“I confess I had not an idea of it,” I said.

“You must understand that the practice is familiar to me through long association. I have employed it myself,” Lord Harold said equably, “when no other tool would serve; and have been in turn the object of necessitous importuning — a mad decision on the blackmailer’s part, for never was there a fellow with so little regard for public opinion, or so great a contempt for its deserts, as Harold Trowbridge.”

“A more hardened object I cannot conceive.” I was amused despite the gravity of his words.

“But tempting, regardless.” He jumped up and began to turn restlessly before the fire. “I have, in the past, acted in ways that may be judged reprehensible. I have sacrificed the reputations of my confederates, my mistresses, my dearest friends, in pursuit of those ends that have, to my mind alone, required such sacrifice. I have cared nothing, in short, for how my character is judged — except as regards one particular: That I am held in trust and esteem by certain men in high Government circles. It is as lifeblood to me, in ensuring the continuance of that activity which — alone among the pursuits of my life — is capable of stirring my interest, and of relieving the unutterable tedium of my existence.” At this, something of animation enlivened Lord Harold’s tone; but it was the animation of coldest anger. “Should any man attempt to queer my relations with the Crown, or with the very small number of men who direct its concerns, I should be entirely at his mercy. That, to date, has never occurred; and I pray God it never shall. I could not answer for myself in the eventuality.”

One glimpse of his set features was enough, and I averted my gaze. Lord Harold overset — Lord Harold denied his life’s blood of peril and intrigue — was Lord Harold divided from his very soul. I should not like to be within twenty paces of any man who attempted it.

“But my familiarity with the blackmailer’s art has at least taught me this,” he continued. “Among those who can profess no stern disregard for public views or public morals, it is the aptest means of persuasion. More lives have been ruined — more spirits broken — from a fear of idle gossip and report, than are numbered on Napoleon’s battlefields, Miss Austen. Portal’s death may be the result of a similar campaign.”

And if it were, I thought, the tide of scandal should reach even so far as a ducal household. “I comprehend your meaning, my lord. I shall be happy to assist you by whatever means are within my power.”

He reached for his hat, and smoothed its fine wool brim. “Will you do me the very great honour of attending the theatre tomorrow evening, Miss Austen, in the Wilborough box?”

“With pleasure,” I replied.

“It will require — forgive me — a certain subterfuge on your part.”

“I am at your service, my lord.”

“You will understand that any in the Trowbridge family must be known among the company. Even had Simon not been taken up in Portal’s death, our intimacy with the Conynghams — our attention to the Theatre Royal — must make us too familiar; and at present a tide of ill-feeling is directed against us all. But as for yourself—”

“Of course. What would you have me do?”

“I intend a visit to the wings upon the play’s conclusion. It is my hope that you might then create a small diversion — a faint, a mishap, something along the female line — that should draw the attention of the principal parties.”

“And in the flurry, you shall investigate the manager’s rooms?”

“Exactly.”

I bowed my head to disguise a tide of mirth. “I have always dreamed of performing in the Theatre Royal, Lord Harold. To tread the boards was the dearest ambition of my vanished girlhood. I may hope to do you credit.”

“You have never failed me yet. It will be something merely to parade you in the box.”

There was a grimness to his tone I readily understood. All of Bath must be hoping for a glimpse of the notorious Trowbridges, so deeply and publicly embroiled in a violent murder; and the appearance of the Earl of Swithin in Bath must only fan the flames of speculation. “You hope, then, to show the scandal-mongers your bravest face?”

“And damn their eyes.”

“Sir!” I cried. It has not been my province to know much of swearing, however I may subject my creatures to it.[36]

“Tut, tut, my dear Miss Austen — do not grow missish on me, after all we have sustained!” Trowbridge seized his greatcoat and gloves. “Expect me tomorrow at two, about the interrogation of Mr. Cosway!”

Thursday,

13 December 1804

THE THEATRE ROYAL IN ORCHARD STREET IS HARDLY SO grand as Covent Garden or Drury Lane, being cramped and overheated in the extreme; its single entrance ensures a dreadful crush at the play’s commencement and close; and indeed, the space is so incommodious, as to have prompted the building of a new theatre in Beauford Square, immediately adjacent to Chandos Buildings, that is to open next season. But even the unfortunate nature of the present accommodation, and the possibility that my dress should be mussed, if not torn, in the attempt to gain my seat in Lord Harold’s box, could not dispel my intention of being as fine this evening as possible. Having condescended to escort a Miss Austen to the play, Lord Harold should not be suffered to blush for her appearance.

I own but three gowns that are suitable for evening engagements — a sapphire muslin[37]; a white lawn with puffed sleeves; and the aforementioned peach silk, as yet in pieces with my fashionable modiste. It was this I determined to wear — it being in the latest style, with a square neck sloping down slightly to the bosom; an underskirt of cream-coloured sarcenet; and negligible capped sleeves, very slightly off the shoulder. It was the gown most likely to do me credit — and so to Madame Le-Blanc’s in Bath Street I went, immediately after breakfast this morning.

The poor woman wrung her hands, and declared my request impossible to fulfil; the gown could hardly be pieced within a fortnight; but at the last, upon receiving the intelligence that I was to be on public view in the Wilborough box — to which all eyes in the theatre should undoubtedly be turned — she consented to set three of her seamstresses to making up the gown.

I consulted her clock — perceived it to lack yet a half-hour until noon — and hastened my steps towards the White Hart. I must visit Eliza before receiving Lord Harold, and on so fine a morning I should be lucky to find the little Comtesse within doors.[38] Were I in her place, and free of all obligation in a city wholly given over to pleasure, I should take a turn in Sydney Gardens, or promenade about the Crescent, or commission Henry to hire a carriage for a drive about the countryside.

And upon achieving the White Hart, my premonitions were rewarded, as such fears usually are, in finding the Austen rooms deserted of even the little dog, Pug. I turned away in some annoyance, and determined to look into the Pump Room on the chance of finding her — when a light step was heard upon the stair, and Eliza’s delicious laugh wafted towards the ceiling.

“Good gracious, my lord, are you so determined in flattery? I have not heard its equal since I quitted Versailles. You are too wicked for Bath — you shall put the gentle invalids to flight in their chairs — and I shall not rest easy until you have secured your lodgings and left us in peace!”

An indistinct murmur of male conversation — another musical laugh — and the little Comtesse tripped gaily towards her rooms, an enormous muff upon her delicate hand, and a fine glow of spirits animating her countenance.