“I am worried that some ne’er-do-well acquaintance of Mr. Merridew’s has decided to make free with the premises. He might not have taken anything yet, but by dark of night, he could load up a whole wagonload of parlor furniture in the alley, and nobody would be the wiser. Harry was not very discerning in his choice of friends.”

“Harry Merridew?” Mrs. Winklebleck asked. “That was yer man’s name?”

“Yes,” Matilda replied. “He’s been gone for several years, but he traveled around a fair bit and had connections in odd places, both in London and elsewhere. After all this time, I suspect one of those connections has decided to see if Harry’s widow has anything worth stealing. For myself, I don’t much mind, but that house is Tommie’s birthright and the only part of my trousseau that Harry couldn’t take to the pawnshop.”

From the looks on the faces of the men, Harry Merridew was fortunate to be dead.

“Women set store by their bridal finery,” Biggs said. “My sisters was sewing tablecloths and whatnot for years.”

“My mother’s china,” Bentley said, “come to her from her great-grandmother. This Merridew fella pawned your china, missus?

“He did, and what silver I had, but then, Tommie had to eat. I could hardly object.”

“If the weans need to eat, then the papa ought to find work,” Cook observed. “This husband of yours had no trade?”

Tremont resisted the urge to leap in and steer the conversation back to the business of securing the house itself. That topic needed airing, but Matilda also needed to know that nobody judged her for the sins of her late spouse—or for marrying him in the first place.

“Harry was a confidence trickster,” Matilda said. “He told me he was a man of business—and he certainly looked the part. I thought that meant he was credentialed as a solicitor. He was making his way to London where all the opportunities were. Within a fortnight of speaking my vows, I realized that I’d made a mistake, but some mistakes can’t be unmade.”

“Ye learn from ’em,” Cook said. “No use crying over spilled milk.”

“If you dropped one of your cream pies,” Amos Tucker said, “I’d cry.”

MacIvey cuffed him on the back of the head. “What are our orders, missus?”

Matilda looked to Tremont, who wasn’t about to relieve her of command, though he would offer suggestions.

“Surveillance?” he said. “Regular patrols? We replaced the key where we found it, and our inspection tour took place at sunset, meaning we probably weren’t observed.”