Elinor gestured impatiently.

'I have not the humour for it today. I would prefer a more lively diversion.'

At that moment a servant entered to announce that a visitor had arrived and wished to speak with Madame.

'A visitor!' cried Elinor. 'Who would wish to drive here in this weather?'

'The lady would not give her name, ma'am,' replied the servant, 'but begged to be allowed a few words with you in private. I have shown her into the small parlour.'

'You were seeking some diversion from this dreary weather,' remarked Mistress Grisson, smiling faintly, 'so you had best see the lady. Do you wish me to come with you?'

'No, thank you, Hannah. I shall go alone.'

Elinor crossed the hall and quietly entered the small parlour. Upon recognising her visitor, her brows rose.

'Lady Thurleigh! Forgive me, I did not expect -'

'No, it is you who must forgive me.' My lady smiled, holding out her hand. 'It is very bad of me to descend upon you so suddenly.'

'No, no, not at all, ma'am. Won't you sit down?'

Lady Thurleigh chose a straight-backed chair by the window, giving Elinor the opportunity to study her visitor more closely. In the daylight Lady Thurleigh looked older than when Elinor had last seen her. Without its heavy coating of powder, her skin looked sallow and lined, but the green eyes still sparkled luminously, and the copper curls piled artlessly around her cap of finest Brussels lace may have faded over the years, but they were only faintly streaked with grey.

'You will be wondering why I am calling upon you,' she began, her fingers nervously playing with the sticks of her fan. 'You see, Madame, when I saw you the other night, I was struck by your resemblance to to an old acquaintance of mine.' She smiled at Elinor. 'You will think me very impertinent, but I would be honoured if you would tell me just a little of your history.'

Elinor stared at her in surprise.

'My parents lived very quietly, ma'am, and I cannot think that you could have known them.' Her response was stiff and uneasy, and my lady threw up her hands.

'Oh I have offended you! I beg your pardon. Pray, Madame de Sange, I realize it may seem very odd to you, yet if you would but tell me your father's name, and in which part of England you were living before you moved to France....'

Elinor eyed her guest warily.

'Forgive me, Lady Thurleigh, but does the marquis know of your visit here?'

Lady Thurleigh looked startled.

'My husband? He is not in Town, and does not even know I have seen you. Why do you ask?'

'Oh, it does not signify. You asked my father's name, did you not? It was Burchard.'

'Was?'

'Both my parents are dead.'

'I am sorry. Burchard,' my lady murmured the name slowly, as if committing it to memory. 'And where were you living?'

Elinor told her of the small village in Bedfordshire. Lady Thurleigh said quickly, 'But you were not born there?'

'No, ma'am. I was born in Oxford.'

An expression that was impossible to read flitted across the older woman's face and she stared hard at her hostess.

'And did you have a happy childhood, Madame?' she whispered.

'Until the death of my father I was extremely happy,' replied Elinor coldly, 'but I do not see '

'No, no, you must think me impolite to question you so!' the marchioness sat very still, tapping her foot, and just as Elinor was wondering what to say next she rose quickly, holding out to Elinor a hand that was not quite steady. 'I am sorry, Madame de Sange, to have troubled you. I must go. Pray do not think too hardly of me!'

After the briefest touch of fingers Lady Thurleigh hurried from the house, leaving Elinor in speechless amazement.

Came Friday evening, and Mr Garrick's theatre in Drury Lane was overflowing with people from all levels of society. George Rowsell's party arrived only minutes before the performance was due to commence. There could be no doubting that gentleman's happiness as he escorted Elinor to the box he had secured for the evening. The lady had done justice to the occasion with a new gown of green watered silk, laced with silver and falling open to reveal a white quilted petticoat delicately embroidered with silver thread. Her powdered curls cascaded about her bare shoulders, and she wore no jewels save for one brooch, a single large ruby that was pinned to the lace of her bodice. There was little time for Elinor to become acquainted with the couple that Rowsell had invited to share the box: the brief introduction made it plain that the young matron, one Mrs Shaw, was not escorted by her husband, although the gentleman's attentions soon gave Elinor a firm indication of their relationship. This was confirmed when Rowsell leaned closer to whisper in her ear that their companions had a dinner engagement, and would be leaving them after the play.

'So it will be just a quiet little dinner for you and me, my sweet,' he murmured, 'and afterwards ' he broke off, taking advantage of some lively entertainment on-stage to place a kiss upon the white skin of her shoulder, while one arm slid around her waist, his fingers moving up until they reached the softness of her breast beneath its covering of lace. Elinor felt a sudden panic, but she forced herself to remain still, not to repulse him. Keeping her eyes fixed upon the actors, she reached up one hand to touch Rowsell's cheek: for her purposes, dinner alone with George Rowsell would be an ideal situation.

At the interval, Mrs Shaw slipped away with her paramour to take a stroll in the lobby. As soon as they were alone, Rowsell turned to Elinor, taking her hands in his own strong grasp.

'Madame Elinor! I thought this day would never arrive, and when it dawned, I was even then afraid you would not come.'

She said nothing, but allowed him to press kisses onto each of her gloved fingers, while a faint blush touched her cheeks, for she was very conscious of their situation. She was relieved when the door of their box opened and she looked around, expecting to find Mrs Shaw and her escort had returned, instead of which she found herself staring up at the towering figure of James Boreland. The gentleman bowed, explaining that Rowsell had promised an introduction to Madame de Sange, and he wished to present his lady. Gripping her fan to conceal her trembling fingers, Elinor forced a smile to her lips. She repressed a shudder as Boreland took her fingers and bowed over them. With no little relief she turned to greet Mrs Boreland. She found herself facing a woman of medium height, strikingly dressed in a robe of turquoise silk with such a wide hoop beneath her skirts that she had difficulty in moving about the box. She wore a fixed smile and her cold blue eyes held a calculating look that made Elinor think her affability as doubtful as the jet black curls that covered her head. After the introductions, Mrs Boreland took a seat beside Elinor and asked her a number of questions concerning her history.

'Is your son in Town with you, ma'am?' enquired Rowsell.

Temporarily silenced, Mrs Boreland glanced anxiously towards her husband.

'No, not this time, ' Boreland said smoothly. 'Andrew's health has been a little troublesome during the summer and we thought it best to leave him at the Hall.'

'And how are you enjoying the entertainment, Madame?' Mrs Boreland hardly waited for her husband to finish, 'I do think this theatre is so much better since dear Mr Garrick has had the running of it. We shall not stay to see the farce, however, for we are going on to Derry House.'

Boreland turned to his friend. 'Do you intend to go, Rowsell? Derry told me you were invited.'

Rowsell hesitated. 'No, I think not '

'Oh Madame de Sange, pray do say you will come!' Mrs Boreland laid one gloved hand upon Elinor's arm. 'It promises to be quite delightful and the Derrys are renowned for their delectable suppers.'

Elinor shook her head. 'No, I am sorry, we cannot '

'Oh come now, Madame,' James Boreland stepped forward and it took all Elinor's strength of will not to shrink away from the man. 'Surely you will not deny my wife the pleasure of your company for a little longer this evening? It is obvious that Mrs Boreland has taken a liking to you and as she is returning to Weald Hall in a very few days, there will so little time for you ladies to become acquainted.'

Elinor hesitated, glancing at Mr Rowsell, who gave the smallest of shrugs, saying: 'Perhaps, ma'am, we could look in for an hour.'

Mrs Boreland clapped her hands together. 'That would be most enjoyable!' she cried, with what Elinor considered to be an unwarranted show of delight. 'If you would but have supper with us there, Madame, I should be most grateful, for I have so few real friends in Town these days that I confess I quite dread attending these parties. But look, Mr Boreland, we must get back to our seats, for the players are coming onto the stage even now.'

They rose to take their leave and Boreland stepped closer to bow over Elinor's hand. His eyes rested briefly upon the ruby brooch. Elinor held her breath.

'I look forward to seeing you at Derry House, Madame. Until then, au revoir!'

There was a general confusion as the Borelands left the box and Mrs Shaw and her partner resumed their places. Rowsell, observing his lady's troubled countenance, took advantage of the noise to speak to her.

'I am sorry, my love. Boreland was quite insistent that we go and he is not a man one can easily refuse! We need not remain above the hour, my sweet.'

She nodded, unable to trust herself to speak. She was resolved upon her course of action, and determined to carry it through, but this sudden change of plan had unnerved her. However, by the time they left the theatre she had regained her composure and had reconciled herself to having supper with the Borelands.

Rowsell's carriage took them on to Derry House, where they found Mr and Mrs Boreland already arrived and looking out for them.

'Why do you think they are so anxious for us to join them?' Elinor asked her escort as they alighted from the coach.

'It is most likely that they want company. They are not universally popular, you see, although he is so powerful no one dares to cut them direct. Nothing will persuade the ladies to show more than common politeness to his wife, though.'

'I can understand that,' murmured Elinor, fixing on a smile as they came up to the couple.

'My dear, such a shocking squeeze,' laughed Mrs Boreland as they moved through the crowded rooms. 'I vow there is scarce room to breathe in here and so noisy, too!'

'I had heard all of London was invited,' remarked her husband, glancing about him. 'It seems Derry has allowed the scaff and raff of the town to join us. Let us repair to the supper room.'

Elinor took Rowsell's arm and together they made their way to a large room which had been set out for the occasion with a number of small tables. The gentlemen led their partners to an empty table, Rowsell taking a chair beside Elinor and calling for a bottle of claret and one of champagne to be brought for the ladies. A servant scurried away, to return moments later with the refreshments.

'You are in good spirits, George,' remarked Boreland, smiling faintly through his beard.

Rowsell held up his brimming glass to salute Elinor.

'Oh I am James. I am the happiest man in London tonight!'

Elinor could not meet his eyes and looked away, a faint blush stealing over her cheek.

'I am glad to hear it, George,' murmured Boreland. He looked at Elinor, then said slowly, 'Your pardon, Madame, if I appear to stare, but have we not met before? Your countenance seems so familiar.'

She shook her head, setting her powdered curls dancing. 'No, sir. I have never before been to London. Could it be that you were ever in Paris? No? Then doubtless you are thinking of someone else.'

She held her breath for a few seconds as he continued to stare at her, then he shrugged and drained his glass.

'Perhaps. I do not doubt it will come to me presently. Rowsell, the Rausan is excellent let us have another bottle.'

'I do so enjoy these evenings, Madame,' said Mrs Boreland with her cold, glittering smile. 'It is quite delightful to me to see so many people enjoying themselves, and to study how the ladies dress in Town these days. I vow I find it monstrous entertaining!'

There was no shortage of entertainment for Mrs Boreland during their meal, the room was already quite full and a constant stream of guests flowed through the apartment, some looking for an empty table, others merely promenading through the lesser rooms whenever the ballroom grew uncomfortably warm.

Among those fortunate enough to find a table was a lady in a blue silk gown trimmed with blond lace, who took one look at the crowded supper room and immediately bullied two mild-mannered young gentlemen into giving up their places. Her escort remonstrated with her as they sat down at the vacated table.

'Really, Mama, it is a great deal too bad of you to browbeat people in that way,' he told her, smiling.

'Nonsense, Davenham,' retorted Lady Hartworth, her blue eyes twinkling, 'you are a great deal too sensitive. Those young men were only too pleased to move for us.'

'Aye,' laughed the viscount, 'after you had informed them that, being well acquainted with their families, you had most likely bounced them both upon your knee when they were still in the nursery!'

'Well, and why should you complain of it? We have our seats do we not? And as soon as I have had a glass or two of good wine to restore my energies, we shall quit this place with all possible speed. Whatever possessed Lady Derry to send me an invitation I shall never know. Such an odd woman, to be sure. I swear there are any number of low persons here. And why your father should think it a good thing that we come is beyond my comprehension. I have never enjoyed myself less, I can tell you that, for if there is one thing I dislike it is being jostled and herded like so many milch cows!'

'I share your dislike of these affairs, ma'am,' agreed her son feelingly, 'and this one is worse than most, I'll admit. I shall be happy to escort you home as soon as you are ready.'

'I can see that!' snapped the countess. 'You have been as restless as a colt in a halter since we arrived here. But what of this man Hartworth wanted you to see, is he here? Oh don't look so surprised, Jonathan,' she continued, observing her son's raised brows, 'there's very little of your father's business I don't know, and I am well aware you accompanied me to this, this May Fair for more than just the pleasure of my company!'

'George Rowsell might be here tonight. Father thinks he could tell us something of Thurleigh's plans. I intended to speak with him at the Templeshams' the other night, but it did not prove possible. Now I am to try again.' He gave a sudden laugh. 'A fruitless task in this crowd, Mama! There's little chance of learning anything of note tonight. The sooner we leave the better.'

Across the room, Mr Boreland was commenting to Elinor upon the excellence of the suppers, but although she nodded in agreement, Elinor tasted nothing of what was before her. She forced herself to eat a little to prevent her escort becoming concerned. The gentlemen were both in good spirits and it seemed to Elinor that she had scarce finished her second glass of champagne before they had started upon their third bottle of claret. Conversation was now flowing as freely as the wine, but Elinor bore very little part in the pleasantries; while the others were laughing at some joke, she slipped her hand through the folds of her gown and into the embroidered pocket beneath, where her fingers curled around a small glass phial. She drew it out, her heart pounding hard within her as she held the little container tightly in her hand below the table, waiting for a suitable moment to make her move.

Within seconds there came a diversion. A gentleman who was patently the worse for wine cannoned into a footman and they crashed to the ground, taking with them any number of dinner-plates. The resulting confusion drew all eyes, including those of her companions, and Elinor took the opportunity to uncork the phial, then she leaned forward to reach across the table towards a dish of sugared fruits. As her hand passed over Rowsell's half-filled glass, she allowed the inky black liquid from the phial to fall into the wine, where it remained for one heart-stopping moment in a small cloud before dispersing into the claret. Scarcely daring to breathe, she carefully returned the phial to her pocket as Rowsell turned back to her, a fiery glow in his eyes.

'I vow, Elinor,' he muttered huskily, 'we must be going soon, if I am not to disappoint you tonight!'

'Oh, but I have not yet finished my champagne,' Elinor forced her dry lips into what she hoped was a persuasive smile. 'Also, my dear, your own glass is not yet empty.'

Rowsell laughed gaily: 'You have the right of it, my sweet,' he declared, 'we shall not leave until I have drunk one more toast!' he picked up his glass and held it aloft. 'Boreland, we must honour our delightful ladies. Fill your glass sir, and join me in drinking to the source of all our happiness.'

James Boreland looked amused.

'But of course, my dear fellow.'

Elinor sat very still, outwardly calm, while inside her raged a tumult of emotion. Rowsell had turned in his chair to face her, his eyes glowing with happiness, his glass held up in readiness while he waited for Boreland. The seconds ticked by, Elinor summoning every ounce of willpower to remain still. The noise of the supper room seemed very distant, unreal: she watched in fascination as Boreland poured his wine, taking what seemed to Elinor an inordinate amount of care in pouring the claret and setting the decanter gently down upon the table while his wife chattered ceaselessly. At last he was ready and the two gentlemen faced their ladies. Rowsell smiled lovingly at Elinor.

'To you, my dear. To us!'

Elinor held her breath. She was surprisingly calm now. She watched while he raised the glass closer to his mouth, then suddenly she wanted to scream at him to stop, but it was too late, the words would not come and the glass was at his lips.

Yet before he could taste one drop of the sweet, deadly wine, a group of revellers passed the table, one of them losing his balance and falling heavily against Rowsell. The glass flew from his hand and Elinor gave a small cry as the poisoned claret spilled over her petticoat. She watched in horror as the blood-red stain spread slowly across the white silk. With an oath Rowsell jumped to his feet, sending his chair crashing to the ground.

'You drunken oaf. I'll have an apology for the lady!'

The man swayed on his feet, supported by a companion in much the same condition. He shook his head at Rowsell's furious ranting.

'T'morrow, sir I'll talk to you 'morrow '

'No, by God, we shall settle this now!' cried Rowsell in a towering rage.

'George, my dear boy give him your card,' advised Boreland. 'Can't start a brawl in Derry's supper room!'

But Rowsell did not hear him: he flew at the offender, knocking him down with the first blow. For a few moments confusion reigned, ladies screamed and Lord Derry's servants looked helplessly at one another, not at all sure what was to be done. As the reveller picked himself up from the ground it seemed that some of his intoxication had left him. A crafty gleam came into his eyes as he looked at Rowsell standing over him, fists clenched. The man came slowly to his feet, keeping his head bowed, then with a lightning move he snatched up a carving knife from a tray of ham on a nearby table. With a cry of warning, Boreland leapt to his feet and ran forward, but he was too late. Rowsell had closed with his opponent and even as Boreland and several of the footmen pulled the protagonists apart, Rowsell sank to his knees, the carving knife having been driven to the hilt up under his ribs and into the very heart of him.

For a full minute there was silence, then several cries of Shame! Coward! As the killer was led away, Rowsell was laid upon the floor, but there was no flicker of life from his inert form and Boreland called for a cloth with which to cover the bloodied body. Some of the ladies in the room were crying, but looking up, Boreland observed that Madame de Sange was still sitting rigidly in her seat, her face immobile and those green eyes staring blankly at Rowsell's lifeless form. He switched his gaze to his wife.

'Take Madame de Sange away, Isobel. I will arrange matters here, and follow you when I can.'