“The device is Swithin’s. You will find the figure of a tiger painted upon the doors of his coach.”

“But you cannot prove the present object is his lordship’s.”

“Prove, prove — you grow tiresome with your proves, Mr. Elliot. That must be the magistrate’s office, not mine.” Lord Harold looked to Lady Desdemona. “I would swear that this tiger was once worn by the late Countess of Swithin — but have you ever seen the pin on the present Earl’s person, my dear?”

She shook her head. “Though I can think of no one else whose coat of arms is so like — nor who should leave it in Grandmère’s household.”

“That is, after all, the point,” her uncle replied thoughtfully. “Very well, Mr. Elliot — it would seem the only proper course would be to enquire of the Earl whether he has ever seen this tiger brooch; and then to establish his movements on the night in question. If his lordship was seen to be in London by a company of White’s stoutest clubmen, and was playing at whist in the very hour of Portal’s death — I will regard the cunning tiger as a phantasm brought about by the strength of my desire to clear my unfortunate nephew. But if the Earl was absent from Town …”

“… then I shall be very well pleased, my lord,” Mr. Elliot replied, to my astonishment. “I have had occasion to doubt the security of my arrest, or indeed of the entire fabric of this case — for it is exceedingly odd for a gentleman to murder a guest in his own home, in the midst of a rout, however much in wine and fired by argument. Too convenient by half, you might say; and yet what choice did I have, but to seize the Marquis, him having been found with the knife in his hand?”

“I quite appreciate the difficulty,” Lord Harold replied, “and if you will only undertake to set these London enquiries in train, Mr. Elliot, I shall forgive the hasty nature of your justice and afford you every accommodation within my power.”

“Such as the fees for the stage?” Mr. Elliot’s beady black eyes assessed his lordship shrewdly. “I’d be wishful of carrying a few constables along, and there’s housing and victuals to be thought of.”

“So there are, indeed,” Lord Harold said smoothly. He drew forth a roll of Treasury notes from within his coat, and peeled away several for the magistrate’s use. “If you move with despatch, Mr. Elliot, you might yet have time to visit the Earl across the way, before you must catch the last London stage at the Hart.”

“So I might, my lord, so I might.” He beamed around the room, and enquired casually, “And where in London shall I find the Earl’s residence? — For I should not like to have to ask the direction of his lordship, and lose the element of surprise.”

“In St. James Square,” Lady Desdemona replied. “Fortescue House. I daresay there are many who would be willing to show you the way.”

The magistrate bowed, and departed without further delay. Very well satisfied with the events of the morning — though conscious of a certain despair in Lady Desdemona’s looks, and anxious for her spirits — I quite soon did the same.

LORD HAROLD EXPRESSED HIMSELF AS DESIROUS OF ESCORTING me home to Green Park Buildings, but I had hardly achieved the street in his company, before he steered me away from the river. “Come, Miss Austen! We must take a turn in Sydney Gardens,” he said. “Fine weather in Bath is as rare as Tuesday’s snow, and we cannot let the opportunity for exercise fall by the way.”

I should hardly call the present cloudy aspect fine—but I knew better than to quibble with a man of Lord Harold’s understanding. He intended a tête-à-tête, and chose the gardens for his venue.

Sydney Gardens Vauxhall is one of the few areas of Bath that I may regard with complaisance and pleasure. For three years I lived happily enough at No. 4 Sydney Place, just opposite to the gardens’ entry, and was able to take a turn almost daily in its shrubberies, and look fondly upon the various waterfalls, and pavilions, and Chinese bridges over the canal. The sham castle I can forgo without a pang, and I profess no great inclination for the various swings or bowling greens; even the Merlin grotto I may be said to despise; but I cannot do without the Labyrinth. What heroine could abuse so splendid a natural amusement, conducive to the most delicious assignations, the most intriguing conversations overheard, the unexpected presentation around a turning in the path, of an Unknown Gentleman of Distinguished Appearance? Many are the wanderings I have undertaken in the Labyrinth, while lost in the pleasant fancies that are the peculiar delight of young ladies; and our sixpences paid to the attendant at the gate, it was to the Labyrinth I led Lord Harold on the present occasion.

“I must confess I was astonished at the discovery of his lordship’s pin,” I mused, “but to you it does not seem so very extraordinary.”

“That is perhaps because I have acquired a certain intimacy with the Earl’s affairs,” my companion grimly replied, “by the expedient of having read his mail. I did not wish to reveal the extent of Swithin’s embarrassments or machinations before my niece, Miss Austen; it was enough to start Mr. Elliot upon the track of this particular hare; but with you I shall not scruple to disclose the whole.”

“You believe Lady Desdemona to feel more for Swithin than she acknowledges?”

“She certainly did not meet the evidence of his deceit with composure. What is your opinion on the subject?”

“I confess I cannot tell. She proclaims herself utterly disinclined to encourage him — and then proceeds to do so, by a frequent display of temper and the jealousy it presages. Of his heart I can determine even less. He offers coldness, and pique, and a quelling tendency to favour others in her sight — and yet, to Laura Place he returns, as outraged as a bull at the thought of a rival!”

“There may be more than one interpretation of such behaviour,” Lord Harold said equably. “Swithin may hope to secure my niece for reasons of private gain alone.”

“You suspect him of mercenary motives? But I thought him possessed of easy circumstances. Indeed, my sister Eliza—” I stopped, in recollection of the nature of the Earl’s trade.

“I quite long to pursue your sister Eliza’s acquaintance,” Lord Harold remarked. “She seems a most engaging lady — on terms of intimacy with the entire world, but too strong in her understanding to be duped by it.”

“Eliza knew something of the Swithin fortunes in India, I believe. She is a native of the region herself.”

“And did she comprehend the nature of that fortune’s present increase?” Lord Harold enquired keenly.

“She thought it due to the trade of opium with China.”

“And so it is. I might add that Swithin has put his profits from opium sales into the finest gemstones the Company might obtain; and it is these he sends in cargoes home to Great Britain. But I very much fear that his wealth has run afoul of politics.”

I frowned. “The present Government would put a halt to the opium trade?”

Lord Harold shook his head. “But Buonaparte will not hesitate to do so, I fear. Lord Swithin’s fortune is much exposed, in traversing the Indian Ocean. You may have heard from your naval brothers that the French hold some islands in that clime, and have harried our shipping in recent months.”

I endeavoured to recall the respective French and British holdings in the Indian Ocean. “The Ile de France, is it not? What we call the island of Mauritius?”

“The very same. We must destroy the French base in those waters if the Indian trade is to sail in security; and upon the fate of the Indian trade rests an entire web of investments and fortunes, touching nearly every family in the kingdom. The expense of the Crown’s war with France could not be sustained, to name but a single venture; and yet a vast deal of English goods and bullion has lately gone without a murmur into the Empire’s hands. I fear that Swithin’s ships have been served a similar fate. If rumour may be taken for truth, it is many months since the Earl’s merchantmen were heard from.”