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It was clear to Peter that he would get no further with this matter. The best he could do was make sure Miss Hastings was kept so busy she’d stay out of his way.

“I’ll see to it that a desk is made available to you in the front office,” he told her once they’d left her father’s office.

She kept a clipped pace beside him. “I realize the situation is not to your liking, but I do wish you’d give me a chance to prove my worth.”

Her comment – the implication that he was the one being difficult when she had begun their acquaintance with criticism – infuriated him to no end.

Doing his best to keep a level tone, he told her, “Of course I’ll give you the chance to do so.

After all, it’s not as though I have a choice in the matter. Is it?”

For the first time, she failed to provide a retort. When he glanced at her, he saw that her brow was creased, her chin slightly dipped as she kept walking. Somehow, her unwillingness to defend the accusation increased his respect for her a little bit more.

“I’m sorry,” she said once they’d reached the front office where most of the Runners worked.

He wasn’t sure he believed her. She’d gotten precisely what she wanted.

Nevertheless, he expelled a sigh and tried to accept the situation for what it was.

Maybe she would spot a clue he’d missed even if the last thing he needed right now was having to protect a gently bred lady from the gruesome side of life.

“I’ll see to it that you’re given the file in question.

” Her eyes lit up and a bright smile of excitement followed.

Peter’s mind went blank for a moment. All he could do was stare at her, like a sailor brought under a siren’s spell.

He shook his head, reminded himself to be sensible, and approached the spot where Andrews sat.

“This is Miss Hastings. The chief magistrate’s daughter.

She’ll need a desk to work at, and I’m hoping you can ensure that she gets one. ”

Andrews, who’d leapt to his feet as soon as he’d spotted Miss Hastings, nodded even as his eyes remained wide with curiosity. No doubt he questioned her presence here just as much as Peter did.

“Right then. I’ll leave you in Andrews’s capable hands.” Peter turned from Miss Hastings and told Andrews, “Come see me when you’re done, and I’ll hand you a file for Miss Hastings to look at.”

Peter strode off but when he passed the spot where Lewis sat, the young Runner warned him, “Mr. Croft is in your office.”

“What?”

“Said he needs to speak with you. It sounded important.”

From one problem to another. Peter heaved a breath and prayed the day would bring no more surprises. “Thank you. I suppose I’ll go see what he wants.”

Although Peter had turned against his superiors and helped Croft avoid the hanging he’d been sentenced to, he’d done so on principal. Not because he considered the man more worthy of saving than any other, but because he believed everyone deserved a fair trial.

It shocked him to think of the people who’d tried to prevent that. Sir Nigel, Lord Carver, and Lord Avernail. They’d wanted to force a sentence that served their agenda. Peter would not stand for such a heinous act which in his opinion made them more dangerous than the man they’d tried to destroy.

At least Croft seemed to have some sort of moral compass. Peter had experienced it for himself when he’d found Croft and his wife in that run-down house. Had watched him torture and kill a man guilty of smuggling children.

While Peter could never employ such methods, he’d felt no pity for the scoundrel in question. If anything, he’d slept more soundly since, knowing there was one less monster for him to contend with. One less evil-doer threatening innocent lives.

For that at least, he was grateful to Croft.

Even if he’d no wish to know what the man had done with Mrs. Hillford.

According to the lady’s husband, she’d packed her things and run off, he knew not whereto.

Considering her connection to the child-smugglers, Peter didn’t believe a word of it but rather suspected Croft had ensured she was punished as well.

He entered his office and greeted the man who waited for him, then said, “I’m surprised you’d want to return here.”

“Certain things are more important than my dislike of this location.”

“Nevertheless, I had hoped to avoid you as much as possible henceforth.”

Croft smirked. “And here I was, thinking you were eager for a bit more adventure.”

“Not the kind you have to offer.”

“We’ll stick with your area of expertise then, shall we?” When Peter raised a brow Croft said, “I’ve come to ask if you know anything about missing maids and footmen.”

“What?”

“Have you had any reports of such people disappearing?” When Peter just stared at him, Croft mentioned the conversation he’d overheard at White’s along with what an acquaintance of his had mentioned last night.

“I thought these incidents might be connected. At the very least, someone ought to investigate.”

“Agreed.”

Andrews arrived and offered Croft a quick nod by way of greeting before telling Peter, “I’ve given Miss Hastings a desk as requested. You mentioned a file you want her to look at?”

“Yes.” Peter crossed to his desk where he’d left the file. He flipped it open, leafed through the pages, and removed the ones that contained detailed sketches of the body. They simply weren’t appropriate for a young woman to study, so she would have to rely on his notes instead.

He handed the modified file to Andrews and the Runner left.

“That’s new, is it not?” Croft murmured. “Female investigators?”

Peter squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger and sighed. “She’s the chief magistrate’s daughter. Denying her isn’t an option.”

“Hmm… I’m surprised the man would allow his daughter to engage in this kind of work.” Croft lowered himself to one of the vacant chairs intended for visitors. “It’s hardly for the faint of heart.”

Peter claimed his own seat with a grunt. “I suppose we’ll see how she fares.”

“There’s every chance she’ll impress you.”

“There’s an equal chance she won’t.” Peter grabbed a piece of paper and started jotting down all the details Croft had mentioned thus far. “When did you say the Ottersburg maid went missing?”

“On Monday, last week.”

“That would be eight days ago today.” Peter mulled that over for a second. “I’m starting to think this acquaintance of yours should accompany me to the morgue.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I can’t help but wonder if the unidentified woman some dockyard workers pulled from the Thames could be his missing maid.”

* * *

Adrian’s carriage halted in front of St. George’s hospital. He and Kendrick had picked up Murdoch on the way there. The trio alit and entered the neoclassical building that filled the entirety of Hyde Park Corner.

“I visited the foundling home earlier today,” Adrian told Murdoch as they strode through the hallway that had become far too familiar to him in recent months.

Isak, who’d joined him, had seemed to enjoy spending time with his own age group, something Adrian would try to encourage more of.

“You’ve done an excellent job. The children appear to be well looked after. They seemed happy.”

“They’d certainly be worse off without your investment.”

Adrian’s gut twisted in anger. “My wife suffered such an existence when she was a child. I can’t stand the thought of anyone else having to do so.”

“You’ve opened an orphanage?” Kendrick’s tone proved his surprise.

Adrian sent the chief constable a sly look. “Turns out I’ve a soft spot for those who are being mistreated. Women and children especially.”

“What’s your angle?”

Adrian refused to answer the insulting question. Besides, they’d arrived at their destination, the smell that greeted him just as awful as when he had been here last. Honestly, he hated having to come to this place. Looked like Kendrick did too, judging from his strained expression.

Doctor Fellowes heard them enter the examination room and turned to greet them. “I’d say it’s a pleasure to see you again, gentlemen, but given the circumstances I’m not sure that’s the right choice of words.”

Adrian nodded and gestured to Murdoch. “This acquaintance of mine operates the largest employment agency in the City. When he mentioned the disappearance of a few men and women he helped find employment, I thought I’d bring the matter to Bow Street’s attention.”

“Made me wonder if one of these individuals Mr. Croft told me about could be the woman who was brought in last Tuesday.” Kendrick stepped farther into the room. “I’m hoping to have a look. See if Mr. Murdoch recognizes her.”

“It’s a fairly grizzly sight,” Fellowes warned. “She’s been dead more than a week, part of which was spent submerged in water. You’re lucky she hasn’t been sent for burial yet.”

“I did insist you keep her on ice for as long as possible,” Kendrick said. “Whatever clues her body might still provide will be lost once she’s in the ground.”

“Nevertheless,” Fellowes said. “With the autopsy concluded, it’s time to put her to rest.”

Adrian agreed though he understood Kendrick’s frustration. There was nothing worse than feeling as though one might have missed a piece of evidence and that evidence would soon be gone forever.

They followed Fellowes past the examination tables. A deceased man with white hair lay on one of them. The lower part of his body was covered by a white sheet, leaving his chest and abdomen on display. Two large incisions had opened him up for investigation.

Adrian suppressed a shudder. It wasn’t that he was averse to death or that he hadn’t seen his fair share of gruesome things, but this place…

His sister had been stretched out in a similar way. Not on that exact table but on the one beside it. The memory speared his heart and wrung out his lungs. He struggled to catch his breath, only to inhale the smell of decaying flesh.

Nausea made his stomach churn and he happily took the cheroot Kendrick offered. A sympathetic look shadowed the constable’s eyes, but rather than say anything, he merely lit a flint. Inhaling the smoke helped. He glanced at Murdoch, who appeared more determined than queasy.

The robust man crossed to the spot where Fellowes now stood and peered down at the body the doctor revealed. She lay in what looked like a stone sarcophagus. Stretched out on a bed of ice.

Her waxy skin was so pale the web of veins beneath stood out like dark inky lines. Several neat incisions had been stitched back up after Fellowes had finished his examination.

Adrian glanced at Murdoch when he heard the man swallow, a dull sound in the cold stone chamber. “Well?”

Murdoch, now slightly green around the gills, stared at the woman. And then he said, “There’s no doubt about it. That’s Polly Griffin. The Ottersburg maid.”