And Gregson gazed steadily at him. The man was old, so old he might have worked here when convicts walked the hallways of the original building, so old his white beard was as yellow as ancient parchment. His eyes were not unkindly, but they had looked for too many years on too much hardship and desperation to be anything other than dimmed and remote. He reached up and removed the pince-nez from his nose and slid them into a pocket, a gesture that had, perhaps, assisted him through the ages to navigate difficult interviews.

‘Sir, what is your connection to this woman, if I may enquire?’

‘You may not.’

Gregson gave a sad, almost imperceptible nod of his whiskered head. ‘Then I am afraid I can tell you no more.’ He closed the book that was open on the desk before him.

Alasdair slammed both hands down on the desk that separated them. ‘You will not tell me of what it is Miss Trent is charged?’

‘I will not—unless, sir, you have some connection to Miss Trent, the nature of which you are willing to divulge.’

‘How dare you, sir!’

Alasdair found himself on his feet, his chair toppled backwards. It was ludicrous to take offence when what the man seated before him had hinted at was undeniably true. Yet here he was, offended, denying.

He righted his chair. He sat down. He met the man’s gaze. ‘Very well then. Miss Trent is a member of my constituency. That is, her fiancé was. The fellow was a recent arrival to our shores who took up a position and found a place to live within my constituency. And then promptly died. She arrived—Miss Trent—from England a few weeks later to find her fiancé deceased and herself in a very invidious, precarious even, position. She tried various places and people, or so I understand, but none would aid her. At last, and taking the advice of whom I cannot say, she presented herself at my office and my secretary took her particulars. Made cognisant of her plight, I instructed my secretary to render what small assistance we could. It was, I am ashamed to say, little more than the address of a boarding house where Miss Trent might safely reside and one or two other names of persons who may be able to assist her. She had no family, it seemed, here or in England. That was the extent of my contact with the unfortunate lady until yesterday, when we learned she was no more at the boarding house and was understood to be here at this hospital. If some awful occurrence has befallen her, then, having taken some initial interest in her case, I feel duty-bound to render my assistance.’