“How fortunate,” Effie said. “It is Miss Compton I have come to see.” She waited for Parker to take her up, but the butler didn’t move. Not immediately. He lingered a moment in the hall, regarding her with a troubled frown.

Effie had worn a violet-sprigged white organdy day dress with a ruched bodice and dainty pearl buttons. It was as unlike the black mourning garb she’d donned in Ellis Street as day was to night. She nevertheless felt a quiver of anxiety, fearing Parker might recognize her. “Is anything the matter?” she asked.

“No, miss,” he said. But his troubled aspect remained as he escorted Effie to the drawing room. He glanced at her several times as they ascended the stairs, eyes lingering on her face and figure as though struggling to recall a fact just out of his reach.

Effie prayed he wouldn’t make the connection between her and the veiled widow he’d observed outside Mrs. Naismith’s house. If he did…

But there was no point anticipating trouble. Not when Effie had trouble enough already.

Bringing her to the door of the drawing room, Parker announced her name in dour tones: “Miss Flite.”

Miss Compton sat on a lavish sofa upholstered in crane-and-pagoda-embroidered Japanese silk. She wasn’t alone. Ruth Mannering was seated across from her. She was still in her bonnet and gloves, a brown cloth paletot buttoned over her modest gown. She rose as Effie entered.

“Euphemia,” she said. “I was just taking my leave. You were to be my next stop.”

Effie exchanged curtsies with her before warmly taking her hand. “And you were to be mine.”

Ruth scanned her face with concern. “How are you faring after last night’s events?”

Effie was conscious of her appearance. She’d cried too much yesterday, and this morning, when she’d risen from bed, her looking glass had showed the proof of it. There were dark smudges under her eyes and a certain paleness beneath her golden ivory complexion.

It wasn’t only on account of the tragedy. It was owing to Gabriel. He hadn’t yet sent the old woman’s direction. Effie had found herself anticipating his message far too much. And not just because of the implications about her mother, but because of her feelings for him. Try as she might, she couldn’t simply shut them off like a water tap.

“I slept very ill,” she admitted. “And you?”

“I’m bearing up.” Ruth gave Effie’s hand a squeeze before releasing it. “Would that I could say the same for Miss Compton.”

Miss Compton remained seated, a look of displeasure on her beautiful face. The folds of her ruffle- and lace-trimmed day dress billowed around her in a cloud of lustrous pink silk.

Effie went to her with a show of concern. She took her hand, just as she’d taken Ruth’s. “You poor thing. I heard that you’d fainted.”