“My things are there,” I said. “I’ll not risk having your aunt chuck them out.” The cookery books alone would set me back a long way.

“Or even sell them, knowing her,” Cynthia conceded. “But I am not crawling home. Auntie will lock me in my chamber and let me out only when I agree to marry. Even then I’ll be in chains as I’m led down the aisle.”

I cut through her nonsense. “We’ll go to Bobby’s flat. I know you say there’s no room there, but Bobby and Miss Townsend are your friends, and they will help you find somewhere to stay—with another friend perhaps. I will return to Mount Street, pack my things, and move to my old boardinghouse. If they have a place for me.”

I faltered at the end. The landlady at my usual boardinghouse was a decent sort, but she could not afford to keep a room open on the off chance I’d need it. I’d have to hope for the best or find another house. The Millburns had no space for another body, I already knew.

“Very well,” Cynthia said. “Duchess Street, cabbie,” she called. “Off Langham Place.”

“Yes, missus.” The hansom continued at its sedate pace.

“We shall see,” Cynthia said. “I very much think Bobby will insist you stay with us. We will all be very cozy.”

*   *   *

I’d visited the flat where Lady Roberta Perry dwelled a few times and liked it. The rooms were decorated in a modern style, with furniture in simple lines, a fern-patterned wallpaper, and much greenery about the place. Bobby also had a parlor stove she kept hot and a landlady generous with tea and pastries.

The flat was on the second floor of a house in a small lane called Duchess Street, not far from the grand Langham Hotel, where the important and wealthy stayed. As Cynthia said, it was quite cozy, and of course, crowded.

Bobby was in, welcoming us with aplomb. “Of course you can stay, Cyn. Judith isn’t back yet—she’s over sketching your lot.” She grinned at me as she ushered us to seats.

“Mrs. Bywater allowed Miss Townsend to return?” I asked in surprise.

“Auntie’s quite taken with her.” Cynthia slung her satchel to a table and herself into a low-backed chair, kicking her legs over one of its arms. “Miss Townsend is from a wealthy and prominent family.”

“And she wears skirts.” Bobby laughed. “How is your daughter, Mrs. H.? Such an adorable gel. Let her be anything she wants when she grows up, eh?”

I warmed at Bobby’s praise for Grace. “At the moment, she wants to read and have plenty of bread for tea.”