“Charades?” Lord Harold enquired, as he appeared with his party at my elbow. “But how appropriate to the season! And how exactly suited to my inclination! Your servant, Miss Austen.”

“Lord Harold. May I have the honour of presenting my uncle to your acquaintance?”

They exchanged their hellos, with a twinkle of amusement and a significant look on Mr. Leigh-Perrot’s side; and then Lord Harold remembered the Conynghams.

The brother bowed, and the sister curtseyed deeply to my uncle.

“Charmed, madam,” Mr. Leigh-Perrot said with a flush. “I have long desired to convey to you my extreme appreciation of your talents. This is your first season in the Theatre Royal, is it not?”

“It is.”

“And before that, you studied with Mrs. Siddons?”

“I have had that privilege,” Maria Conyngham replied, with a quick look for her brother. “You are quite knowledgeable on the subject of the theatre, I see. A devotee of the Dramatic Muse, perhaps?”

“A frustrated player, I own. As a lad at Eton I took the breeches parts in Shakespeare; and I have never quite got over my turn as Viola.”

“But she is one of my favourites!” Miss Conyngham offered graciously.

My uncle’s good humour was at full flood, and he was on the point of inviting the actors to make an addition to our post-concert party, when Eliza’s voice was heard above the throng.

“Look who I have found, Jane!”

I turned — and observed my sister advancing excitedly, with Henry and Lord Swithin in tow.

The Earl’s strong figure loomed over our little party, and his eyes went first to Lady Desdemona, still and silent at Easton’s side, and then to Lord Harold’s coat, where the tiger and the pendant gleamed dully in the candlelight. His lordship’s countenance turned first white, and then red with suppressed emotion; but he managed a creditable bow. “Lord Harold. Lady Desdemona.”

“Good evening, Swithin,” Lord Harold said. “I see you have come to pay your respects to dear Mona at last. You remember Miss Conyngham, of course?”

“Who could not?” Lord Swithin’s tone was easy enough, but his eyes would fix on Lord Harold’s tiger.

“We were on the point of carrying her off to play at charades,” observed the Gentleman Rogue, “but now I come to think of it, Mr. Leigh-Perrot, we are become a shocking great party, indeed! It should never do to incommode your excellent wife with the addition of so many. May I propose our removal to Laura Place instead?”

My uncle hesitated, and looked to me; and I rallied tolerably to Lord Harold’s purpose.

“What better place for diversion? I quite long to see that noble drawing-room alight once more, and explore the cunning passage! And I am sure Aunt’s unfortunate indisposition must render the suggestion a welcome one.”

My gentle relation gave way. “To Laura Place, then, without delay!”

Our side received this sally with a mixture of emotions — tolerance for my part, who was familiar with my uncle’s wit, and puzzlement among those less adept at word-play than the Austens. There were five of us ranged to the right of the drawing-room fire — Lord Swithin, the Conynghams, my brother Henry, and myself — while Lord Harold and my uncle anchored the opposing team of Eliza, Lady Desdemona, and Colonel Easton. The Dowager Duchess had elected to serve as audience, with Miss Wren disapproving at her side.

“A clock,” Hugh Conyngham suggested.

“No, no,” Henry objected. “Though the notion of striking is apt, I grant you, you must endeavour to comprise the whole of Uncle’s meaning. It is a repeating watch. Consider the chain.”

“Capital, dear boy!” my uncle cried.

“But should we accord them the victory?” Lord Harold enquired. “For surely the immediate response was inaccurate. Should not the team present a unified face, and reply with one accord?”

“Very well — in future we shall do so,” said Swithin. “But let us consider the last point as unplayed.”

“Unplayed!” my uncle cried indignantly. “But it was a most ingenious riddle!”

“Then let me propose another,” said Lord Harold smoothly; and after a moment’s consultation, presented the following:

An absolute silence greeted this offering, and with a sidelong glance, I saw that Maria Conyngham’s countenance was as death. She reached for her brother’s hand, and he clutched it close.

“Could it be,” Henry mused, his eyes on the elaborate plaster carving of the Dowager’s ceiling—“but no, that makes three syllables — now I wonder—”

“‘United I’m a monster …’” Miss Conyngham whispered, and declined into silence.

“Agent,” the Earl spat out, with a venomous look in his eye. “It is agent.”

“Very well played.” Lord Harold applauded lightly. “The one who strikes on behalf of another, and in so doing, involves them both in ruin. I had thought the notion might possibly thwart your penetration.”

“I may employ such men, Lord Harold, but I am hardly thwarted by them,” Swithin rejoined.

“Indeed? Your turn, I believe.”

We consulted in a group, and agreed upon a word I suggested, having had occasion to compose a riddle on its meaning before; and then I turned to the others, and said:

“Sew — cook — wash — what other tasks must be onerous to a girl of spirit, Eliza?” my uncle enquired, puzzling it out.

“Visits to elderly relations?”

“No, no — it must be one syllable!”

“Darn? Mend? Do you exert your energies towards the first part, Mr. Perrot, and I shall endeavour to make out the second.” She closed her eyes in a pretty attitude of concentration. “Might you repeat that section, Jane?”

“‘And my second confines her to finish the piece,’“ I said, with a casual air; but I thought Maria Conyngham’s looks grew more pallid still.

“Confine. Yes. Now, then — chain? Bond? Tie?”

Colonel Easton’s voice, in a tone of quiet amusement, superseded the little Comtesse’s. “Darnchain? Mend-bond? Cooktie? I do not think we shall progress very far in such a fashion. Let us declare ourselves at a loss.”

I bowed. “Miss Conyngham? Will you relieve their ignorance?”

“The word is hemlock,” she said, in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course. Suicide, that happiest of releases from tasks both onerous and unmentionable,” Lord Harold observed.

“Excellent! Excellent, indeed, my dear Jane,” my uncle cried merrily. “I must exert myself to another. Unless, that is, someone else on our side—” He looked about.

“I believe I may offer a small diversion,” said Colonel Easton. He stood, and would have posed for oratory, his hands clasped behind his back, but for the impediment of his sling.