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“Have the police been bothering you?” I asked as I shed my coat and hung it on the hall tree. My gloves landed on the hall tree’s bench, and I straightened my hair in its mirror. “I shall have to have another word with Inspector McGregor.”

“No, ma’am.” Carrie’s worn face was blotchy with tears and worry. “No police have come. It’s the other blokes that I don’t like the look of.”

I paused to stare at her. “What other blokes?”

“The ones what—”

Carrie’s explanation was cut short as footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Grace came off them, flinging herself at me. I caught her, holding her warm body against mine. She was in her nightdress without a wrapper, though at least she’d thrust slippers on her feet.

“I knew you’d come,” Grace announced into my shoulder.

I made myself release her. “What are you doing out of bed,young lady? And without a dressing gown? You’ll catch your death. Upstairs with you.”

Grace grinned happily, knowing my scolding was hollow. I took her up the stairs myself, and she scampered ahead of me.

I longed for this, I realized with a pang in my heart. I wanted to be Grace’s mother in truth, chiding her for being up too late, cooking meals for her, and hugging her whenever I wished.

For now, I eased my yearning by steering her to the bedchamber she shared with Joanna’s daughters, Jane and Mabel.

Two bedsteads filled the small room—Jane and Grace shared one, while Mabel slept on a smaller bed in the corner. Both girls were sitting up, candles lit on their bedside tables.

“All you scamps are awake, are you?” I said, trying to be stern. “I’ll take care of your mum, don’t you worry. But you have to sleep. You won’t help her if you’re crosspatches in the morning, will you?”

“Are you really staying?” Grace hopped up on the thick mattress beside Jane, who moved the covers aside for her.

“For tonight.” I shook out the blankets as Grace lay down and settled them over both girls. “You go to sleep now.” I bent and kissed Grace’s cheek.

I wanted to burst into tears as I did so. I should be doing this every night, soothing her fears, admonishing her to rest, perhaps sitting on a chair at her bedside and reading out from a book. Mothers were supposed to do that.

I quickly moved to give Jane a peck on the forehead and then Mabel, as she too snuggled down. My eyes blurred, and I had to take a moment to blink them clear.

“Good night, Mum.” Grace, ever cheerful, enjoyed the moment.

I could not resist kissing her again, smoothing her hair before I made myself snuff out both candles and leave the room.I closed the door and then stood in the hall until I could breathe properly again.

I peeked into the room across the hall, where the boys, Matthew and Mark, likewise were not asleep, but sitting in the middle of their bed, murmuring to each other. I could not blame the children for their restlessness, but I was right in saying that they would do no one any good if they took sick from wakefulness and worry.

I told the two lads to lie down and cease talking. They obeyed me without hesitation, though I suspected they’d simply wait until I was abed before they continued their conversation.

Joanna was in the chamber she shared with Sam, though she was not in the bed. She sat listlessly in an armchair, her gaze wandering to the shuttered window, which rain had begun to batter. Joanna did not rise when I entered, though she must have heard me puttering about her children’s bedrooms.

She’d undressed but had wrapped herself in a worn flannel dressing gown of faded maroon. A man’s dressing gown, I saw—Sam’s.

A fire had been built on the hearth sometime today, but it had died to a smolder, the room chilled. Many houses in London now had stoves rather than open fireplaces, but this modest home, standing in this lane for more than a hundred years, had no such amenities. Sam’s salary went to a decent cookstove in the kitchen, but no further.

I poked the coals until flames flickered again, then pulled a chair next to Joanna’s.

“Who are these blokes Carrie says have come here?” I asked without preliminary. “Journalists? Or men from the bank?”

Joanna started at my abruptness, then let out a bitter laugh. “Nothing so easily dealt with. A few gents from Sam’s old life turned up, offering to help me. I knew what they meant.”

They could have meant many things, from them lending her money to offering to marry her if Sam was convicted. “Tell me exactly what they said,” I instructed.

Joanna flushed. “Nothing I wish to speak about.”

“I must know everything if I am to help you. It might be very important. This is me, your dearest friend. You can tell me anything.”

Joanna slumped into the chair. “What is the use? All Sam’s shame will come out when he’s in the dock, with a clever prosecutor dredging up his past. His old mates offered to break Sam from Newgate, spirit him to safety, and give him a different life. Kind of them, isn’t it?”