“How do you do, Mrs. Courtney,” Hester replied with a polite smile. “I think so highly of Margaret that to meet any member of her family is a great pleasure to me.”

“How kind of you,” Marielle murmured, turning to the man to her right and just behind her. “May I introduce you to my husband, Mr. Courtney?”

“How do you do, Mrs. Monk,” he responded dutifully. He was a bland-faced man of approximately forty, already a little corpulent, but full of assurance and general willingness to receive his wife’s family, and whoever they might bring with them, civilly enough.

The third person in the room was the one they had come to see, the man who might be able to tell them more about Nolan Baltimore. He was slender and unusual in appearance. His thick hair waved back off a high brow and was touched with gray at the temples, suggesting his age was more than his ease of carriage and elegance of dress portrayed. His features were very aquiline, his mouth full of humor. Marielle introduced him as Mr. Boyd, and laid rather more emphasis on Margaret than Hester was prepared for.

She saw Margaret stiffen and the color rise to her cheeks, although she masked her discomfort as well as possible.

The usual formalities of refreshment were offered and accepted. Marielle invited them to remain for dinner also, and Margaret declined without even referring to Hester, stating a previous engagement which did not exist.

“It is very good of you to come in order to furnish us with assistance and information, Mr. Boyd,” she said a little stiffly. “I hope it has not spoiled your evening.”

“Not at all, Miss Ballinger,” he replied, smiling very slightly, the humor going all the way to his eyes, as if he saw some joke that might be shared, but not spoken of. “Please tell me what it is you wish to know, and if I can answer you, then I will do so.”

“I understand the restrictions,” she said hastily. “I am sure you are aware that Mr. Baltimore died tragically just over two weeks ago . . . in Leather Lane?”

“I am.” If he felt any distaste he was too well schooled to show it.

Hester’s regard for him increased. She glanced at Marielle and saw her intense interest. She was watching Boyd, and then Margaret, and then Boyd again, as if the outcome was of the greatest importance to her. Hester was filled with a fierce understanding of why Margaret longed to escape from her home and the pressure to marry suitably . . . as Marielle had done, and possibly whatever other sisters she had. She recalled some mention of a younger one, who was no doubt impatient for her turn.