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Nobody knows where she went.”
    “Perhaps she found a better position in another house.”
    Flora gave a vigorous shake of her mobcapped head. “Nay, miss, she wouldn’t! Ye see, she was undermaid to Lord Mansfield and thankful to ’ave such a fine post—”
    “Wait,” Lindsey interrupted. “Did you say . . . ‘Mansfield’?”
    “The Earl of Mansfield,” Miss Underhill said, her thinned lips conveying disapproval. “A fine, respected old family from Oxfordshire. The current earl is regarded as a dashing war hero.”
    Blythe perked up. “Have you met him, Linds?”
    Lindsey felt exposed as everyone stared at her. She was forced to admit, “Yes, but only briefly.”
    “Well!” Miss Underhill said. “I must advise you to avoid him in the future. Since selling his commission, he has fallen in with the rogues and bounders of society. And there’s talk of a scandal in regard to his ward, a young lady who occupies the town house adjacent to his.”
    The news startled Lindsey. In spite of her resolve to appear uninterested in him, she was overwhelmed by morbid curiosity. “A young lady? Who is she?”
    “Miss Jocelyn Nevingford, age fifteen.” The governess thoughtfully tapped her chin with a bony finger. “I believe there’s a tenuous connection between her family and yours. I seem to recall my father speaking of a Squire Nevingford who hailed from the same area of Lancashire as the Cromptons.”
    “But why would Mansfield be appointed her guardian?” Lindsey persisted.
    “I’m hardly privy to the particulars of His Lordship’s private life. Now, that’s quite enough gossip for one day. Blythe, come with me at once and not another word out of you. This time, I will brook no more of your nonsense.”
    Apparently heeding the severity in Miss Underhill’s tone, Lindsey’s sister rose reluctantly from the stool. She flounced after the governess, grumbling all the way out the door.
    Lindsey breathed a sigh of relief. At last, she could focus on helping Flora, who was still dejectedly sniffling into the borrowed handkerchief.
Poor dear.
How terrifying it must be to imagine her missing cousin falling into the hands of a killer.
    Lindsey patted the girl’s hand again. “Don’t despair, darling. Somehow, I’ll find Nelda. I promise I will.”
    Lindsey meant every word. Now she had an even more pressing reason to find a way into Lord Mansfield’s house.

Chapter 4

    “With all due respect, sir,” said Cyrus Bott, “it was a surprise to return from Brighton and hear that Lord Mansfield has been brought in on this case. I had no notion you were displeased with my handling of the investigation.”
    Three men occupied the second-floor office at Number Four Bow Street. Cyrus Bott and Thane sat in straight-backed chairs across from the magistrate, who was ensconced behind his desk.
    Bott was a dapper young man whose dark blue coat and brass buttons marked him as a member of the famed Bow Street Runners. His thatch of wavy brown hair and limpid blue eyes brought to mind a dreamy poet rather than an officer of the law who served writs and tracked down criminals.
    Josiah Smithers, the chief magistrate, wore the black robes and tightly curled wig of his profession. His dour face betraying a hint of impatience, he peered at Bott over the gold-rimmed spectacles perched on the end of his bulbous nose.
    “Your work on the case has been more than adequate,” Smithers said, glancing down and shuffling the papers in front of him. “However, this second murder has attracted a nibble of interest from the newspapers. If there’s a thirddeath, it will be splashed all over the front pages, and that is precisely the situation we wish to avoid.”
    “I assure you, sir, I’m following every lead—”
    “There is only so much you can do on your own. We’ve ample reason to believe our culprit to be a man of high stature. You yourself concluded as much. His Lordship heard about the murders and volunteered his services,