“And from the turn of your countenance, I should judge it equally unfortunate for Swithin’s case.”

“The brooch was fashioned for his lordship’s mother, by Thomas Grey, the jeweller in Sackville Street, a very reputable old firm. It has been in the family’s possession some thirty years.”

I sighed.

“But Warren learned something even more intriguing, Jane — from a pawnbroker in Cheapside. The tiger brooch was lately pawned, and then redeemed, by a man who called himself Mr. Smith.”

“John Smith, no doubt.”

Lord Harold smiled. “The man did not answer at all to the Earl’s description. He was burly and bearded, by all accounts.”

“Then perhaps he spells his name Smythe,” I suggested, “or may be found in the person of Lord Swithin’s groom. Can the Earl’s fortunes be so reduced, as to require him to pawn his mother’s jewels? It is incredible!”

“Incredible, indeed,” Lord Harold said wryly. “But I have delayed already too long. I will conduct you to Green Park Buildings, my dear, and then away.”

We turned in the direction of Seymour Street, our umbrellas raised high against the fitful gusts of rain.

“We are so much more advanced in our researches than a week ago,” I mused, “and yet we come no nearer to our purpose. How do you hope to effect the murderer’s exposure, Lord Harold? A confession would be everything — but how to provoke it?”

“I do not know, Jane — or at least, not yet. But I think I shall attend the Rauzzini concert this evening, and carry the Conynghams in my train. Brother and sister are unnecessary to the company’s performance in Bristol, it being a Christmas pantomime; and they are shrewd enough to profit from the chance to learn just exactly how much I know.”

“Hugh Conyngham consents to quit his rooms, then?” I cried.

“He does; and shows no inclination for flight. No doubt he will enjoy the little diversion offered by Mr. Rauzzini’s music.”

“I understand that Lady Desdemona is to be escorted by Colonel Easton.”

“Yes — we shall happily make a crowd in the Wilborough coach. You spoke with Mona this morning, then?”

“And with Easton himself. The Colonel carried me to Laura Place, but soon retreated, upon finding the position already held by his enemy.”

“Swithin?”

“The redoubtable Earl.” I hesitated, then plunged on. “Lady Desdemona seemed most happy in his lordship’s attentions, and excessively sorry to refuse his offer of escort to the concert. Unfortunate girl — I feel for her most exceedingly. The Colonel is excellent in every respect, and yet—”

“And yet, Jane?” Lord Harold enquired keenly.

“And yet she cannot love him.” I managed a smile. “We are a perverse race, are we not, my lord, in being given to the bestowal of affections upon the least worthy of objects?”

“It is certainly a family failing,” he mused. “So the Earl is to be treated to the spectacle of both Miss Conyngham and my niece accompanied by his rivals! We may expect Swithin to look daggers at the Colonel, and toss a challenge at my feet, before Mrs. Billington has accomplished half an aria. I begin to enjoy the prospect of this evening’s entertainment all the more. To assemble so many of the principals, in one place! What an invitation to scandal and display!”

“But how should the mere public appearance of the Conynghams and the Earl hope to gain your point?”

He dismissed me with a wave of the hand. “You have lived long enough in the world, my dear, to know that appearances are everything.”

“Even, perhaps, when they are meant to deceive,” I added thoughtfully; and we walked on some moments in silence. Presently, however, Lord Harold observed, “You are melancholy, Jane.”

“I cannot but believe, my lord, that Anne Lefroy died because of my indiscretion.”

He frowned. “I do not pretend to understand you.”

“Had I never spoken of Madam Lefroy to Hugh Conyngham, she might well be alive today.”

His lordship’s footsteps slowed, but his gaze remained fixed upon the glistening pavement at our feet. “When did this interesting discourse occur, my dear Jane?”

“At Friday’s Assembly in the Lower Rooms. Mr. Conyngham chanced to speak slightingly of a gentleman’s constancy, at which point I reminded him of his enduring attachment to the late Miss Siddons. It was Madam Lefroy who imparted the history of the affair to me, in the midst of Her Grace’s rout. She was privileged in knowing Mr. Conyngham’s parents, you understand, many years ago — and had followed their childrens’ careers ever since. I freely owned as much to Conyngham while we danced.”

“And as a consequence,” Lord Harold murmured, “you were waylaid in your chair later that evening — and Madam Lefroy was sent to her death.”

I nodded painfully, all but incapable of speech. “The coincidence of events is not to be dismissed.”

“As for that — you know my opinion of coincidence.”

The rain dripped mournfully from our black umbrellas, as though all Bath must lament my dear Madam’s passing. “We learned, moreover, that Mr. Conyngham kept to his rooms throughout Saturday and Sunday, in respect of an indisposition — but might not he rather have found occasion for a journey into Hampshire?”

“About the startling of Madam’s horse.”

“Exactly. I admit it seems a tissue of the most fantastic construction—”

Lord Harold gave me a long look, as honest and pitiless as one of Lawrence’s heads. “Would that it were, my dear Jane. Would that it were. But it rings, rather, with undeniable truth. Imagine Conyngham’s agitation, upon learning that Anne Lefroy had published his childhood passion for Maria Siddons! Anne Lefroy, whom he had observed the night of the murder in closest conversation with the regrettable Lawrence! What if the painter had recounted his own affections for Maria Siddons, or even his portrait of her eye? The eye that was left on the wrong man’s breast, and so mysteriously disappeared! Mr. Conyngham should be a fool not to perceive that events had moved beyond his ordering of them. And so he attempted to silence you and Madam Lefroy both — and Mr. Lawrence into the bargain. I may count myself fortunate, I suppose, that I am walking about unbattered.”

I had not energy enough to summon a reply; and the oppression of spirits — the uneasy sensation of complicity in Madam’s end — dragged bitterly at my heart. Of a sudden I was infinitely weary.

“But you must reflect, Jane,” my companion added gently, “that yours was not the hand, or the murderous intent, that effected her death.”

“No more than the unfortunate horse,” I retorted angrily, my countenance flushing, “but he was equally destroyed.”

MR. RAUZZINI’S CONCERTS ARE ALWAYS HELD IN THE UPPER Rooms, which are of recent construction and happily situated between the Circus and the portion of the Lansdowne Road known familiarly as Belmont.[78] Here one may find the Ballroom and the Octagons, Little and Grand; the Card Room and the Tea Room, where our concert tonight was to be held. These are large, high-ceilinged spaces, done up in pale hues and Adam Fretwork and cream, ideally suited to either a Cotillion Ball or the presentation of an aria; and as they sit but three or four blocks from Paragon Buildings, my uncle’s gouty disposition need be indisposed very little, in pursuit of his enjoyment.

We had agreed that Eliza and Henry should meet us at the concert itself, while my uncle should call for me in his comfortable carriage. I was a little anxious for the arrival of the Henry Austens, in fearing that Mr. Leigh-Perrot — who is most prompt on all occasions — should never comprehend the effort at dress required by so fashionable a lady as Eliza. But at a quarter ‘til eight, the Austens assembled in considerable style by the hearth in the Grand Octagon; and despite the persistent oppression of my spirits, and some little agitation on Lord Harold’s account, I was very well pleased at the sentiment that had counselled me to forgo my aunt’s insipid card party.