She dipped her quill into a pot of ink and scratched on the ledger. “Married?”

“No.”

“Age.”

“Ah . . . let’s see. She’ll be twenty-two.”

“She will be, or she is?”

“Born in the month of August, it says here. So . . . twenty-one.”

The matron looked up sharply, her pen poised over the paper. “Speak precisely, constable, or we’ll be here all night. Her offense. In as few words as possible.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, ma’am, there’s more than one.”

“Start with the most egregious.”

He sighed. “First . . . she’s an accused felon. Of the worst kind.”

“The charge.”

“Attempted murder.”

The matron raised a brow at Evangeline.

“I didn’t—” she started.

The matron held out the flat of her hand. Then she looked down, writing in the ledger. “Of whom, constable.”

“A chambermaid employed by . . . aah”—he searched the paper—“a Ronald Whitstone, address 22 Blenheim Road, St. John’s Wood.”

“By what method.”

“Miss Stokes pushed her down the stairs.”

She looked up. “Is the victim . . . all right?”

“Seems to be. Shaken, but essentially . . . all right, I suppose.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Evangeline saw a small movement where the floor met the wall: a thin rat squirming out of a crack in the baseboard.

“And what else?”

“An heirloom belonging to the owner of the house was found in Miss Stokes’s room.”

“What kind of heirloom?”

“A ring. Gold. With a valuable gemstone. A ruby.”

“It was given to me,” Evangeline blurted.

The matron put down her quill. “Miss Stokes. You have been reprimanded twice.”

“I’m sorry. But—”

“You will not say one more word unless addressed directly. Is that clear?”

Evangeline nodded miserably. The panic and worry that kept her vigilant all day had given way to an enervating torpor. She wondered, almost abstractly, if she might faint. Maybe she would. Merciful darkness must be better than this.

“Assault and theft,” the matron said to the constable, her hand on the page. “Those are the accusations?”

“Yes, ma’am. And she is also . . . with child.”

“I see.”

“Out of wedlock, ma’am.”

“I understood your implication, constable.” She looked up. “So the charges are attempted murder and larceny.”

He nodded.

She sighed. “Very well. You may go. I’ll escort the prisoner to the cells.”

Once the men had filed out, the matron inclined her head toward Evangeline. “Long day for you, I suppose. I’m sorry to tell you it will not improve.”

Evangeline felt a rush of gratitude. It was the closest thing to kindness she’d experienced all day. Tears gathered behind her eyes, and though she willed herself not to cry, they spilled down her cheeks. With her hands shackled, she couldn’t wipe them away. For a few moments her strangled sobs were the only sound in the room.

“I need to take you down,” the matron said finally.

“It wasn’t like he said.” Evangeline hiccupped. “I—I didn’t—”

“You are wasting your breath. My opinion is irrelevant.”