The entrance to Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese was tucked in an alleyway off Fleet Street, its dark nondescript exterior making it so difficult to recognize that Alice passed it by a few times before finding the doorway. Once inside the narrow flag-stoned entrance, her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dingy light before noticing the cozy bar of dark-paneled wood, the dramatic portraits and the sparkling etched-glass windows.

Alice smoothed down her skirt and coat, then stepped toward the bar. The place was no bigger than a modest living room, with a fireplace on the wall opposite and a few low barrel-end tables and chairs scattered around, but it was obvious from the creases of the well-worn seat cushions and the patina of the tabletops that history was made here; this was the kind of place that writers and journalists liked to visit. At five o’clock it wasn’t busy, with a group of men drinking at the bar, and no one who fitted the description Elizabeth had provided when Alice had asked where she might find Olive.

Then, through the thick smoke, she glimpsed a woman sitting alone on a stool halfway along the bar, her neck craned down as she read. Noting the dark hair and small frame, Alice squeezed her way through the men to approach her. “Miss Melville Brown?”

The woman swung around. “Yes?”

Alice felt a wave of relief; Olive appeared much younger and friendlier than she’d imagined her to be. “I hope you don’t mind . . . Elizabeth mentioned you might be here, and I wondered if I could have a moment of your time.”

“Well, that depends.”

“On what?”

“On who you are, of course, and what it’s about.”

“I’m Alice Cotton, and I’ve been following your stories on the baby farmers—”

“Well, I’ve got half an hour before my train if you don’t mind the location,” Olive said, glancing at the rowdy group next to them. “I find it’s the perfect transition from the busy day to the quiet of home.”

“It’s perfect,” Alice agreed, feigning enthusiasm. “Very lively.”

Olive studied her for a moment before returning her smile. “Do you want to go somewhere we can talk?” she asked in an even tone.

“Is there somewhere a little quieter?”

“Yes, of course. We can go through to the restaurant. There’s usually more room anyway.”

“Thank you,” Alice said appreciatively.

“Let’s get you a drink before we go. What would you like?”

“What are you having?”

“Stone’s ginger wine, not everyone’s pick.”

Alice hadn’t contemplated having a drink, as she’d gone without for so long, but maybe it would be an idea to have one now, steady her nerves. “I’ll have the same, but let me—”

“Not at all. As I said, I’ve only got half an hour, so let me. Besides, the job does still have a few perks.”