Kate cleared her throat. She could not say what she wished, but she had to say something, or she was afraid that she would scream. “I’m sure it will all work out in the end,” she said, thinking how banal and clichéd the words sounded, and how false. But truth was not a valued commodity in this house.

“You’re right, of course,” Lillie said, tucking her handkerchief away. “It will all work out in the end. Jeanne is temperamental. By tonight, she will have forgotten all about our little contretemps.” She looked up brightly. “Now, for this afternoon-I was thinking of taking a drive into Bury St. Edmond to call on an old acquaintance there. Do you wish to accompany me-or would you prefer to spend time in the garden?”

Lillie’s tone made it plain that she was not eager to take Kate calling, and Kate did not prefer either of the options she was offered. She stood.

“Thank you for the invitation. I think, though, that it might be time to bring my visit to an end. We’ve determined that we won’t be staging ‘The Duchess,’ and I believe we’ve concluded our interview. I’m quite sure I have enough material for an article.” She arranged a smile on her face and forced herself to lie. “You have been a wonderful hostess, Lillie. I’ve enjoyed my visit very much.”

“Oh, have you?” Lillie asked cheerily, cocking her head to one side. “I’m so very glad, Beryl! You must come again, and next time I promise that we shan’t be bothered by any of my little domestic tragedies. But you must let me tell Williams to have the pony cart brought round to take you to Newmarket. You’ll be catching the train?”

“Lord Charles is still in Newmarket,” Kate said. “I think I shall stay over for a time, to see our young friend Patrick ride in Friday’s race. But I would like the pony cart, thank you.”

She went quickly up the stairs, meeting Amelia in the hallway. She grasped her hand and pulled her into the bedroom. “We’re packing, Amelia,” she said. “Hurry! I want to be out of here just as soon as we can!”

“Has something gone wrong, my lady?” Amelia asked in surprise.

“I can’t bear to stay in the same house with that awful woman for one more minute!” Kate exclaimed. “And don’t bother with careful packing-just throw the things in.” She went to the wardrobe and seized a dress. “Here-I’ll help.”

Between the two of them, packing took only ten minutes. Kate put on her hat and gloves and a short cloak over her green dress. Then Amelia went down the back stairs to get help with the luggage, and Kate, her purse in her hand, went down to the drawing room to say goodbye to Lillie. As she stepped into the room, however, she saw that the only occupant was a man standing by the window, gazing out, a brandy snifter in his hand. At the rustle of her skirts, he spoke without turning, his voice hard, unsoftened by even the slightest affection.

“What took you so long?” He put the snifter on the table. “You know that I do not like to be kept waiting.” He turned. Seeing Kate, he colored. “Forgive me,” he said with a slight bow. “I was expecting Mrs. Langtry.”

“I am Lady Sheridan,” Kate said, holding out her gloved hand. “Mrs. Langtry’s houseguest. And you, sir, are-?”

“My dear Lady Sheridan.” With a charming flourish, the man bent over her hand. He was impeccably dressed, nearing fifty, perhaps, and becoming stout. His hair was brown, his side-whiskers just going gray. He was quite a distinguished-looking man, Kate thought, but there was a certain quality of shrewdness beneath the surface, evident in his swift, measuring glance, as if he were seeing and calculating all her weaknesses so that he would know how to use them. There was something of the predator in him.

The French doors opened, and Lillie came in. “Ah, Spider!” she said ebulliently, going to him with both hands out.

“Mr. Jersey, I presume,” the man said playfully. He put his arms around her and bent to her throat for a familiar kiss. “Out seeing to your new horse, eh? Do you like him?” He smiled.

Lillie pushed the man back, but his arms tightened for a moment. Then, as if teasing her, he laughed and let her go.

“I adore him, Spider!” Lillie exclaimed. “And you are such a dear, such a very sweet and loving dear, for giving Tarantula to me. You must come out to the stable and tell me all about him.” She caught a glimpse of Kate. “Oh, Beryl, I thought you had gone. Well, you must come too. Really, Tarantula is a most exciting horse! He has the look of a winner.”

The man turned toward Kate with a slight smile. “Your charming guest and I were just getting acquainted.”

“I don’t believe I caught your name,” Kate said.

“Oh, just call him Spider,” Lillie replied playfully. “It’s ever so much more descriptive than his own name.” She tucked a hand through the man’s arm and glanced at Kate. “Coming, Beryl?”

“I think I’d better be getting on my way,” Kate said. “Williams will have loaded the luggage into the pony cart.” She added, convincingly, she hoped, “I must thank you again for a most delightful visit.”

“Oh, that’s quite all right,” Lillie said carelessly. She tugged the man toward the French doors. “Come along, Spider. And Beryl, my dear Beryl,” she added over her shoulder, “I do hope you’ll come back. You’ll always be welcome at Regal Lodge.”

And with that, the two of them made their exit center stage, through the French doors, to the tune of Lillie’s vivacious chatter.

Kate turned as if to leave. But instead of going to the door, she took two swift steps to the table beside the window where the man had been standing when she came into the drawing room. She opened the table drawer, put in her gloved hand, and drew something out. Quickly, she dropped it into her purse and closed the drawer.

She had just stolen Lillie Langtry’s silver-handled derringer.

And as an afterthought, she also scooped up the brandy snifter.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Newnham Grange was a late eighteenth-century house stuck all over with chimney pots and built on a branch of the River Cam about halfway between Foster’s Mill and the Newnham Mill, on the outskirts of Cambridge near the Silver Street Bridge. By a great coincidence, Charles had actually visited the house some time before, for it was the residence of George Darwin, the second son of the famous evolutionist Charles Darwin. George Darwin, professor of astronomy at Cambridge, was well-known in his own right, and his speculative interest in the movements of the moon and the tides happened to coincide with Lord Charles’s. After the publication the previous year of Professor Darwin’s book, The Tides and Kindred Phenomena of the Solar System, they had met several times to discuss these highly theoretical and rather fantastic topics, and Charles had once been asked to Newnham Grange to continue their conversation.

As Charles did not wish to make explanations to the Darwins (Mrs. Darwin was an American, a lovely woman but apt to make a fuss about things), he stopped the gig at Foster’s Mill and gave the horse into the care of a boy who worked there. After some discussion, he and Murray agreed that Murray would go to the Grange kitchen and try to find out from the cook whether she knew the whereabouts of her brother. Charles would wait on the nearby Silver Street Bridge.