But all speculation must be deferred a while, for at my side the Lady Desdemona had commenced to seethe. “What insufferable insolence!” she muttered, her hands clenched within their delicate gloves. “What a despicable display!”

Whether she spoke of the actress or the Earl, I could not bother to learn; for if ever there was a moment for feminine diversion, surely this was such a time. A crowd of well-wishers had gathered in the wings at our backs, and in an instant must inundate us entirely.

I stepped around Lord Harold, and hurried forward with a little flutter of breathlessness, as though all but overcome by the proximity of the great; rushed towards Mr. Conyngham with words of appreciation bubbling upon my lips; caught my heel in the hem of my new gown (to such sacrifices a heroine must be resigned), and pitched headlong at the actor’s feet. A shriek of agony, and a clutching at my ankle, amply completed the picturesque.

I was gratified with a chorus of exclamation, and the swift despatching of a prompting-boy for compresses and ice. Maria Conyngham set down her flowers, and wrung her hands in dismay; the Earl of Swithin looked all his indignation and contempt; and Mr. Conyngham himself carried me to his dressing-room, which proved the nearest to hand. Lady Desdemona Trowbridge followed hard upon his heels.

“I hope you may be more comfortable here, Miss—”

“Austen,” I supplied, all humble gratitude, as Conyngham deposited me upon a settee. “I cannot think how I came to wrench the joint so dreadfully. But I was in such transports at the excellence of your performance, sir — I can only think that the headiness of the experience — my utter delight in Kotzebue — undid me sadly. I shall not attempt the theatre again, until I may command a greater restraint of feeling.”

Hugh Conyngham knelt down at my foot, then hesitated. “May I be permitted to ascertain whether any bones are broken?” he enquired.

“I cannot see how that is necessary, sir,” Lady Desdemona interposed. “We shall attend to Miss Austen when once we have got her into the carriage. My uncle has gone to summon it even now, I believe, and will have it drawn up to the entrance near the wings.”

Blessed child! The falsehood was uttered, of necessity, in clearest innocence; but I was certain Lord Harold had embarked upon his scheme of searching Mr. Portal’s offices. I must, at all cost, detain Hugh Conyngham.

“If I might have a little water, sir,” I said in the feeblest accent.

“Of course — Smythe! You there — Smythe!”

The door was pulled open, and a massive, bearded fellow entered the room. Hardly a player, for he lacked even so much refinement as an actor might claim; a labourer about the wings, perhaps, adept in the joining of scenery. Smythe looked from Conyngham to myself, and then at Lady Desdemona, with the most surly expression; and I started involuntarily under the weight of his gaze. For the man possessed a most peculiar aspect, in having one brown, and one blue eye. A hundred years since, it should have been called the mark of the Devil — and might still be considered so, in the remoter villages of the kingdom.

“A glass for the lady. Quick, man!”

Smythe turned without a word, and the door slammed behind him.

“And now I come to think of it — perhaps some brandy?” Mr. Conyngham exclaimed.

“The pain is excruciating. Perhaps a little would not be amiss—”

“I should have a bottle to hand, somewhere beneath this chaos of props.” He began to shift among the piles of playbills and swords, horses’ heads and kingly sceptres, that littered the tiny space. Lady Desdemona sat disconsolately at my side, her thoughts quite distant. The Earl and Miss Conyngham, I noted, had not seen fit to follow us to her brother’s rooms. The man Smythe, however, reappeared, and noisily deposited several glasses upon a little table before quitting us abruptly.

“Capital,” Mr. Conyngham declared, and lifted high a bottle. “The last of my stores from France. Brandy, Miss Austen?”

I accepted a glass from his outstretched hand. “You are very good to take such prodigious care of me, Mr. Conyngham, and in the midst of all your trials and sorrows. The company is much cast down, I suppose, at Mr. Portal’s sad demise?”

“How could it be otherwise?”

“Naturally. A dreadful business. I gather it was entirely unexpected?”

“But of course, madam! What other possibility might there be, in such a case?”

I shrugged and sipped at my brandy. “When a man is murdered, one must suppose him to possess some enemy.”

“One at least, of that we may be certain,” the actor replied, with a painful look for Lady Desdemona.

She flushed hotly. “If you would mean my brother the Marquis, Mr. Conyngham, I must declare you to be mistaken. Lord Kinsfell is entirely innocent.”

“I wonder, sir, whether you might not elucidate matters for Lady Desdemona and me,” I said with a conspiratorial smile. “You were placed to advantage at the moment the murder occurred, were you not? For though we were trained upon yourself, in attending your declamation — and it was admirable, by the by, as is every performance you attempt—you were facing the anteroom door. Did you observe anyone other than Lord Kinsfell to enter it, pray?”

He turned pale, and fixed his piercing blue gaze upon my face as though intent upon reading my thoughts; and then shook his head in the negative. “I did not.”

“How unfortunate. Perhaps we should enquire of your sister. But I gather she is presently engrossed in the delightful Earl. Their acquaintance is of some duration, I collect — for Lord Swithin is only lately come to Bath. He cannot have met Miss Conyngham here”

“No — that is to say — I believe they became acquainted in Ramsgate last summer,” Mr. Conyngham replied, backing towards the door, “and I thank you for reminding me of my duty. I must not delay in expressing my thanks to the Earl for his attention; and the pantomime, too, is about to commence. Forgive my desertion, Miss Austen, and pray accept my best wishes for your swift recovery—” And with that, he fled the room.

“Oh, where is my uncle?” Lady Desdemona cried. “Was there ever so villainous an evening? I am wild to be gone!”

“And so you shall be, Mona, in a very little while,” Lord Harold said, appearing at the door. “The coach is even now drawn round to the wings, and I am come to convey Miss Austen thither.”

The glint of satisfaction in his hooded grey eyes did not escape my scrutiny. He had discovered something of worth in the manager’s office, then.

“Place your hands about my neck,” he whispered, as he gathered me into his arms, “and do not even think of blushing. It would be too much of a performance altogether, my dear, even for your considerable talents.”

• • •

“WHAT A QUANTITY OF CORRESPONDENCE OUR MR. PORTAL did conduct, to be sure.” Lord Harold gripped the reins, gave a nod to the boy at the horses’ heads, and chucked the team into motion. We had tarried just long enough in the wings to avoid the greater part of the departing crush, and Orchard Street showed tolerably clear. “By the by, you did not truly suffer an injury, I hope?”

“To my pride alone, I assure you. We may dismiss the event upon the morrow, when I shall declare my ankle much improved from the hasty attentions and fortuitous brandy of Mr. Conyngham.”

“He is more solicitous of strangers than his sister.”

“Indeed. She was consumed with the attentions of her friends — of whom Mr. Conyngham appears more than a little wary.”

A swift glance, sharp with interest. “You think him no friend to the Earl?”

“I think him most uneasy in Lord Swithin’s company. He certainly did not meet the gentleman with composure; and I believe he fears his lordship’s influence with Miss Conyngham. I chanced to enquire when the acquaintance was formed, and so discomposed Mr. Conyngham with my curiosity, that he summarily left the room.”