I tried several doors and finally found her in a room lined from floor to ceiling with books.

“Where have you been?” Verity said. She was seated at a table covered with a litter of shells and pots of glue.

“Eating vile, unspeakable things,” I said. “And answering questions about America. Why on earth did you tell them I’d been to America? I don’t know anything about the States.”

“Neither do they,” she said imperturbably. “I had to do something. You haven’t been prepped, and you’re bound to make mistakes. They think all Americans are barbarians, so if you use the wrong fork, they’ll put it down to your having spent time in the States.”

“Thank you, I suppose,” I said.

“Sit down,” she said. “We need to plan our strategy.”

I looked at the door, which had an old-fashioned key in the lock. “Should I lock the door?”

“It’s not necessary,” she said, selecting a flat pinkish shell. “The only person who ever comes in here is Baine. Mrs. Mering disapproves of reading.”

“Then where did all this come from?” I said, indicating the rows of brown- and scarlet-bound books.

“They bought it,” she said, swabbing glue on the shell.

“Bought what?”

“The library. From Lord Dunsany. The person Baine worked for before he came to the Chattisbournes. The Chattisbournes are who Mrs. Mering stole Baine from, though I think Baine actually chose to come. For the books.” She stuck the shell down on the box. “Sit down. If anyone comes in, you’re helping me with these.” She held up a completed box. It was covered with shells of assorted sizes in the shape of a heart.

“That’s absolutely hideous,” I said.

“The entire Victorian era had the most atrocious taste,” she said. “Be glad it’s not hair wreaths.”

“Hair wreaths?”

“Flowers made out of dead people’s hair. The mother-of-pearl shells go along the edges,” she said, showing me, “and then a row of cowrie shells.” She shoved a glue pot at me. “I found out from Baine why Mrs. Mering’s suddenly so friendly toward Terence. She looked him up in DeBrett’s. He’s rich, and he’s the nephew of a peer.”

“Rich?” I said. “But he didn’t even have enough money to pay for the boat.”

“The aristocracy are always in debt,” she said, looking at a clamshell. “He’s got five thousand a year, an estate in Kent, and he’s second in line to the peerage. So,” she said, discarding the clamshell, “our priority is to keep Tossie and Terence away from each other, which will be difficult with Mama matchmaking. Tossie’s collecting things for the jumble sale this morning, and I’m going to send you with her. That’ll keep them apart for at least half a day.”

“What about Terence?” I said.

“I’m going to send him to Streatley after the Chinese lanterns for the fête. I want you to try to find out from Tossie if she knows any young men whose names begin with ‘C.’ ”

“You’ve checked in the neighborhood for ‘C’’s, I suppose,” I said.

She nodded. “The only two I’ve been able to discover are Mr. Cudden and Mr. Cawp, the farmer who’s always drowning kittens.”

“Sounds like a match made in heaven. What about Mr. Cudden?”

“He’s married,” she said glumly. “You’d think there’d be lots of Mr. C’s. I mean, look at Dickens — David Copperfield, Martin Chuzzlewit, Bob Cratchet.”

“Not to mention the Admirable Crichton,” I said, “and Lewis Carroll. No, that won’t work. It wasn’t his real name. Thomas Carlyle. And G.K. Chesterton. Eligible suitors all,” I said. “What are you going to do while I’m with Tossie?”

“I’m going to search Tossie’s room and try to find her diary. She’s hidden it, and I had to cut my search short. Jane came in. But this morning they’ll all be working on the fête, so I won’t be interrupted. Failing that, I’ll go through to Oxford and see what the forensics expert’s been able to find out.”

“Ask Warder how much slippage there was on the drop when you rescued Princess Arjumand,” I said.

“Going through to Oxford with her, do you mean?” she said. “There’s never any slippage on return drops.”

“No,” I said, “the drop where you came through and saw the cat.”

“All right. We’d better get back in there.” She stuck the cork in the glue pot, stood up, and rang for Baine.

“Baine,” she said when he appeared, “have the carriage brought round immediately, and then come to the breakfast room.

“As you wish, miss,” he said.

“Thank you, Baine,” she said, picked up the shell-covered box, and led the way back to the breakfast room.

Mrs. Mering was still interrogating Terence. “O, how exquisite!” she said when Verity showed her the box.

“We still have a good deal to do for the fête, Aunt Malvinia,” she said. “I so want the jumble sale to be a success. Have you your list?”

“Ring for Jane to bring it,” Mrs. Mering said.

“She has gone to the vicarage to fetch the bunting,” Verity said, and as soon as Mrs. Mering had left the room to get the list, “Mr. St. Trewes, may I prevail on you for a favor? The Chinese lanterns we had intended to string between the stalls have not been delivered. Would you be so good as to go to Streatley for them?”

“Baine can go,” Tossie said. “Terence is to go with me to the Chattisbournes’ this morning.”

“Your mother cannot spare Baine, with the tea tent to be set up,” Verity said. “Mr. Henry shall go with you. Baine,” she said to the butler who had just come in, “bring Mr. Henry a basket in which to carry the jumble sale donations. Is the carriage waiting?”

“Yes, miss,” he said, and left.

“But—” Tossie said, her mouth forming a pout.

“Here is the address,” Verity said, handing Terence a sheet of paper, “and orders for the lanterns. This is so good of you,” and hustled him out the front door before Tossie could even protest.

Baine brought the basket, and Tossie went to get her hat and gloves. “I don’t see why Mr. Henry couldn’t have gone for the lanterns,” I heard her say to Verity as they went upstairs.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Verity said. “Wear your hat with the polka-dot veil to show to Rose Chattisbourne.”

Verity came back downstairs. “I’m impressed,” I said.

“I’ve been taking lessons from Lady Schrapnell,” she said. “While you’re at the Chattisbournes’, see if you can find out when Elliott Chattisbourne — he’s the one whose clothes you’re wearing — is coming home. She could have been secretly corresponding with him since he’s been out in South Africa. Here comes Tossie.”

Tossie fluttered down the stairs in the polka-dotted veil, carrying a reticule and a parasol, and we set off.

Baine ran to catch up with us. “Your hat, sir,” he said breathlessly, handing me my boater.

My straw boater, which I had last seen floating down the river, the ribbon already beginning to fade pale blue onto the soggy straw. Baine had somehow restored it to its original state, the ribbon bright blue, the straw scrubbed and crisp.

“Thank you, Baine,” I said. “I thought it was lost forever.”

I put it on, feeling jauntier immediately and fully capable not only of keeping Tossie away from Terence but of being so charming she’d forget all about him.

“Shall we?” I said to Tossie and offered her my arm.

She looked up at me through the polka dots. “My cousin Verity says your hat makes you look feeble-minded,” she said speculatively, “but I don’t think it’s that bad. Some men simply don’t know how to wear hats. ‘Don’t you fink Mr. St. Twewes looks dashing in his boater?’ my dearums Juju said to me this morning. ‘Don’t you fink he’s the han’somest, han’somest mannums?’”

I had thought baby talk was bad, but baby talk from a cat—

“I knew a chap at school who lived near here,” I said, changing the subject to something more productive. “I can’t remember his name just now. Began with a ‘C.’ ”

“Elliott Chattisbourne?”

“No, that’s not it,” I said. “It did begin with a ‘C,’ though.”