“I am afraid I am not certain. Papa said little of it at home. He and my brother, Jarvis, did not discuss business matters at the table. He always said it was not suitable to speak of in front of ladies.” There was a shadow of uncertainty in her eyes, not quite as strong as doubt. “He believed family and business should be kept separate.” Her voice dropped again. “It was something he cared about very much . . . keeping the home a place of peace and graciousness, where things such as money and the struggles of trade should not intrude. We spoke of the values that matter: beauty and intelligence, the exploration of the world, realms of the mind.”

“It sounds excellent,” Hester said, trying to sound as if she meant it sincerely. She did not want to hurt Livia’s feelings, but she knew that the inclusion of the ugly, and some attempt at the understanding of pain, was necessary for the kind of truth that makes the greatest beauty possible. But this was not the time or place to say so. “You must have been very happy,” she added.

“Yes,” Livia agreed. “We were.” She hesitated, sipping her tea.

“Mrs. Monk . . .”

“Yes?”

“Do you think it is likely that the police will ever find out who killed my father? Please be honest . . . I do not want a comfortable lie because you think it would be easier for me.”

“It is possible,” Hester said carefully. “I don’t know about likely. It may depend whether there was a personal reason, or if it was simply mischance, that he passed along the wrong street at the wrong moment. Do you know if he went intending to keep an appointment with anyone?” It was the question to which she most wanted an answer, and yet she was aware that the solution to Baltimore’s death might mean social ruin to his family, particularly to Livia, who was young and as yet unmarried.

Livia looked startled, then, on the brink of speech, she stopped and considered, setting her cup down again. “I don’t know. Certainly he did not tell us, but then he never discussed business with Mama or me. My brother might know. I could ask him. Do you think it would make a difference?”

“It might.” How honest should she be? Her whole reason for being there was dishonest to Livia. She was thinking of Monk and his need to know about fraud, and Fanny and Alice and all the other young women like them—in fact, all the women of the whole Coldbath area who were still living on the streets but were unable to earn anything because of the constant police presence. She was not trying to find the murderer of Nolan Baltimore because it would ease the grief of his family, or even in the impersonal cause of justice.