WE MADE OUR MELANCHOLY WAY ONCE MORE TO GREEN Park Buildings, and found my father had quite deserted us. My mother confessed herself somewhat exhausted by the emotions of the day, and the rigours of her sister Perrot’s conversation, and sought her rooms in the hope of rest. Cassandra set about the instruction of Cook, in the matter of mince pies; and I returned in solitude to the little sitting-room. But I had not even attempted the composition of these few lines, when a knock on the door announced a visitor; and I very soon was presented with Mary the housemaid, a most anxious look upon her countenance.

“If you please, ma’am, there’s a gentleman as wishes to see you,” she said.

I studied her with irritation. “I am not inclined to visitors today.”

Poor Mary’s visage clouded. “I know that, ma’am. And so I told him. But he would have it as I should bring you his card, and so I have done.” She crossed, and held out the offending object; and with a sudden exclamation I set down my pen.

“Lord Harold! Why did not you say so at once, unfortunate girl!”

I rose, and smoothed my hair; Lord Harold strode into the room, and tossed his hat carelessly upon a table. “Miss Austen.” He bowed over my hand, but his eyes remained fixed on my own. “I fear I should better have stayed away. You are even now in mourning. My very deepest sympathies.”

I nodded, too overcome for speech. Solicitude in the Gentleman Rogue is so seldom a mover, as to make its recipient almost uneasy.

“Your housemaid informed me of the loss. She had little inclination to allow my passage, but I confess I overruled her.” He straightened, and studied my countenance. I knew it to be decidedly ugly with the effects of weeping. “I shall not presume upon your privacy long. You have other concerns that must render the affair in Laura Place of very little consequence.”

“Nay — I beg of you, do not disturb yourself on my account,” I rejoined with haste. “Pray tell me what has occasioned your journey into Seymour Street this morning.”

I seated myself once more at my little table, but Lord Harold took a turn about the room, his hands in his trouser pockets. My brothers being prone as yet to the wearing of knee breeches, I had rarely seen a man who sported the newer fashion — and never one whose tailor had managed it so entirely to perfection. He came to a halt before a porcelain box reposing upon the mantel, and subjected it to the regard of his quizzing-glass.

“Tell me a little of your friend.”

“Madam Lefroy? She was everything that was excellent in a woman. For this, you need seek no further than Her Grace’s good opinion — for the Dowager was quite intimate with Anne Lefroy, I believe, and desired her presence at last Tuesday’s rout.”

“So much I had understood. I had rather you told me how she came to die.” The quizzing-glass swung round, and was briefly fixed upon myself. I shuddered at the distorted grey eye its lens revealed, feeling touched once more by the shadow of nightmare; and then Lord Harold secured the glass within his coat.

“I hardly know how to consider the matter myself,” I slowly said. “Madam Lefroy was thrown from a runaway horse — a mount she considered so lazy, as to make bolting the very last of her concerns. And her skill as a horsewoman was celebrated throughout the country.”

Lord Harold took up his customary position by the fire, one booted foot raised upon the fender. “You find in her end a disturbing tendency.”

As always, he moved directly to the heart of matters.

“I do. Though it may be only the misapprehension of grief — a denial of the ways of Providence.”

He smiled grimly and retrieved a small packet from within his coat. “I would have you peruse the contents of a letter I received this morning from France, my dear Jane — and only then judge of the ways of Providence.”

I straightened in my chair. “A letter — from Mrs. Cos-way? Regarding the malevolent eye?”

“Indeed. It was in the hope of soliciting your opinion that I determined to call at Green Park Buildings this morning. For I begin to wonder if we have not approached this affair from the wrong direction entirely.”

He handed me the letter — a single sheet close-written in a feminine hand. I read hurriedly through the initial paragraphs, feeling acutely for Mr. Cosway, and the exposure of his most intimate affairs; but was very soon rewarded with an end to all suspense.

“Another Maria,” I murmured. “That name is destined to haunt our very sleep. And have you gone to Mr. Lawrence, my lord?”

“I have — and learned that he will not admit visitors, being shut up in his rooms after the most bruising attack upon his chair Saturday evening. It is singular, is it not,” Lord Harold added, “how roughly our friends are treated?”

“Singular and disturbing in the extreme.” I frowned in consideration. “I wonder if Mr. Lawrence knows to whom he owes his present misfortunes?”

“We must enquire of him ourselves. Will you consent to accompany me to the Bear tomorrow morning, Jane, for the interrogation of the man?”

I hesitated. “Nothing would pique my interest more, Lord Harold, but I am engaged to attend the concert in the Upper Rooms, and would not wish to be delayed for dinner.”

“Then we shall undertake to pay the call at one o’clock, and remain not above an hour. But now tell me, my dear — was Mr. Lawrence at all acquainted with your friend Madam Lefroy?”

I started at his words, and felt my heart to commence a painful beating. “A little, I must assume. For Madam Lefroy was much in conversation with a Red Harlequin at Her Grace’s rout, and Lady Desdemona assures me it was thus Mr. Lawrence was disguised. Even Mr. Conyngham remarked their intimacy, for he spoke of it when we danced together in the Lower Rooms—” I faltered as the implication of this thought fell hard upon me. “What would you intimate, my lord — that Madam was murdered for her acquaintance with Mr. Lawrence?”