"For God's sake get her out of here!" he snarled at Hester. "Don't just stand there! Lift!" He bent and hauled Rose to her feet, balancing her with some skill so that she would not buckle at the knees. Then, as she began to subside again, he picked her up, put her over his shoulder, and marched her towards the door. Hester could do nothing but follow behind.

Outside it was not a difficult matter to send for Rose's coachman. Ten minutes later Argyll assisted her, with considerable strength, into the coach.

"I assume you will go with her?" he said, looking at Hester with disdain. "You seem to have arrived with her. Somebody needs to explain this to her husband. She can't make a habit of it, or she'll be locked up."

"I shall manage very well," Hester assured him tartly. "I think she has gone to sleep. Her servants will help as soon as we get that far. Thank you for your assistance. Good night." She was angry, embarrassed, and, now that it was over, a little frightened. What on earth was she going to say to Morgan Applegate? As Argyll had pointed out, his political career would never recover from this. It would be spoken of for years, even decades.

The ride was terrible, not for anything Rose did but for what Hester feared she would do. They sped through the lamplit streets in the rain, the cobbles glistening, the gutters spilling over, the constant sound of drumming on the roof, splashing beneath, and the clatter of hooves and hiss of wheels. They lurched from side to side because they were going too fast, as the coachman was afraid Rose was ill and needed help.

Hester was dreading what Applegate would say. No words had been exchanged, but she felt he had trusted her to care for Rose. From the first time they had met, Hester had seen a protectiveness in him, as if he was aware of a peculiar vulnerability in his wife, one he could not share with others. Now it seemed that Hester had quite extraordinarily let them both down.

Except that she had had no idea how it had happened.

The carriage came to an abrupt halt, but Rose did not seem to wake up. There was shouting outside and more lights, then the carriage door opened and a footman appeared. He leaned in without even glancing at Hester, lifted Rose with great care, and carried her across the mews and in through the back door of the house.

The coachman handed Hester out and accompanied her across the yard and through the scullery. Her skirts were sodden around her ankles; her shoulders and hair were wet. Nothing had been further from her mind on leaving the memorial reception than sending someone to fetch her cloak-or to be more exact, Rose s cloak.

Inside the warmth of the kitchen, she realized how very cold she was. Her body was shuddering, her feet numb. Her head was beginning to pound as if it were she who had drunk far too much.

The cook took pity on her and made her a hot cup of tea, but gave her nothing to go with it, no biscuit or slice of bread, as if Hester were to blame for Rose's condition.

It was half an hour before Morgan Applegate came to the kitchen door. He was in his shirtsleeves, his face flushed but white about the lips, his hair tangled.

"Mrs. Monk," he said with barely suppressed rage. "Will you be so good as to come with me?" It was a command rather than a question.

Hester rose and followed him. She was deeply sorry for his distress, but she had no intention of being spoken to like a naughty child.

He walked into the library, where there was a brisk fire burning. He held the door for her, then slammed it shut. "Explain yourself!" he said simply.

She looked at him with as much dignity as she could manage, being sodden wet, wearing borrowed clothes, and having endured one of the most embarrassing evenings of her life. She reminded herself that she had survived and been useful in fever hospitals and on battlefields. This was a minor tragedy. She refused even to be formal.

"I believe Rose has had too much to drink, Mr. Applegate. And although it cannot have been more than one or two glasses, she seems to be unusually susceptible to alcohol. Unless, of course, it was remarkably strong."

He was breathing deeply, as if he could not immediately find words to retaliate.

"I am extremely sorry it happened," Hester continued. "I'm afraid you know only the simplest part of it yet." Better to get it over now rather than leave it for him to discover in the most acutely embarrassing way. "There was a dismal musical trio playing, and Rose took the violin from the fiddler and played it herself, extremely well. Unfortunately, she soon changed to a funny but rather vulgar song from the music halls. The whole scene is something you would probably prefer not to know about, but it was… memorable."

"Oh, God!" He went ash white. "How?"

She hesitated.

"How?" he repeated.

"She was very forthright over what people say about each other, and what they really mean. With names. I'm sorry." She meant it deeply.

He stared at her, the anger draining out of him. "I should have told you. She… she used to…" He spread his hands helplessly. "She hasn't done it for years! Why now?" His eyes pleaded with her for a reason for the devastation that had descended on him with no warning.

Then suddenly she knew the answer. It was as obvious as a slap across the face. "Alan Argyll!" she said aloud. "He must have put something in her drink! He knew we were there to try to persuade Jenny to testify! It was after he joined us that Rose started to behave differently. Could he have known about her… weakness?" She would not insult either of them by mincing words. It was far too late now.

"If he had cared to find out," Applegate admitted. He sat down slowly in the large leather seat just behind him, leaving her to do as she wished. He looked crumpled, like a rag doll someone had torn the stuffing from. "Was it awful?" he asked, without raising his eyes.

To lie would only leave him more vulnerable. "Yes," she said simply. "It was also very funny and perfectly true, and it is the truth of it I fear people will neither forget nor forgive."

He sat silently.

The fire was beginning to warm her through. The hem of her gown was steaming gently. She knelt down in front of him. "I'm sorry. We believed it was a good cause, and that we could win."

"It is a good cause," he said quietly. He seemed about to add something more, then changed his mind.

"Will she be all right?" Hester asked. "Tomorrow? The next day?" Then she thought with a chill how clumsy that was. It would never be all right for Applegate himself. His position would become untenable. He would never be able to take Rose to any social event after this. Possibly he would find it unbearable to go himself.

He lifted his head suddenly. His eyes were blurred with fear and exhaustion, but there was a light of decision in them. "I'll give up my seat in Parliament. We'll go back to the country. We have a house in Dorset. We can do a lot of good there, without ever coming to London again. It's quiet and beautiful, and we can be more than happy. We'll have each other, and that will be enough."

Ridiculously, Hester felt her eyes fill with tears. He must love her so deeply and unquestioningly that all his happiness lay in being with her. His anger had been on her behalf, not against her. Perhaps it was even against himself, because he knew her weakness and had not protected her from it. Would Monk have been as gentle with Hester, as forgiving, as willing to sacrifice? She would probably never know.

"I'm sorry," Applegate apologized. "Would you like something to eat? You must be frozen. It's… I shouldn't have blamed you. You couldn't guard against something you knew nothing of. Or would you rather simply go home?"

She made herself smile at him. "I think actually I would like to go home and put on some dry clothes. It's been a rotten night." "I'll have my coachman take you," he answered.