Next I wrote to James Denis. I had never written a letter to the man before, preferring to avoid him as much as possible. But I informed him briefly of the death of Middleton. I wondered what Denis would make of the news, or if he'd indeed had a hand in Middleton's death. If he had wanted Middleton dead, Denis would tell me. He did not bother to lie about his crimes.

I kept my letter short. I sanded it, folded it, and directed it to number 45, Curzon Street, Mayfair.

I had just laid it aside when the door to the room opened. I expected Rutledge, and so kept my eyes on my work, but when I heard no noise, I raised my head.

A young woman peered around the doorframe, her face anxious. Belinda Rutledge had the coloring of her mother, dark hair, dark eyes, and white skin. But while her mother's eyes held a challenge, Belinda's only ever looked timid.

I rose to my feet politely and made a small bow. "Miss Rutledge, good morning. I am afraid your father is not here."

She glanced once behind her, fear plain on her face, then she took a few steps into the room. "Captain Lacey," she whispered hurriedly, "is it true that Sebastian-that the Romany stable lad-has been arrested?"

"Yes," I confirmed.

Her face whitened. "Why? He did not do it." The words were spoken with conviction.

"Why do you say so?" I asked curiously.

"Because he would never have done such a thing." She glanced behind her again. "And, last night, Sebastian was… he was speaking to me. Near the canal."

I hid a sigh. She was young, Sebastian was young, she was pretty, he was handsome. It was inevitable that the two should be attracted to one another.

Before I could answer, I heard Rutledge's unmistakable tread in the hall, his growl as he dismissed a servant. He tramped into the study and halted, his glare resting first on me, then his daughter. "What is this, Belinda? What are you doing here?"