“Good man! For we’ve something of a celebration this night, haven’t we?” Lord Bingsley said, clapping Dallingham on the back.

Dallingham, who had apparently already met Lord Bingsley, seemed relieved not to be met by an outraged relative when introduced to his wife’s aunt. Lady Bingsley, if not quite as effusive as her husband, was nonetheless all that a hostess should be.

For her part, the former Miss Bannister seemed, as always, becomingly shy in the company of gentlemen, and to my own relief, was not at all demonstrative with her new spouse.

In fact, dear Charles, the two of them seldom looked at eachother. Dallingham was eyeing the thick carpets, the beautiful vases and charming chandelier with the air of a man who is calculating the price each might fetch at auction. One would have thought him a solicitor’s clerk, practicing the art of taking inventory of the Bingleys’ estate. He made little effort to hide his happy contemplation of taking possession of their goods upon their demise. He divided his time between this and the depletion of Lord Bingley’s cellars.

Watching him, I found myself seething, until I felt a gentle hand on my sleeve. “My dear Lord Rossiter,” the new Lady Dallingham said softly, “how glad I am that you have come.”

She moved away rather quickly, and spoke to her aunt, all the while blushing.

I did not suppose for a moment that Dallingham, a man whose name has been linked with two actresses and any number of fair Cyprians, thought her very lovely. She tended to plumpness, a little. Her face was not that of a classic beauty, and no one would mistake her for a diamond of the first water. But there are other gems than diamonds, my dear Charles, and I found much in her that was admirable and becoming.

I wanted to ask if something was troubling her, if there was any way in which I might be of service, but I had no opportunity for private speech with her that evening-which was, I tell you plainly, easily one of the strangest nights of my life.

We were beset by real difficulties at table that evening. Dallingham wasn’t paying the least attention to me or his wife; he was admiring the silver and china, repeatedly congratulating Lord Bingsley on his fine cellars, making gratifying comments to Lady Bingsley on the excellence of the soup á la reine, and remarking on the beauty of the epergne at the center of the table. (It depicted tigers chasing one another round about-not to my taste, frankly-don’t like to dine with figures of things that would just as soon dine on me.)

But just as the second course-a haunch of venison, saddle of lamb, boiled capon and spring chicken-was served, Lady Bingsley said in a ringing voice, “Pistols at dawn!”

Dallingham and I exchanged looks of some consternation, even as Lord Bingsley calmly replied, “You’ll never do me in that way, my dear.”

“I know a good deal about pistols,” her ladyship replied. “Don’t I, Amelia?”

“Yes, Aunt,” the former Miss Bannister replied.

“Yes, yes,” said his lordship, “but for all that you know about them, you are an execrable shot.” He continued to apply himself to the venison, even as her ladyship appeared to apply herself to the problem of shooting him. Dallingham, so far from being dismayed, seemed on the verge of losing any semblance of gravity still left to him, while his new wife calmly continued to take small bites of the lamb.

Within a few moments, his lordship looked up from his plate and said, “Arrow through the heart. While you sleep.”

“I must say-” I began weakly.

“Nonsense!” said her ladyship firmly.

“It is not nonsense!” protested my host. “I’m a demmed sight better with the bow and arrow that you are with pistols. I’ll creep into your room through that old priest’s hole.”

“Now, there you’re out!” said her ladyship. “The priest’s hole is in Lord Dallingham’s room-the exit, in any case.”

At this, Dallingham, who had been drinking steadily from the moment of our arrival, was overcome with mirth.

“I find nothing amusing…” I tried again.

“By Jupiter!” his lordship said, “You’re right! Hmm. In that case, it shall have to be something more subtle. Perhaps when you go riding-”

“Please!” I said. “Your lordship, your ladyship…I beg pardon…not my place, really…but I can’t possibly face the next course if there is to be nothing but this talk of murder!”

There was a moment of profound silence before his lordship said, “Not face the next course? Rubbish! There’s to be lark pudding!”

And so the exchange of murder plots continued. I would have made good on my threat to excuse myself from the table, lark pudding or no, had not the former Miss Bannister looked at me so beseechingly, I forgot all else.

By the time the ladies retired to the drawing room and Lord Bingsley offered his excellent port, though, I had heard our hosts exchange no fewer than twenty threats of foul play, and had decided to leave this odd household by first light, beseeching looks or no. Miss Bannister had married a bounder, but it was his place to take her away from such humbuggery, not mine.

But Dallingham was extremely well to live by then, as the saying goes-or at least, in too much of a drunken stupor to converse. Other than expending the effort required to continue to drink, he seemed to be using whatever powers of concentration remained to him to prevent himself from falling face first into the table linen he so admired.

Sitting there over port, blowing a cloud with his lordship, I sought an excuse for an early departure. But as if reading my mind, his lordship said, “Must forgive us, Rossiter. Her ladyship and I are not much in company, as you must know. You are outraged, as any good man would be.” He paused, and looking at Dallingham, said in a low voice, “Unlike yon jackanapes! Were I twenty years younger, I’d darken his daylights! But here…well, we keep the ladies waiting. I only mean to ask you-nay, beg you-and I’m not a man who often begs!-beg you to see your way clear to remain with us another day or two.”

“My dear Lord Bingsley-” I began, but in what was becoming a habit in him, he interrupted.

“For Amelia’s sake!” he whispered, then added, in a normal speaking voice, “You’ll grow used to our havey-cavey ways, I’m sure.”

I bowed to a man who-as I was to learn-was a masterful persuader.

Two stout footmen carried the jug-bitten Lord Dallingham to his chambers that night. That his wife slept apart from him did not surprise me in the least-I only hoped that she had locked the door against him.

He did not appear at breakfast, when Lord Bingsley asked if I would be so good as to accompany his niece, who wished to ride her mare about the estate. “Going to miss Bingsley Hall, she tells me. By God, Bingsley Hall shall miss her!”

“Perhaps Lord Dallingham would like to join us,” I suggested.

“Daresay he would,” Lord Bingsley said, “if he hadn’t eaten Hull cheese! My valet informs me he shot the cat! Too blind to find the basin like a decent fellow, damn him. Wonder if he’ll be so fond of that carpet now!”

“I-I believe I shall find Miss-Lady Dallingham,” I said, feeling a bit queasy myself.

He offered to accompany me to the stables. We delayed some moments on the steps to exchange pleasantries with Lady Bingsley, who was to call upon an ailing tenant that morning. His lordship, determinining that there was some slight chill in the air, begged her to wait while her maid should fetch a shawl, and once this item was retrieved, solicitously placed it about his lady’s shoulders. He handed her up into the carriage, and her little dog as well, and then a large hamper of food for the tenant’s family, and, after receiving assurances from the coachman that he would not drive too fast over the country lanes, stood watching the carriage as it pulled away.

At the stables, he saw to it that I was very handsomely mounted on a fine gelding. I assisted his niece-who wore a delightful blue velvet riding habit-with her mare, and in the company of a groom who stayed some distance behind us, we rode out.