They meant absolutely nothing to me. I’d never heard of the people he named and had never encountered their servants, which meant they were not highborn enough or wealthy enough for my agency to send me to them or to their neighbors. Nor did they live in Mayfair, where everyone knew everyone. If they’d been philanthropists, I’d have heard of them somewhere, if only from the newspaper. The world of charitable London was surprisingly small, with many in the same circles sitting on the boards of several different charities.

“I don’t know them,” Cynthia said, echoing my thoughts.

“I do,” Miss Townsend said. “At least, know of them.” We turned to her, but somehow, I wasn’t very surprised. She was proving to be an unusual young woman.

“Mr. and Mrs. Florey are patrons of the arts,” Miss Townsend said. “They’ve never commissioned me, but have commissioned friends. Not for very much money, but some artists will paint for anyone who pays them in order to make names for themselves. I’ve never heard the Floreys were unsavory, but as I say, I know little about them. At the do’s in which I’ve encountered them, Mr. Florey drinks moderately, and they leave at a sensible hour.” She threw out her hands as though apologizing she could not tell us anything more scandalous. “The other couple I’ve not heard of at all.”

“At least you will have an excuse to visit the art-lovers,” Daniel told her. “Thanos, you’ll have to use your brief acquaintanceship at the Foundling Hospital for the other.”

“I’ll do that,” Cynthia said quickly. “Sometimes being the daughter of an earl has advantages.”

Miss Townsend gave her a nod. “Then we should come up with a plan of action.”

I rose. “Meanwhile, I have errands to run. I only have a half day today.”

“Ah yes.” Cynthia got to her feet with me, but said nothing about what those errands would be, keeping my secrets.

“I will see you out,” Daniel said to me.

I said my farewells to the others and allowed Daniel to escort me down the stairs and outside, but it seemed he had no intention of leaving me there. He thrust his hands into his coat pockets and began to walk beside me down Regent Street.

“What will you do next?” I asked as we went along in the cold.

“Investigate the death of Nurse Betts. Or at least prod Inspector McGregor to and to tell me everything he finds.”

“Is he likely to inform you?”

Daniel adjusted his hat against the wind. “I can make it an order from higher up if I have to. McGregor, though, is a practical man. If he believes I can give him information, he might give me a measure in return.”

I was skeptical, knowing the bad-tempered Inspector McGregor, though I also knew he was an intelligent man, not easily misled.