A/N: thanks for the reviews guys, I'm glad you're still interested in Ida's antics!

As Ida approached Number Twelve Victoria Street, she saw that Mr Hertford had not yet re entered the house. Instead he was standing, his back to the road, his hands in the pockets of his coat, the very picture of despondency.

'Sir?'

The word was out of her mouth before she'd even thought about it.

'Mr Hertford?'

He turned round and stared at her dully,

'I realise that this is quite presumptuous, Mr Hertford…'

'…Who…?'

Ida reached into her pocket and proffered a piece of paper. He unfolded it and gave it a cursory glance.

'The trade entrance is round the back, Miss Greene,' he said, wearily,

'Oh!' Ida exclaimed, reaching into her pocket again, 'sorry, no, I meant to give you this…'

Blushing, she took the forged reference back, and handed him one of her newly made up 'private detective' cards.

'Is this some kind of a joke?'

'I can assure you, Mr Hertford, that…'

'…what gave you the idea that I was in need of…' he held out the card towards her between two of his fingertips, with an expression of disdain, 'your services?'

Ida decided to play the one remaining ace in her dwindling hand.

'I can find your daughter for you, Mr Hertford.'

In a swift movement he had stepped forward and grasped her wrist in a grip of iron

'You eavesdropping little tart…'

'Let me go, Mr Hertford,' said Ida, as calmly as she could, 'or I shall scream loud enough to bring your whole household down here…'

He dropped her arm, shoving her away in the same movement

'Get out of my sight.'

Ida took a single step backwards, then stood her ground.

'I offered you help, Mr Hertford, help which perhaps no one else can give you. But if you don't want to find out where your daughter is, and what it is that your wife knows about where she's gone, then that's your affair. Good day, sir,'

A heartbeat.

Two.

Mr Hertford still stood, a slightly bulbous eyed statue, giving no indication of his response. Ida made as if to turn away.

'Wait…' he called, his voice betraying desperation

Ida fought to keep a self satisfied smile from spreading across her face, left him hanging in suspense for two more heartbeats…then turned back around.

…………………

If there was one thing that she had sworn never to do again in her life it was scrubbing other people's floors. Her hands had even been beginning to soften since living in London. And yet, here she was, on her hands and knees, cleaning the hearth in Mrs Hertford's bedroom. The lady herself was reading in her private study that adjoined the room.

The reaction of the rest of the servants in the household to her sudden appointment as a parlourmaid had run from suspicious to outright hostile. For the master of the house to have made such an appointment himself was completely unorthodox. Ida suspected that if she had to stay here any length of time the housekeeper in particular was likely to make things very difficult for her. However, this seemed to be the best way to find out more about what was going on at number 12, Victoria Crescent.

Mr Hertford had been loath to suspect that his wife actually knew anything about their daughter's disappearance, and Ida had only been vague about her reasoning, not wishing to reveal the newspaper advertisement just yet, but the level of his distress was such that he was willing to try anything, and had reluctantly agreed to Ida's plan.

He had not been able to provide her with much more information. Four days ago, the only child of he and Mrs Hertford – their daughter Emily - had gone shopping, somewhere in central London, and had not returned. That was all.

But it couldn't be quite all. Because when she asked whether he had contacted the police, Mr Hertford had looked decidedly uncomfortable, before launching into a tirade about the general inefficacy and pig-headedness of the elite of Scotland Yard.

A door creaked suddenly open, and Ida bent to her scrubbing with renewed vigour, fearing the housekeeper had come to inspect her labours. But it wasn't the outer door of the bedroom, it was the inner door which led to the study.

With a rustle of skirts, Mrs Hertford passed her by without a second glance.

Probably can't tell any of her servants apart, mused Ida, some of her old resentment re surfacing, but then she reminded herself what an awful situation the poor woman was going through.

An awful situation, without a doubt, but that newspaper advertisement had suggested that Mrs Hertford was not entirely in the dark about her daughter. And now Ida had a chance to try and find out a little more. As soon as she was satisfied that Mrs Hertford's footsteps had receded down the corridor sufficiently, she scrambled to her feet, dusted off her aching knees, and slipped into the study.

…………………

My dear old friend, too long have I earnestly intended renewing our much missed exchanges of epistolary communications. Too many months have expired, and not one of my thoughts has actually been without regret on that regrettable circumstance!

Don't you think it ought to please your aunt if Nellie would attend a Midsummer party event? Also perhaps Cousin Lily could attend?

Especially cold for Edna's roses in June. Not a tender shoot in sight, most disappointing, Edna very sad. Please write soon, if possible, tell Mr Hertford about little party or event, very much excited about Everything.

Ida replaced the letter on the highly polished surface of the walnut writing desk. It was dated but three days previously, but the paper had a worn out look as if it had been handled many many times. Indeed, she had found it sitting at the very top of one of the piles of books and papers which littered the desk itself and a smaller table to one side.

The handwriting sloped backwards, but the letters were inconsistently proportioned and the loops which linked them were very clumsy. The signature was so flowery that Ida could not even work out what the first letter of the name was. And the words themselves barely made sense…. She paused. Something in the ludicrous verbiosity of the letter's style reminded her of another similarly nonsensical document…

Ida listened out, but could hear no approaching footsteps. Swiftly she drew out the chair and sat herself down at the desk. Taking the fountain pen which lay on the desk also, she wrote on the back of an envelope as quickly as she could…

M…o… t.. h.. e… r… m… e… e….. T… m… e…

Mother, meet me! Not a word to Pa! You name place in Times, with love E

The letter was written in the same crude code as the advertisement that had been place in the Times, and was clearly the original message that the advertisement was replying to.

Ida lent back in the desk chair, her mind working furiously. The message in the Times had spoken of a meeting in Lyre's Café at noon the next day. It was imperative that she had a good vantage point from which to observe Mrs Hertford meeting with her daughter. But she didn't even know where the wretched café was located.

However, she could think of someone who was likely to be familiar with it…