel owner if she didn’t catch herself.

“Do you know every harlot in the brothel?”

“Of course.” She frowned.

“Do your customers know your names?”

She let out a chuckle. “Harmony is not my real name. But depending on what service I perform, I have different names.”

Interesting. “So, what are your other names then?”

She looked down and refused to answer.

“And who goes by the name Madame Tricheuse?” Ford pressed on.

Her eyes darted to the side, and she shifted in her seat uncomfortably. “I can’t tell you that.”

“You can’t tell me, or you don’t know?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but then footsteps sounded behind them, and even the air shifted in the room.

Harmony gathered her hands on her lap, her gaze demure.

Ford turned toward the door only to see Grace on the threshold. “Mr. Gunning,” she said in her calm, measured voice. Her features were impassive but he could feel her distrust, her apprehension from a few feet away.