Once he’d given a brief verbal sketch of the woman he sought, Jamie offered a high price for news of her whereabouts. After taking his blade out to clean the fingernails of his left hand, he gave a casual warning: the man who touched Bliss Stafford McKenna would henceforth be able to relieve himself sitting down.

The cripple paled under the grime on his face, then backed away. “Yes, sir, Mr. McKenna,” he said. “You can count on me. You can depend on old Wally Row, yes, indeed.”

Jamie’s knife flew end over end through the air, lodging itself with a whistling thump between two of Row’s fingers in the wood of the piling he’d been grasping. “Remember what I told you,” he said cordially.

Row’s hand was trembling as he drew it close to his body. “I’ll remember. I’d never lie to you, mate.”

Jamie smiled. “I’m sure you wouldn’t,” he said. By the time he’d pulled the blade from the piling and slipped it back into its scabbard, Row had vanished.

To Bertha’s obvious surprise, Mr. Wilson did indeed condescend to answer Miss Pennyhope’s summons. He appeared in time for dinner, as it happened, and didn’t even pretend to polite reluctance when he was invited to stay.

Calandra apparently saw no reason to beat about the bush. Once they’d all settled down to juicy slabs of some roasted meat, potatoes, and creamed peas, she plunged right into the subject at hand. “This is my niece, Bliss Stafford—er—what was that other name again, precious?”

“McKenna,” Bliss supplied, almost in a whisper. If she hadn’t been so hungry, she’d have gone back to the tiny room beneath the stairs, which had been allotted to her as her very own, and hidden.

Mr. Wilson, who had been attacking his food with relish, laid down his fork. His brown muttonchop whiskers, tinged with gray, bobbed up and down as he chewed. “McKenna,” he repeated thoughtfully after some considerable time had passed.

The name reminded Calandra of the situation, which had apparently escaped her for a few minutes. “My niece married this fellow and came to rue the deed,” she said, conveniently leaving out the part about Nils and his pistol. “Now she wants an annulment, but there is one rather serious—and quite embarrassing—tangle.” Bliss should have known what was coming by her aunt’s dramatic pause. “That beast forced himself upon her.”

The piece of meat Bliss had been chewing caught in her throat, and she began to choke ingloriously. Calandra fanned herself and Mr. Wilson sputtered helplessly. It was Bertha who struck her a hard blow to the space between her shoulder blades.

The morsel was dislodged and Bliss was able to breathe again. After casting one grateful glance at the maid, she reached out for her water glass and took a steadying sip.

“Are you quite all right now, dear?” Calandra wanted to know.

“Fat lot of help it is to ask that,” Bertha muttered, watching Bliss intently in case she should need another smack.