She turned in the seat to stare at him, her face twisted with a fury so intense he drew back from it, loosening his hold on her.

“A great wrong, Mr. Monk,” she said softly, her voice trembling, her words almost a hiss. “People were wronged then, and are wronged now. But revenge will come—that I promise you. It will come . . . on my mother’s grave . . . on mine if need be.”

“Miss Harcus . . .”

“Please get out!” Her face was ashen now. “I need to think, and I must do it alone.” She snatched her hand from him and, picking up the parasol, banged on the front of the hansom to draw the driver’s attention. “I will tell you . . . this evening.”

She banged on the front again, more fiercely.

“Yes, miss?” the driver answered.

“Mr. Monk is alighting. Would you be so good as to stop,” she ordered.

“Yes, miss,” he said obediently, and pulled in to the curb. They were at the corner of Marylebone Street and the Edgware Road, traffic streaming around them in both directions.

Monk was touched by a deep concern for her. She looked so torn by conflicting passions it was almost as if she had a fever. He wanted desperately to know what she meant by stating so vehemently that Dundas was innocent and that revenge would come, or what the present wrong was that he could not see. But now that he knew where she lived at least he could find her again when she was calmer. Perhaps he could even be of some help to her. Now she needed to rest and compose herself.

“I’ll call upon you, Miss Harcus,” he said far more gently. “Of course, you need time to consider.”

She made an intense effort at self-control, breathing in very deeply and letting it out in a sigh. “Thank you, Mr. Monk. That would be very good of you. You are most patient. If you would call upon me this evening—after eight, if you would be so good—then I shall tell you what you wish. I shall speak to Michael Dalgarno again, and that will be the end of it, I promise. You have played your part perfectly, Mr. Monk. I could not have wished better. You will see me after eight? Do you give me your word—absolutely?”

“I do,” he swore.

“Good.” The faintest ghost of a smile touched her face. “At twenty-three Cuthbert Street. You have given me your word!”

“Yes. I will be there.”

He alighted and stood on the pavement as the hansom pulled away from the curb immediately and was lost in the traffic.