“Then we gotta do it ourselves,” she said very quietly. “I don’t like that, Samuel. I wish as we din’t.”

He put out his hand instinctively and let it rest very gently over hers, covering it completely. “So do I, but we’ve got no choice. We wouldn’t be happy just forgetting about it. Tomorrow we’ll speak to Tilda again and get her to tell us everything Martin ever said about the Garricks. We’ve got to know more. As it is, we’ve got nothing to follow up.”

“I’ll fetch ’er when she does ’er errands, about ’alf past nine.” She nodded. “But she never told me wot Martin said before, so mebbe ’e didn’t say nothin’ about the Garricks. Wot are we gonna do then?”

“Go back and talk to the parlor maid at the Garrick house, who knew him fairly well,” he replied. “But that would be harder. If there is anything wrong, she won’t be able to speak freely while she’s there, and she’ll be afraid for losing her position.” He tried very hard to keep his feelings about that out of his face, and failed. “Do you want some apple pie?” he asked instead.

“Yeah… please.” The winkles had been delicious, but they were not very filling, and there is nothing quite like really good short-crust pastry and firm, tart apples, with cream on thick enough to stand a spoon up in.

When they had finished, Tellman paid and they left. Out in the cool evening, they walked side by side along the crowded footpath half a mile or so to the entrance of the music hall. There were scores of people, much like themselves, some of them more showily dressed, but most arm in arm, men strutting a little, girls laughing and swishing skirts. They pressed close together, pushing each other in excitement to get inside.

A hurdy-gurdy man played a popular air, and one or two people joined in singing with it. Hansoms stopped and more people added to the crowd. Peddlers sold sweets, drinks, hot pies, flowers and trinkets.

Gracie had to cling to Tellman’s arm not to be carried away by the press of bodies all pushing and shoving in slightly different ways. The noise of voices raised in excitement was terrific and she kept getting bumped and her feet trodden on.

Eventually they were inside. Tellman had bought tickets for seats nicely near the front of the stalls. They were going to sit down where they could see and hear properly. She had never done that before. On the few occasions she had been, she had stood at the very back, barely able to see anything at all. This was marvelous. She ought to be thinking about Martin Garvie and poor Tilda-and how on earth they were going to find out what had happened, even if they were too late to help. But the lights and the buzz of excitement, and the certainty settling warm and comfortable inside her that this was not just a single event, but the beginning of something permanent, drove everything else temporarily out of her mind.

The music started. The master of ceremonies produced wonderful tongue-twisting introductions, to oohs and aahs from the audience, and bursts of laughter. The curtain went up on an empty stage. The spotlight fell in a bright pool, and into it stepped a girl in a shining, spangled dress. She sang lilting, rather daring songs, and in spite of knowing perfectly well what they meant, Gracie found herself singing along when the audience joined in. She was happy, full of warmth.

The girl was followed by a comedian in a baggy suit, partnered by another who must have been the tallest and thinnest man alive. The audience found this hilarious, and could hardly stop laughing when the contortionist came on, and then the juggler, the acrobats, a magician, and lastly dancers.

They were all good, but Gracie liked the music best, sad songs or happy, solos or duets, and best of all when everyone sang the choruses. She barely thought of the world outside the circle of temporary enchantment right until she was at the kitchen door in Keppel Street and she turned to thank Tellman, and say good night to him.

She had intended to exercise some dignity and say it had been very nice, and not let it go to his head, as if he had taken her somewhere she had never been before. It was very foolish to let a man get above himself and think he was too clever, or that you ought to be grateful to him.

But she forgot, and all her enthusiasm was in her voice when she told him, “That was wonderful! I never seen such…” She stopped. It was too late to be sophisticated now. She took a deep breath. She saw in the light from the street lamp the pleasure in his face, and suddenly she was absolutely certain how very much it mattered to him. He was so vulnerable all she wanted was for him to know how happy she was. She leaned forward very quickly and kissed him on the cheek.

“Thank you, Samuel. That was the best evenin’ I ever ’ad.”

Before she could step back he tightened his arm around her and turned his head slightly so he could kiss her on the lips. He was very gentle, but he had no intention at all of letting her go until he was ready. She tried to pull back a little, just to see if she could, and felt a tingle of pleasure on learning that it was impossible.

Then he eased his hold on her and she straightened up, gasping. She wanted to say something clever, or mildly funny, but nothing came. It was not a time for words that meant nothing.

“Good night,” she said breathlessly.

“Good night, Gracie.” His voice was a little husky as well, as if he too had been taken by surprise.

She turned around and felt for the scullery doorknob, twisted it and went inside, feeling her heart beating like a hammer, and knowing that she was smiling as if she had just been told the funniest and most wonderful thing in the world.

IN THE MORNING Gracie found Tilda out shopping, and brought her back to the kitchen in Keppel Street, where Tellman was sitting across the table with Charlotte, already discussing the subject. Only for an instant, almost too small to be noticed at all, Gracie’s eyes met Tellman’s, and she saw a half smile on his lips, a warmth. Then it vanished and he concentrated on business.

“Sit down, Tilda,” Charlotte said gently, indicating the fourth chair at the table. Gracie took the third one. There was a pot of tea there already and no need for duties of hospitality to intrude.

“Yer know somethin’?” Tilda asked anxiously. “Gracie wouldn’t say nothin’ to me in the street.”

“We don’t know where he is,” Charlotte answered straightaway. She could not hold out false hope; it was crueler in the end. “But we have learned more. A friend of mine spoke to Mr. Ferdinand Garrick, and he told her that Stephen had gone to the south of France, for his health, and taken his valet with him, in order to care for him while he is away.” She saw Tilda’s face clear and felt an ache of guilt. “Mr. Tellman has tried to see if that is true. He found someone who saw what was almost certainly Stephen Garrick and Martin leaving the house in Torrington Square. But there is no record of their having taken any boat to France, either from London or Dover. In fact, he cannot find a train they have taken. So it seems Martin has not been dismissed, but we don’t know where he is, or why he has not written to you to tell you of his circumstances.”

Tilda stared at her, trying to understand what it meant. “Then where’d they go? If it in’t France, why’d they go at all?”

“We don’t know, but we intend to find out,” Charlotte answered. “What more can you tell us about Martin, or about Mr. Stephen?” She saw the total bewilderment in Tilda’s face, and wished she could be plainer. She did not know herself what she was asking. “Try to think of everything Martin ever told you about the Garrick family, and Stephen in particular. He must have spoken about his life there sometimes.”

Tilda looked on the edge of tears. She was struggling hard to make her brain override her fear and the loneliness that crowded in on her. Martin was all the family she had, all the life she could remember. Her parents were beyond infant recall.