The duke bowed and kissed her hand. “The pleasure is mine, Lady Monthalf. I wish I didn’t have to come bearing bad news.”

Phyllida paled. “What has happened?”

I put an arm around her and led her forward. “Perhaps we’d better take this conversation into the parlor.”

We all sat down on ruffled, floral-print-covered chairs. Phyllida unrolled her sleeves, her eyes never leaving Blackford’s face. Emma glanced at me, looking for signs of what I knew about the bad news.

The duke cleared his throat and said, “I bring bad news concerning your cousin Clara Gattenger.”

Phyllida twisted her fingers. “My cousin Isabel’s daughter? She’s been so happy since she married Kenny.” She looked from one face to another as she bit her lip. “What has happened?”

“Mrs. Gattenger was murdered in her home last night.”

Phyllida half rose and then sank back down. “No. Not Clara. Not poor, dear Clara. Have they caught her killer?”

“Her husband is in Newgate Prison for her murder,” Blackford said.

“No. That’s wrong. They were very happy.” She reached over and grabbed my arm. “Georgia, can’t you do something? Kenny would never have murdered Clara.”

“Are you sure, Phyllida?” I asked.

“Yes. Quite certain.” She rose and walked over to the open window overlooking the street. The lace curtains hung limply across the space without a breeze to stir them. “Do something, I beg of you. She was Isabel’s only child. Her killer must be punished. And that isn’t Kenny.”

“How far will you go to see her killer apprehended, Lady Monthalf?” Blackford asked. He rose and walked over to her.

She stared up into his face, her jaw set. “As far as necessary.”

“Are you willing to face aristocratic society again, to answer their questions, to put up with their gossip?” When his sharp voice silenced, his mouth slid into a cruel smile.

Phyllida stared into his eyes and for a moment I thought she would burst into tears. Slowly, she steadied herself and finally replied, “Whatever it takes to find Clara’s killer and free Kenny.”

His smile grew joyful. “I knew I could count on you, Lady Monthalf. On behalf of the queen, thank you.”

I could see only one way to proceed. “Then I think we need to send a message to Sir Broderick to set up a meeting of the Archivist Society tonight. You’ll attend, Your Grace?”

He nodded. “I’ll speak to Sir Broderick now, if you ladies will excuse me.”

Emma and I stood. He bowed to Phyllida and Emma, who curtsied, and then he took my arm to escort him to the door. “I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon. In one regard, I’m glad this has happened.”

He was glad! In response, my heart whistled a merry tune and my soul kicked up its heels. We stared, facing each other by the door, no longer touching but with an intimacy that had me leaning forward on the balls of my feet. His dark eyes smiled before he picked up his top hat and cane from the table by the door.

As he moved into the hallway, I said, “I’m glad you came to us. Aunt Phyllida seems set on seeing justice for her cousin, and apparently the police have the wrong man. Emma and I want to help her.” Knowing the duke could open many doors the rest of us couldn’t, I asked, “May I see the study where the attack took place? The servants wouldn’t have been allowed to clean it up yet, surely.”

“I’ll arrange it for this afternoon. I’ll pick you up at the bookshop.” He nodded to me and strode off.

I went back into the flat to find Emma and Phyllida putting luncheon on the table. “I’m afraid it’s just”—Phyllida stopped to see what she’d set on the platter she carried—“cold poultry and salad.”

The platter landed on the table with a thump. “Oh, Georgia, Emma. I’m so upset I don’t even know what I’m serving.” Her breath caught on a shudder. “Poor Clara.”

“I’m so sorry, Phyllida.” I gave her a hug and then stepped back so Emma could do the same. After we sat at the table and said grace, I said, “I’ve heard you speak of Clara many times, but not her mother.”

Phyllida sighed and moved her food around on her plate with her fork. “Clara’s mother, Isabel, and I were close as children. She married an Admiralty man, Lord Watson. Once my brother, William, gained control of my money and my life, he never let me see her again. Not even when she was dying.”

She put her napkin over her mouth and shut her eyes. I studied my plate until she said, “There. I won’t be silly. It’s all in the past. But you must find out what really happened to Clara. For Isabel’s sake. It’s the only thing I can do for her now.”

I wanted to distract Phyllida from remembering her evil brother as much as I wanted some background on the victim whose death I knew I’d soon be investigating. “I only saw Clara a few times a year when she visited us on a Sunday. I thought she was sweet, but I know nothing of her background. Tell me about her.”

“She was an only child. Her parents both doted on her. After Isabel’s death, she and her father were very close, and her father’s interests were in shipbuilding. That’s how she met Kenny Gattenger. They were in love from the first time they met, but he wouldn’t marry until he had enough money to support her properly, and she wouldn’t leave her father on his own. They broke off their engagement twice, but they finally married a year ago. That was after her father’s death, when his title and property had gone to some cousin.”

“Ken Gattenger wasn’t from money?”

“No. His parents ran a small shop. He was apprenticed to a draftsman. The man realized Kenny was brilliant and made sure he received a good education. As Kenny gained more experience, he found powerful patrons. Naval architecture became his specialty. He was a hard worker and a strict saver. All those years of saving made him a little mean with money. Clara said he didn’t pay the servants well, so she was always having to hire new as soon as one found a better-paying post.”

“What kind of couple were they?” Emma asked.

“A happy one,” Phyllida snapped.

“No, I mean, were they always fighting and making up? Did they entertain a great deal, did they share interests, did they like to travel, things like that.” Emma gave her a smile.

“Oh.” Phyllida turned pink. “They were quiet. They both liked to read, to stay home together in the evening in the study. They went out to the theater or to a dinner party on occasion, but that was all. Clara was content to visit friends during the day and wait for Kenny to come home to her in the evenings.”

“Did you see her often?” I asked. “Besides those Sunday visits when she brought her husband along, did you see her alone?”

“We’d have tea once every few weeks after I came to live here, during the day while you were in the shop. She’s the only relative I wanted to see after my brother”—she shuddered—“died.”

Her brother had been hanged at Newgate Prison, where Gattenger was now. However, her brother had murdered a string of East End prostitutes and was captured by the Archivist Society.

We’d find a lack of evidence in Gattenger’s case, I feared, and that would present problems proving his innocence.

“She was very happy in her new life as a married woman,” Phyllida said.

“Did you see much of Mr. Gattenger besides on their Sunday visits?”

“No. During the week, Clara always came by herself for tea. But I saw them together several times over the years of their long engagement, and they were very happy. Happy in their own quiet little circle, even when there were other people present. Do you understand what I mean?”

“They were happy with just each other for company,” Emma said.

“It’s more than that, there’s a whole world two people can share that no one else can enter. My parents were like that,” I said. Sometimes frustrating for me as a child, but beautiful to think back on.

“Yes. That’s how they were,” Phyllida said.