“Sick,” Evan said promptly and lifted the flagon to suggest exactly what kind of sickness they suffered. It seemed we had been mistaken for someone who was expected, and Evan—quick as ever—was already improvising. I, on the other hand, was still hunched in alarm. I straightened, trying to conjure a manly stance.

The old man eyed Evan for a moment—as if registering his answer—then said, “Didna they tell you to go straight down, through basement? House ain’t for the likes of you.” He was obviously some kind of caretaker. His gaze fell upon the flagon, raised in Evan’s hand. “Any left?”

Evan shook his head and lowered the flagon with a shrug of apology. “They didn’t tell us about the basement,” he said.

The old caretaker pointed to his ear. “Can’t hear you, man. Deaf as a post. It don’t matter. Just go outside and back down basement steps. The other set is inside, to right.” He lifted the hessian bag. “You’ll find sacks waitin’.” He frowned, squinting at the crack in the heavy curtains. “Best be quick about it. Not much time.”

Evan turned slightly toward me. “He thinks we are dustmen,” he murmured.

It stood to reason: the place was a mess and we were dressed raggedly enough to be the men who collected and scavenged the waste from London houses.

“We should do what he says,” he added. “We can make our way up through the house from the basement.”

Still set upon searching the house. Yet, if this man was expecting dustmen, then the real scavengers would turn up before long and our ruse would be uncovered. Perhaps we should take the opportunity to make our escape. A tempting thought, but could we in all conscience leave without making sure the two missing women had left the house too?

“Come on, then,” the old man said, gesturing for us to follow.

He silently led the way back along the dark hallway, his pace as measured as his words. We passed the interior staircase that led down to the basement, but that was patently not for the use of dustmen like us. Back in the kitchen, he opened the door and stood aside as we descended the steps into the yard, his mind patently on other matters. I looked over my shoulder as we made our way to the basement gate, but he had already shut the door behind us. Not a man for society.

Beyond, the kitchen door of the first house was also shut. The maids had, it seemed, moved on to other tasks inside.

“Now we know why this was left unlocked,” Evan said, pushing the iron gate fully back upon its hinges with a rusty squawk.

“Wait.” I patted my pocket. “We have what we came for. Perhaps we should leave before the real dustmen come.”