“Doping!” Bradford exclaimed indignantly. There was no limit to the depths to which people would stoop to alter the odds. He shook his head. “A vicious business. Making the horse stupid or making him savage-either way, it’s dangerous. Misjudge the dose, and the poor beast may die, or be ruined.”

“Misjudge the dose and the jockey may die,” Charles reminded him. “Johnny Bell was killed because he couldn’t control the horse. If I read the admiral right, he’d like to obtain evidence that will convince the Club to ban doping-if that can be done without attracting too much attention.”

“That’s the Club,” Bradford muttered. “Always eager to avoid scandal, even if it means brushing bad practice under the rug. It will have to be faced soon, though. There has been an invasion of these American jockeys and trainers, and an enormous infusion of American money. The stewards are going to have to stop dithering and do something.”

Charles drew on his pipe. “Then perhaps we can find the evidence that will prompt them to take some decisive action. Are you with me?”

“I’m with you,” Bradford said. They smoked in silence for a few minutes; then he added, “Speaking of taking action, Edith and I happened to motor past the cottages on that parcel of land I sold Kate recently. I noticed that they are being repaired. Are you thinking of letting them?”

“I?” Charles asked, and both brows went up. “That’s Kate’s property, you know. She used her funds for the purchase. She does as she likes with it.”

Bradford prided himself on his own modern attitudes, but he still had not got used to his friend’s unconventional marriage. He could understand Charles’s allowing his wife to purchase property, but he could not comprehend his permitting her to actually manage it. “Well, then,” he said dryly, “what does Kate plan to do with the cottages?”

“She wants to expand her school,” Charles said, “but she needs additional dormitory space. She acquired the property with the intention of refurbishing the cottages and using them to house students who come from a distance.” He grinned. “There’s no stopping that woman once she gets an idea, you know. Between her and the Countess of Warwick, I believe they plan to train every able-bodied woman in England to earn her livelihood from the land.” He shook his head. “And by Jove, I think they might succeed.”

Kate, with Charles and her maid Amelia Quibbley, took the morning Great Eastern train from Colchester east and north to Ipswich, then west through Bury St. Edmunds to Newmarket. There, they separated at the station, Charles being met by Bradford Marsden and walking off in one direction, Kate hailing a hansom and being driven off in another. It was after eleven when the cab pulled up in front of Regal Lodge and she got out, followed by Amelia, who waited while the driver took down the bags.

Mrs. Langtry had written of her house as a “small cottage,” but it was neither small nor very like a cottage, Kate thought, looking up at it. Regal Lodge was a substantial brick house, half-timbered in the second story, with a great many mullioned windows and numerous imposing gables and chimney pots, set behind wrought-iron gates off a quiet lane. Mrs. Langtry placed a premium on privacy-as well she might, for Charles had told Kate that when the Prince visited the racing stables at Egerton House, where his racehorses were trained, he visited Mrs. Langtry as well. His Highness was not in such oblivious thrall to the Honorable Mrs. Keppel that he had forsaken his old friend Lillie.

Kate rang the bell beside the iron-studded front door and was admitted by a courteous butler named Williams, who begged to inform her that Mrs. Langtry offered her most profound regrets, but that she was engaged with her advisers and could not be disturbed.

“If her ladyship would be pleased to be shown to her rooms,” he added, “the luncheon bell will ring shortly.”

The rooms-a spacious bedroom and dressing room; a private bath with a water closet and a bathtub which was connected to a small gas hot-water heater; and a sleeping closet for Amelia-were more than ample. The bedroom was luxuriously furnished in blue and silver draperies, bed coverings, and carpets, and there were bowls and vases filled with roses on every table. Amelia unpacked a champagne-colored dress of embroidered linen and helped Kate change into it.

“You look lovely, m’lady,” Amelia said, putting the finishing touches to Kate’s hair just as the luncheon bell rang.

“Thank you,” Kate said, smoothing her skirts. “If you don’t mind, Amelia, I’ll leave you to finish unpacking. And then you might go downstairs and join the staff at lunch.”

“Yes, m’lady,” Amelia answered equably, taking Kate’s leather jewelry box from the portmanteau. She gave Kate a sidelong glance. “Are there any special instructions, ma’am, especially as regards the servants?”

Kate smiled at the question. It was hard to keep secrets from one’s lady’s maid-and impossible to hide anything from Amelia Quibbley. The young woman-brown-haired and petite, with a pretty, open face-had been with her for several years, not just at Bishop’s Keep but also at Sibley House, the London residence where Charles and Kate stayed when Parliament was in session. The house was big as a castle and as unfriendly as a mausoleum, with a large, impersonal staff supervised by an impassive butler and a tyrant of a housekeeper. Kate relied on Amelia’s company and friendship and often used her as a liaison with the other, less amiable staff. Perhaps for this reason, perhaps for others, Amelia had developed an almost intuitive sense of what her mistress might require of her, as well as the ability to appraise an unfamiliar household.

Kate took the gold brooch that Amelia handed her. “I have two purposes in being here, Amelia. Mrs. Langtry has expressed an interest in staging one of my stories, and while the idea doesn’t greatly appeal to me, I plan to discuss it with her.” Looking at herself in the mirror, she pinned the brooch at her throat. “And Mrs. Langtry has agreed to be the subject of an article I’ve been asked to write for The Strand, and I would be glad of any insights into her true nature-the sort of insights servants sometimes share. I might not be able to use them in the article, but they would help me to better understand her character.”

“Yes, m’lady,” Amelia said demurely. “I’m sure people ’ud like to know wot she’s really like. When she’s not on the stage, that is.”

Kate met Amelia’s eyes in the mirror. “I’m sure they would,” she replied.

“Lady Charles!” Mrs. Langtry exclaimed, rising gracefully from a sofa in the drawing room. She was wearing an elaborate dress of sea-foam green watered silk with a bodice of pleated chiffon, cut low to show the full, soft whiteness of an alluring neck and shoulders, with a circlet of impressively large pearls clasped around her throat. She held out both her hands, and she and Kate traded the inevitable social kiss on both cheeks.

“So delighted that you are here at Regal Lodge!” Mrs. Langtry continued. “But I shan’t have any sort of ceremony. I insist that you call me Lillie, Kathryn.”