Charlotte started to laugh, and after a moment’s hesitation Emily joined in.

The old lady had no idea what was funny, but she certainly was not going to admit it. She considered what to do for several seconds, then decided she had least to lose by joining in, which she did. It was a curious, rusty sound, one that even Emily, in whose house the old woman lived, had not heard in years.

She remained for another ten minutes or so, then in spite of the fact that she was desperately inquisitive as to why Charlotte had called, she dragged herself to her feet and stumped out. It was apparent that no one was going to tell her, and she would not sacrifice her dignity to ask.

As soon as the door was closed behind her, Emily leaned forward. “So?” she asked. “What is this more ordinary problem that has engaged you?”

“Gracie has a friend, Tilda Garvie,” Charlotte began. “Her brother, Martin, is valet to Stephen Garrick, living in Torrington Square. Tilda and Martin are very close, being orphans since the ages of six and eight, respectively.”

“Yes?” Emily’s eyes were wide.

“Martin has not been seen for four days now, and according to Garrick’s butler, is no longer in the house, but he would not tell Tilda where Martin has gone, nor why.”

“A missing valet?” There was no inflection in Emily’s voice to betray her emotions.

“A missing brother,” Charlotte corrected. “More significant than his mere absence is the fact that it was over the time of Tilda’s birthday, which he has never previously forgotten. If he had lost his position, and thus his lodging, even if the circumstances were embarrassing or disgraceful, surely he would have found a way to convey to her his whereabouts?”

“What do you suspect?” Emily frowned. “Have the Garricks reported him missing?”

“I don’t know,” Charlotte said impatiently. “I can hardly go to the nearest police station and ask them. But if they had, then why did they not tell Tilda so, just in case she knew where he was?”

“It would seem the intelligent thing to do,” Emily agreed. “But people are not always as clever as you would suppose. The most surprising people lack ordinary sense. What other possibilities are there?” She held up her fingers. “He was dismissed for dishonesty? He ran off with a woman, one of the maids from another household? He ran off with someone’s daughter, or worse, someone’s wife? Or a prostitute?” She started on the other hand. “He is in debt and has to hide from his debtors? Or worst of all, he met with an accident, or was attacked on purpose, and is dead somewhere but has not been identified?”

Charlotte had already thought of most of those answers, especially the last. “Yes, I know,” she said quietly. “I would like to find out which of them is the truth, for Tilda’s sake… and Gracie’s. I think she quarreled with Inspector Tellman over it because he said it wasn’t a case, so he couldn’t look into it.”

“Inspector? Oh… yes.” Emily’s expression quickened with interest. “How is that romance going? Will she relent and marry him, do you think? What will you do without her? Look for a good maid already trained, or start again with another child? You can’t! Can you?”

“I don’t know whether she will or not,” Charlotte said ruefully. “I rather think so… I hope so, because he is so much in love with her, and he is beginning to realize it slowly, and with great reluctance. And I have no idea what I shall do without her. I don’t even want to think of it. I have had more changes than I wish to already.”

Emily’s sympathy was instant and genuine. “I know,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry. It was much more fun in the old days, when we helped Thomas with his cases-our cases-wasn’t it?”

Charlotte bit her lip, half to hide a smile, half so the sharpness of it would recall her to the present. “I need to find out all I can about Stephen Garrick,” she said firmly. “Sufficient so I can either discover indirectly what happened to Martin Garvie or, if necessary, just ask him.”

“I’ll help you,” Emily said without hesitation. “What do you know about the Garricks?”

“Nothing, except where they live, and even that only approximately.”

Emily rose to her feet. “Then we need to begin by enquiring.” She looked Charlotte up and down with more or less approval. “You are ready to go calling, except you will need a better hat. I’ll get you one of mine. I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes…” She reconsidered. “Or perhaps half an hour.”

They set off actually almost an hour later in Emily’s carriage, first to call upon a friend close enough so they could be fairly open in asking questions.

“No, he’s not married,” Mrs. Edsel said rather seriously. She was a pleasant, rather ordinary-looking woman, distinguished only by a lively expression and an unfortunate taste in earrings. “Is someone you know considering him?”

“I rather think so,” Emily lied with practiced social ease. She was used to the accommodations of good manners. “Should she not?”

“Well, there’s plenty of money, I believe.” Mrs. Edsel leaned forward a little, her face eager. Gossip was food and drink to her, but she also genuinely wished to be helpful. “A very good family. His father, Ferdinand Garrick, is a highly influential man. Excellent military record, so my husband says.”

“So why would his son not be a good match?” Emily asked innocently.

“Perhaps for the right woman, he might be.” Mrs. Edsel remembered her social aspirations and became more circumspect.

“And for the wrong woman?” Charlotte could contain herself no longer.

Mrs. Edsel regarded her with a shadow of suspicion. She knew Emily, but Charlotte was a stranger, and neither her possible use nor her danger was known.

A shadow of warning crossed Emily’s face, and of criticism for having interrupted.

There was no way to take it back. Charlotte made herself smile, and it felt a bit like the baring of teeth. “I am concerned for a friend,” she said with perfect honesty. Despite their differing stations, Gracie was most certainly a friend; few others were as good.

Mrs. Edsel eased a fraction. “Is your friend young?” she enquired.

“Yes.” Charlotte guessed this was the correct answer.

“Then I think she would be wiser to look elsewhere-unless she is very plain.”

This time Charlotte held her tongue.

“What is his fault?” Emily asked with extraordinary boldness. “Does he have disreputable friends? Who might know him?”

“Oh, really…” Mrs. Edsel was now torn between anxiety at committing an irretrievable indiscretion, and a burning curiosity. “He belongs to the usual clubs, I’ve heard,” she went on. That remark was surely safe enough.

“Does he?” Emily opened her blue eyes very wide. “I cannot recall my husband mentioning him. Perhaps I simply did not notice.”

“I am sure he is a member of Whites,” Mrs. Edsel assured her. “And that is just about the best.”

“Indeed,” Emily agreed.

“Anyone who is anyone…” Charlotte murmured sententiously.

Mrs. Edsel gave a little gasp, and then a giggle, quickly stifled. “To be honest, I really don’t know. But my husband says he drinks a good deal more than he can hold… rather often. It is not a gross fault, I know, but I don’t care for it myself. And he is somewhat morose of temperament. I find that most difficult. I prefer a man of reliable demeanor.”

“So do I.” Emily nodded, avoiding Charlotte’s eyes in case she should laugh, knowing what a lie that was. It sounded unutterably boring.

“And I!” Charlotte added with feeling as Mrs. Edsel looked to her for approval. “Indeed, if you are going to spend some time with a person, it is essential. One cannot be forever wondering what to expect.”

“You are quite right,” Mrs. Edsel said with a smile. “I hope you do not think I am forward, but I would advise your friend most decidedly to wait a few months longer. Is it her first season?”