Eva knew she shouldn’t blame herself for what happened. Had she known of the secret assignations, of the lies and deceit, she would have intervened. Yet every time she stepped out onto the street to see another woman heavy with child, she was reminded of her brother’s wickedness.
Perhaps Howard had journeyed to Northumberland to reunite with the woman he had used so callously. The need to know the truth was yet another reason she had sought professional help. And yet she hadn’t found the strength to speak to Mr Ashwood of her family’s shame.
“Marital status shouldn’t matter when a woman is in dire straits,” he said, sounding cross. “Not when some men are slow to keep their promises.”
Something in his tone suggested he spoke from experience. It was the sort of bitter comment made by an illegitimate son. Yet while waiting in the hall at Hart Street, Mr D’Angelo mentioned that Mr Ashwood was Lord Hawkridge’s nephew.
“Some men have no concept of responsibility,” she said. Indeed, Mr Ashwood’s disdain for rogues was the reason she decided to hold on to her secret a little longer. “My father being a prime example.”
“A fate we share, Miss Dunn. Now, let us continue with our business. You said you live opposite the hospital.”
“Yes, here.” She motioned to the black door behind her.
“You live at Number 11?”
“Indeed. Why? Is something wrong?”
“I live at Number 11 Wigmore Street, off Cavendish Square.”
“How remarkable,” she said, slightly surprised by the growing number of coincidences. “I don’t know why, but I presumed you had rooms in Hart Street.” The house belonging to the Gentlemen of the Order seemed more like a family home than a business premises.
“I have a room there should I wish to stay, but every agent has his own house in town.” He spent a few seconds surveying the road. “Am I right in saying there is no way to access your garden from the street?”
“No obvious way, no. But if you enter the alley leading to Castle Street, you might scale the wall into the garden of Number 12.”
If a man could clear the first wall, there was no reason why he couldn’t climb into her garden. Although she doubted a thief would think it worth the effort. Not when it increased the likelihood of getting caught.
Mr Ashwood nodded. “I would like to examine the garden and then speak to your staff, if I may. Before I leave, I shall inspect your bedchamber.”
Though his tone was as measured as a sergeant from Bow Street, a coil of heat swirled in her stomach at the thought of him invading her privacy.
“Then you must come inside,” she said, feeling suddenly nervous about welcoming him into her home.
Eva escorted Mr Ashwood and Mrs Gunning into the house. She employed four servants, all of whom had worked for her godfather Mr Becker. Bardsley, the middle-aged butler, relieved them of their outdoor apparel.
“Bardsley, show Mrs—”
“Mrs Sawyer,” Mr Ashwood interjected.
Eva forced a smile. “Show Mrs Sawyer into the drawing room while I take Mr Ashwood out into the garden.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Mr Ashwood spent a few minutes surveying the brick wall. He crouched by the flowerbeds, his muscular thighs almost bursting from his breeches as he examined the borders. Then he brushed soil from his hands and asked to speak to the servants but not the maid.
The staff gathered around the kitchen table while the gentleman asked if they’d heard anything unusual the previous evening.
“We were taking supper, sir,” Bardsley explained, “and never heard a sound. The devil was as quiet as a mouse.”
Henry, the footman, and Cook supported the butler’s claim.
“All four of you ate supper?” Mr Ashwood asked. “Including Kathleen?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And how long did you remain here?”
“About an hour, sir,” Bardsley replied.
“And no one has seen or heard from Mr Dunn since his sudden departure?”
“No, sir,” they all said in unison.
“Is anything missing from his room?”
They all turned to Henry, who shook his head.
Mr Ashwood studied them before saying, “That will be all for now.”
Next, having instructed Bardsley to summon her maid, Eva led Mr Ashwood to the drawing room where Mrs Gunning sat waiting.
“Do you recall your promise, Miss Dunn?” Mr Ashwood said after declining the offer of a seat. His voice was so utterly compelling he might tempt her to say anything. “You agreed I might intrude into your affairs.”
Eva swallowed past another rush of nerves. “Yes.”
“Then no matter what lies fall from my lips, I ask that you do not contradict me in front of your maid.”
Eva nodded. “As long as you’re not unkind.”
“Do you suppose I’m a man who treats servants with disrespect?” He cast Mrs Gunning a sidelong glance. The woman seemed aghast at the suggestion.
“Not at all. I merely wish to remind you I have a duty to protect my staff.”
“Noted.”
A light tap on the door brought Kathleen. The young woman bobbed a quick curtsy. She stood rigid, yet her gaze flicked nervously from side to side.
“Kathleen, this is Mr Ashwood. He is investigating the theft that occurred here last night and again this morning. He wants to ask you a few questions.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Kathleen’s bottom lip quivered as she examined Mr Ashwood’s broad, athletic frame. The man radiated a power that would make the innocent drop to their knees and beg for clemency.
“Fear not,” he said and offered a smile to soften the hardest woman’s heart. “This will take but a moment, and then you may return to your duties.”
Kathleen clasped her hands and pursed her lips.
“Tell me exactly what was stolen this morning,” he continued.
The maid swallowed. “A petticoat and a pair of stockings, sir.”
“Was there anything else on the washing line?”
“No, sir.”
“And yet the stolen stockings were not the ones your mistress wore yesterday,” he stated. “They were ripped during the attack in the street.”
How the devil did he know that?
“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. They were the stockings from the previous day.”
“Do you not keep to a strict washday?”
“No, sir, not when I’ve just the mistress’
