Joe had stopped by Pearl Carrington’s lodgings intending to ask her if she would consider accompanying him to a football match, to continue her walk on the wilder side of Whitby. Instead, he had been met by a frantic Tilly who had blathered rapidly that the prettiest Carrington had gone alone in search of a murderer. In Joe’s opinion, Pearl was taking a walk a little too far into the wild. He couldn’t let her face that sort of thing alone. Joe started with the public houses asking publicans and barmaids if they had seen someone fitting her description. No. The pubs got fewer, and worse. Still nothing.

The streets of Whitby were dark at night with narrow passages and plenty of shadows to hide in. With crushed cap, shoulders hunched slightly, and hands thrust deep into his pockets, Joe wanted to look like a nobody to be ignored or a threat to be avoided.

Where could she be? He wondered, frustrated that she could do something so dangerous. His steps quickened, because it mattered.