“Oh, poor lambs. I’m so sorry. I’ll leave you alone. Two fish pies all right? The trout’s from the Akill itself, and smoked by my lady. Mellie, two fish pies. Will you, love?”

A stout woman with graying dun hair looked up from the radio. “Now, Sam?”

“News won’t change in the next ten minutes. If it does, I’ll give you the form when you come back. Now shake off the dross!” She turned back to Lillian. “Sorry. She can be a sow, but this time at least she’s got good reason. Her sister was Catwalk, and died of cholera in the camps. She was truly looking forward to his hanging. Anything to drink?”

“Burdock and seltzer,” said Lillian, faintly. “And … um, pint of the session?”

“At the table as soon as you are. Have a seat. You look pale all of the sudden.”

“I skipped breakfast.”

She didn’t remember sitting down, but there she was quite suddenly, facing Stephen over a water-ringed table against the back wall. The sound of the wireless reached them there quite easily, so they heard the repetition of the bulletin on the hour, and then the rapid patter of a reporter. For once Lillian took in none of the news; the landlady’s words were still running circles in her head.

Her sister was Catwalk … died of cholera in the camps … looking forward to his hanging. How could things get so twisted around? The founder of the Catwalk had been Cyril’s friend. She had hung on his arm and charmed the deputy commissioner: there was a report about that in Cyril’s file, written in his own hand. And a recommendation—never sent—that the Ospies approach Lehane and bring her into the fold as a fox.

But that would never come to light in Lillian’s lifetime. Not while Gedda wanted a dead hero to worship and a living villain to hang.

Sam brought two glasses and set them down, adding to the collection of circular stains on the wood. “Pies in a moment, nubbins.”

When she had gone back to the small crowd at the radio, Lillian leaned forward over the table and their glasses and spoke softly to Stephen. “Eat fast and don’t make a fuss. We need to get through this without a scene.”

One of those shifts came over him, pulling him back from the cusp of grown. His eyes turned wide and fear made his face slack and soft, unsure about the mouth.

“Buck up, beastie,” she told him. “We’re undercover.”

And even though she’d just told Merritt that her son was nothing like his uncle, even though she hoped he wouldn’t meet his uncle’s fate or be forced into any of the same corners, she was proud to see how quickly he pulled himself straight and put on a mask.