“An excellent morning for exercise, Miss Austen.”

“Indeed it is, my lord.”

“I had considered employing my curricle, or perhaps a brace of chairs — but reflected that neither man nor beast, when burdened with ourselves, should be expected to labour the length of such a hill. I felt certain you would feel the same.”

“Are you possessed, then, of prescience as regards my thoughts and feelings?”

Lord Harold cast me a knowing look. “I flatter myself otherwise. You remain one of the few ladies whose thoughts I cannot read. But perhaps, having found a virtue in this once before, I prolong the effect for the sake of my enjoyment, when, in fact, it is no more than illusion.”

“Then pray tell me of what I am considering now”

“You are abusing me for a very unhandsome escort, in having failed to procure either a carriage or a chair, for the salvation of your half-boots,” he rejoined.

“Your illusion may be sustained yet a little while,” I replied with satisfaction. “I was considering, rather, the Earl of Swithin’s intended removal to a residence opposite your own.”

“That minor intelligence is circulating about all of Bath, I fancy,” Lord Harold observed, “even as the Earl’s carters were circulating about Laura Place this morning. Lord Swithin’s descent has not escaped my notice — nor, I might add, the fact that any wheeled traffic must immediately come to a halt, when Laura Place is choked with even the slightest conveyance. For though the streets in the newer part of town may command a wider breadth than those within the old walls, they remain sadly narrow; and any might come to blows over the rights of passage. The night of Her Grace’s rout, the assemblage of chairs must have considerably clogged the square.”

“I believe they did.”

“And thus inspired by the Earl’s display, I embarked upon my enquiries among the chairmen not long after breakfast.”

“Excellent despatch, my lord. You adventured Stall Street?”[41]

“Both the stand near the Pump Room and the one closer to the Abbey. I questioned every chairman present, to no avail; of those who had indeed been in Laura Place two nights ago, none could recall an altercation with a waggon or carriage; and so I turned my steps to the Gravel Walk.”

“The better to contemplate the problem?”

“The better to examine the chairmen in their resting huts along Queen Place Parade, my dear.[42] There were ten fellows at least, quite splendid in their blue greatcoats and peaked caps, divided between the two fires and blowing upon their chapped fingers.”

I stopped a moment, from as strong a desire to draw breath in the midst of my exertions, as to pay heed to Lord Harold’s words. “And what did they tell you, my lord?”

“Amidst much contradiction, abuse, and bestowing of oaths — and a remarkable expense of coin, I might add — something of no little worth. One of the chairmen — a broad Irishman who stood well back in the crowd attending the end of my mother’s rout — claims to have seen something to our advantage. He will have it that an open carriage attempted to pass through Laura Place in the wee hours of Wednesday morning; and after hesitating some moments, the driver was forced to descend to the horses’ heads, and back his pair the length of the street. The chairmen closest to Her Grace’s door were unlikely to have observed the debacle — which accounts for the ignorance of the men I questioned in Stall Street.”

“An open carriage? But it snowed!”

“And so the chairmen observed. It must have been, they affirmed, a party caught out late by the weather — a party that had not considered of snow, when they undertook to drive about the countryside in a curricle. But as they were happily in possession of a wealth of blankets, in which one passenger at least, was effectively cocooned, we may congratulate them on having sustained no very great evil.”

“Our murderer!” I exclaimed. “He had only to drop from the Dowager’s window to the open carriage, while the driver was abusing the chairmen — and conceal himself among the lap robes within. Did the chairmen remark the driver’s face?”

“He was heavily muffled against the snow, as should not be extraordinary. But he did approach their stand, and exhort them in the foulest language to clear a passage; which engaged their attention so thoroughly, they could say nothing of the equipage’s passenger.”

“And the curricle itself?”

“Indistinct in every respect. No coat of arms, no device upon its doors — a common black carriage, such as might be offered for hire at one of the inns.”

“And so it might, indeed,” I thoughtfully replied. We walked on some moments in silence, and then I added, “Did the murderer depart the anteroom by the open window, my affection for the cunning passage must be entirely at an end. I think, Lord Harold, that we should examine it thoroughly at the nearest opportunity, the better to dismiss its claims upon our attention.”

“It shall be done directly we have consulted with your Mr. Cosway, my dear. I should have attended to it before, but that I believed the passage already searched by Mr. Wilberforce Elliot.”

“I cannot be easy in my mind, regarding Mr. Elliot’s searches,” I replied firmly; but further speculation was at an end. We had achieved our object.

Mr. Richard Cosway had taken up his abode in no less than the foremost residence of Camden Place — that distinguished by the broad central pediment and coat of arms of the Marquis of Camden. The artist’s taste, as Eliza had assured me, was exquisite in this as in all things.

We mounted the steps, pulled the bell, and were speedily admitted to the foyer, which was dominated by a spiral stair ascending to the drawing-room. A footman in sky-blue livery, and possessed of the chilliest countenance, received Lord Harold’s card together with Eliza’s hasty scrawl, and made his stately progress towards the first floor.

I profited from the interval in surveying my surroundings — and found them unlike anything I had encountered to date. Even so humble a space as this entry was marked by the hand of the collector. What appeared to be excellent Flemish tapestries of considerable age depended from the ceiling, the richness of their hues fired by the light of the clerestory windows. Two chairs, carved and gilded as thrones, offered the weary their damasked laps; and at their feet lay a veritable tide of Turkey carpet, its design at once intricate and bewildering. Surely the house had been hired furnished? Or had Mr. Cosway seen fit to travel with his belongings, like an Oriental potentate?

“Mr. Cosway is at home,” the footman told us with a bow. Lord Harold inclined his head, I took up my reticule, and we followed the man above.

The drawing-room itself was more akin to enchantment than anything in my experience — Mr. Mozart’s seraglio come vividly to life. Everywhere about were scattered small ivory cabinets and mosaic tables inlaid with curious stones, their feet carved in the form of fantastic animals. Groups of ottomans, upholstered in the richest damask, were set off by Japanese screens; a profusion of Persian rugs ran the length of the marble floor; and poised for appreciation and display were choice bronzes, artists’ models in wax and terra-cotta, specimens of antique Sevres, Blue Mandar, Nankin and Dresden china. I blinked, and turned about in wonder — and caught at the last the amused smile of the painter himself, as comfortable as a monkey in a jungle of his own making. Richard Cosway was half-hidden by a suit of armour, but a flash of sunlight revealed a waistcoat of cerise and yellow to my eye, as surely as exotic plumage betrays an elusive bird.

“Lord Harold,” he said, coming forward with a bow, “and the delightful Miss Austen.” He was so diminutive a figure, and possessed of such awkward features, as to seem almost a gargoyle stepped down from the piers of Winchester; but I made him a courtesy, and took the hand he extended in greeting. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”