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property.” Her fingers tightened visibly on the glass. “He also said . . . well, never mind. It is no longer important.”
    “What did he also say?” Ambrose prodded gently.
    “He said, ‘You’re a dead woman, that’s what you are.’” She straightened her already very straight shoulders. “What do you know of this Alexander Larkin?”
    “He is one of the most notorious figures in London’s underworld, a master criminal or a sort of crime lord, if you like. He worked his way up from the toughest streets in the city. He now lives the life of a wealthy gentleman, but he lacks any genuine social connections and, of course, is not received in Society.”
    “All of the trappings of the upper classes but not a part of that world.” She turned the sherry glass between her palms as though trying to warm her fingers. “Just like any other wealthy man who made his fortune in trade, I suppose.”
    “He is certainly in trade. Larkin has financial interests in a variety of illegal enterprises including brothels and opium dens. He has been suspected in a number of murders over the years. But he has always been extremely careful to keep a discreet distance between himself and his criminal activities. The result is that the police have never been able to obtain enough evidence to arrest him.”
    Her mouth tightened. “That would appear to confirm my students’ theory about what happened to my predecessor at the castle.”
    “There was another teacher before you?”
    “Yes. A Miss Bartlett. She was there for only a few weeks. One afternoon Rimpton and his companion arrived at the castle. That night the girls were locked in their bedroom. When they were let out the next morning, Miss Bartlett was gone. So were the two men from London.The castle staff told the girls that Miss Bartlett had been dismissed from her post and that the men had escorted her, together with her trunk, to the train station very early that morning. But the girls were convinced that the men had done something terrible to Miss Bartlett.”
    “What made them suspicious?”
    “Miss Bartlett left a few things behind, including a favorite pair of gloves.”
    He raised his brows. “An astute observation.”
    “The girls are far more observant than anyone at the castle gave them credit for.” Concordia angled her chin. “Those who find themselves alone and without resources very quickly learn to pay attention to the little things going on around them—things that others might ignore.”
    “I am well aware of that, Miss Glade.”
    She gave him a long, measuring look. “Are you?”
    “Yes.”
    He said nothing more, but she appeared to accept his assurance.
    “As it happens, I eventually concluded that the girls may have been right about what had happened to their first teacher,” she said after a while. “I did not immediately subscribe to that notion, you understand. I am very well aware that young ladies can be extremely imaginative, especially when they have been left to their own devices for long periods of time. For the most part my students were ignored while they were at the castle. Until I arrived, that is.”
    “I imagine that you kept them well occupied,” he said, amused.
    “I do not believe in strict regimentation, Mr. Wells, but I have found that a certain amount of order and routine provides a sense of stabilitythat is quite comforting for many young people, especially those who have been orphaned.”
    He was impressed with her insights. “Please continue.”
    She cleared her throat. “When the girls showed me the gloves they had found in the room that Miss Bartlett had used while she was at the castle, I admit that I became quite curious. A teacher’s pay is not so generous that she can afford to be reckless with her possessions. And the gloves were, indeed, quite new and rather expensive-looking.”
    He raised his brows, acknowledging the point. “When did the girls tell you of their suspicions?”
    “Not for some time.