“Lister?” Mr. Minchin gave a start. “He’s a farmer!”

“A rich and very well connected one,” Lizzie said brightly.

“Lister,” Mr. Minchin said again, his tone of voice altering. “A gentleman farmer. Yes, I see. I wondered what was wrong with Flora.”

“It should be all right soon,” Lizzie said. She smiled at him warmly.

“I can’t see Flora as a farmer’s wife,” Nat said as Mr. Minchin bustled off to the parlor.

“She’ll manage,” Lizzie said. “She is nowhere near as stupid as she looks.”

The door crashed open and Lowell strode in, followed by Alice and Miles.

“That was quick,” Lizzie said.

“I found him in the street,” Alice said. “He had already heard the rumors of Flora’s arrest and was on his way here.”

Lowell ignored them all, walked straight into the parlor, and without a word grabbed Flora and started kissing her.

“And that,” Lizzie said, laughing, “is how a York-shireman deals with these situations.” She turned to Nat, Dexter and Miles. “You had better go and find your informant. For my part-” she shot Nat a look “-I would ask Priscilla Willoughby. She is a troublemaker and she, too, has been creeping about the streets at night, so I understand. And while you are at it,” she added, “you could ask her to give Tom an alibi for the night of Monty’s murder. I think you’ll find it was Priscilla he spent the night with, not Ethel.” And she smiled with enormous satisfaction to see Nat’s expression of blank astonishment.

THERE WERE TWOon dits at the Fortune’s Folly assembly that evening. First there was Miss Flora Minchin’s betrothal to Lowell Lister. The happy couple were present that night, danced a scandalous four dances with each other and could barely take their eyes from each other.

“Mr. and Mrs. Minchin seem very satisfied with Flora’s choice,” Lizzie said mischievously to Alice as they watched the newly betrothed pair in the quadrille. Flora and Lowell were so busy staring into each other’s eyes that they were a step behind everyone else. “Can it be that you have already done a great deal of work in smoothing things over with them, Alice? I know Mrs. Minchin was dubious of the connection until you and Miles stepped in to point out the benefits of the match.”

“We did what we could,” Alice said, lips twitching. “I love my brother a great deal and hope he will be happy, but I do not envy him his snob of a mother-in-law.”

“I think Flora and Lowell will deal together extremely well,” Lizzie said. “She really is a remarkable girl-she gives the impression of being quite, quite stupid and yet she has extraordinary resolve.”

“Lowell is totally besotted,” Alice said, shaking her head. “I never thought to see him like this. He told me that he fell in love with Flora the first time she came to High Top on the day her wedding was canceled. He was absolutely determined to refuse her because of the disparity in their situations, but as soon as he heard she was in danger of arrest he realized what a fool he had been. Even so-” she sighed “-I do think Flora will have some difficulty in adapting to life as a farmer’s wife. She has lived a pampered life. It won’t be easy for her.”

“What about the other on dit?” Lizzie said, her eyes sparkling. “Poor Lady Willoughby-such a sudden and unfortunate departure from Fortune’s Folly!”

Lady Wheeler had paused at their table a moment earlier, Mary in tow, to say that Priscilla Willoughby had been called away most urgently on family business.

“Such a dreadful pity,” Lady Wheeler had fluttered. “Dear Priscilla was having the most splendid stay here in Fortune’s Folly.”

“So we had heard,” Lizzie had said sweetly. “Lady Willoughby’s nighttime excursions were becoming the talk of the village!”

Lizzie had seen Mary’s gaze jerk up to hers at the words, but Mary had not spoken and Lizzie had thought that she looked even more pale and sick than she had before.

“Who would have thought that illness would strike Lady Willoughby’s family so abruptly?” Alice agreed now. “Did Nat say anything about his interview with her?”

“Only that he was glad she was leaving,” Lizzie said. “I asked him if he were utterly disillusioned that his paragon of virtue had turned out to be a strumpet instead.”

“Lizzie, you did not!” Alice clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Yes I did,” Lizzie said unrepentantly, “and he said that he had not cared for her in years and would rather have a wilful minx to wife. So I think-” she cast her eyes modestly down and traced a finger over the struts of her fan “-that my plan may be working.”

“It sounds as though it may,” Alice agreed.

“So then I told him that was merely a line to persuade me back to his bed,” Lizzie went on, “and he said-”

“Enough!” Alice said, holding up her hands.

Lizzie laughed. “All right. Where can Miles and Nat have got to with those ice sculptures? They will be quite melted.” She scanned the room, catching sight of Mary Wheeler, who was speaking to Viscount Jerrold but looking as miserable as sin.

“Poor Mary,” she said. “What can be the matter with her? Do you think she is ill? She looks ever more sickly by the minute.”

Nat and Miles returned at that moment and placed a bowl of strawberries and ice before their wives. The ice was indeed melting in the heat of the assembly rooms and Lizzie pushed at it unenthusiastically with her spoon.

“Come and dance with me, since you have no interest in the dessert I specially procured for you,” Nat said, smiling.

“Dancing is another thing like card-playing at which you are indifferent to bad,” Lizzie said, pretending to sigh as they took their place in the set of country-dances, “but as I am your wife I feel I have to comply. It is my duty.”

“You seem less than eager to do your wifely duty in other ways,” Nat pointed out with an expressive lift of his brows.

“And you accuse me of a lack of patience!” Lizzie marveled. “Truth to tell, I enjoy making you wait. It means that you talk to me more.”

“I enjoy talking to you,” Nat said.

“You sound surprised,” Lizzie teased. “We were friends once, Nat. We used to talk a lot.”

“Yes,” Nat said, and Lizzie could hear a shade of discovery in his voice, “but not like we do now. It feels different. I feel different…”

The movement of the dance took her away from him then and Lizzie felt as though she was as light as thistledown. Everything was changing; she could feel it in the air and the tingle in her blood.

She danced only once with John Jerrold, who remarked whimsically that the next on dit would surely be how unfashionably in love Lord and Lady Waterhouse were with each other.

“I seem to have missed my chance,” he drawled.

“You never had one, Johnny,” Lizzie said pertly, but his words warmed her. It was true that Nat had seldom shown much desire to dance with her in the past; he had sometimes squired her to the assemblies but had had little interest or aptitude for the dancing. Now, though, he danced with her several times and showed no desire to leave her side in between. It was extremely pleasurable to have his undivided attention, to feel him watching her, to exchange the lightest and briefest of touches with him, touches that shimmered through her whole body leaving her breathless and happy.

It was raining later when they came to leave, steamy summer rain that made the cobbled square in front of the assembly rooms smell of dust. Sir James and Lady Wheeler were bemoaning the fact that they had walked to the ball.

“I had no notion that it was going to rain this evening,” Lady Wheeler said, looking as though she was taking the weather as a personal affront. “James does not have even so much as an umbrella to protect us with and our evening cloaks will be soaked-”

“Here, take my umbrella,” Lizzie said, holding it out to Mary, who was nearest and was standing huddled in the doorway. “Nat and I will manage perfectly well without-” She stopped at the look on Mary’s face. The girl was shaking and white and as Lizzie impatiently waved the umbrella at her she recoiled as though it were a snake.

“You know, don’t you?” she whispered. Her eyes were huge and terrified. “You’re trying to trap me!” And then she gathered up the skirts of her evening gown in both hands and ran away down the darkened street, the soles of her evening slippers slapping in the puddles.

“Mary!” Lady Wheeler called. “Mary, come back here at once! You’ll ruin your gown! What on earth is she about?” She turned to Sir James. “What has got into that girl lately?”

Lizzie turned to Nat. “What was that about?” she said blankly.

“Lizzie, let me see that,” Nat said abruptly, taking the umbrella from her hands and holding it up to the light. He shot her a look. “Is this yours?”

“No,” Lizzie said, puzzled. “It belonged to Monty. I took it with me when I left Fortune Hall. It unscrews here-” she pointed to the chased silver engraving around the handle “-and I think he kept a brandy flask inside. You know what Monty was like…Oh!”

She stopped as Nat turned the silver band at the neck of the umbrella and it came apart in his hand. Lady Wheeler screamed and recoiled, much as her daughter had done only a moment before, for protruding from the handle was a knife, long, wickedly pointed and stained with blood.

“No!” Lizzie said, comprehension breaking over her with the force of a storm. “Mary!” She caught Nat’s sleeve. “Why would she murder-” She broke off in stunned disbelief. “She cannot have done!”

Nat was staring down the darkened street in the direction that Mary had run. Lady Wheeler was screaming and looked as though she was about to faint and people were rushing from the assembly room doors out into the road to see what the commotion was all about.