“Speaking of proof, what if Mr. Kent is not waiting with your sister? What if she did not get the message from the flower seller or he refused her summons?”

“If Dorothy delivered my message, then Julia will have done everything to bring Mr. Kent to her side. He will be there.” Of course, I could not be certain of him, but nor could I allow the possibility that he would not answer my sister’s call for help. But would he listen to our evidence with an open mind? Mr. Kent was a man of duty, but was that duty to the Runners or to the truth? And if he refused to help, then I was not sure where next to turn.

“If he tries to arrest me, I must warn you I will not allow it. I know your sister holds him in some regard, but I will fight my way out and I will not hold back. I cannot leave Hester to Deele’s piety again, and I certainly do not wish to hang.”

“If he does try, I will fight beside you,” I said. “And so will Julia.”

“Well, let’s hope she has her blunderbuss ready,” he said with a glimmer of his droll humor, but I could see the prospect of relying upon Mr. Kent did not sit easily. And I had to admit, now that the moment was almost upon us, I did not feel particularly confident either.

“Perhaps I should go in alone and speak to him,” I suggested.

“I am not afraid of him,” Evan said stiffly. “Besides, I need to see Hester. Things are not right between us. I need to remedy that.”

Clearly, this peacemaking visit was important to him, but I feared the only way he could appease his sister’s anger would be to spirit her away to another country or take back his title and become her guardian. And neither of those remedies was currently possible. Still, I did not voice my pessimism. Instead, I said, “I expect to hear back from Lady Davenport soon, and if she agrees to our visit—which I believe she will—we will travel to her estate once Hester is able.”

We subsided into silence again as the hackney crossed morning London, both of us lost in our thoughts and the anticipation of what lay ahead. Finally we pulled up in Mount Street, outside St. George’s workhouse, as I had requested.

“I figured we would not stand out here as much as we would in the middle of Grosvenor Square,” I said, opening the door. We would also be able to creep up Charles Street and enter the house the back way, via the mews.