“Nay, love, don’t get upset about it. Mebbe I can help ye in some way. What der ye need? And what’s yer name?” Rosie asked, leaning on the bar.

“Oh goodness, how rude I’ve been, Miss Rosie. My name is Emma, Mrs. Emma Harte.” She stretched out her right hand and offered it to the barmaid. Rosie took it, and said, “Pleased ter meet ye, and I like yer crocheted gloves.”

“Thank you, Miss Rosie, and I need a place to stay, lodgings or a boardinghouse. And I don’t know Leeds at all or anyone here.”

“First, let’s drop this ‘Miss Rosie’ stuff. Everyone calls me Rosie.” Rosie eyed her shrewdly, her mind ticking. There was no way Mrs. Harte could stay round here. “And secondly, I have just the right place for ye to stay. It’s some streets away but not too far away if ye needs me. Mrs. Daniel has a respectable boardinghouse, and she’ll tek ye in. I knows that.”

“I do hope so. Where is her house, actually?” Emma was surprised she had used that word, “actually,” a favorite of Mrs. Wainright’s. And then a small smile flickered; she was pleased with herself and the way she was speaking.

Rosie said, “I’ll write her address on a bit of paper. But ye’ll find it easily. Walk ter the end of this road, cross the side street and keep going for nine more side streets. Her house is number five. Ye can’t miss it because it is a tall house, with a brass knocker, and it has white lace curtains.”

“Thank you, Rosie, for being so helpful. I’ll come and see you again.”

“Ye better do that,” Rosie answered, and smiled. “And the minute Blackie O’Neill walks in here, I’ll tell him where yer living.”

Emma found Mrs. Daniel’s house at last. It was narrow, wedged between others, its Victorian walls blackened by factory soot, but there were indeed crisp lace curtains and a gleaming brass knocker on the door. She lifted it, then dropped it.

A moment later, the door was jerked open, and a thin, gray-haired woman was staring at her. “Trying to break the door down, are ye? And what do ye want?”

“I’m so sorry. It did make a rather loud bang,” Emma said, sounding apologetic. “I hadn’t realized it was so heavy.” She offered her biggest smile and went on, “I’m looking for Mrs. Daniel.”

“I’m Mrs. Daniel. What’s yer name?”

“Emma Harte.”

“Why are ye on me front step, miss?”

“I was told by Miss Rosie at the Black Swan that you run a lodging house, let rooms.”

“Not to women I don’t. Women create problems. I only take in gentlemen lodgers. Yes, single women are a nuisance and—”

“I’m not single, Mrs. Daniel,” Emma said, interrupting her. “I’m Mrs. Harte.”