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Mr Pennyfeather, calling in Brook Street in his capacity of investigator, was desirous of speaking with all of the Wyvernes who had been at the ball, at once if possible.

He sent up a very respectful note via the scandalised butler, who was by no means accustomed to admitting such low individuals into his master’s presence.

But Rafe only raised a sardonic eyebrow and agreed to the interview, and shortly afterwards, the Runner was received in Lady Wyverne’s sitting room by the Marquess, the Marchioness, Lady Amelia, and Lord Charles, as he had requested.

Lord Wyverne explained that two other persons, including his sister’s betrothed, had also been of their party, and Mr Pennyfeather, making a careful note in a small memorandum book he carried, said that he had been apprised of that, and that it was his intention to speak with the Thornfalcon siblings later that day.

He was a small, round-faced man of crumpled, bashful appearance, not at all the great, burly person Amelia had somehow expected a Runner to be, but he seemed eager and diligent, and was certainly very polite.

Once it had been established that only Sophie had seen the infamous hand, for a bare second, and that it had had no useful identifying marks about it that she had noticed, the officer said, ‘And so I am obliged to ask – just as a matter of routine, you understand, my lords and ladies – whether the young lady who suffered this terrible assault has any enemies, or persons who might wish her ill. I know it’s unlikely, even preposterous, you might say, but I’m bound to enquire as part of my duties. ’

Rafe’s face was carefully blank, as was Charlie’s (though this might be considered to be its habitual state and not any sort of deliberate reaction to the question).

But Amelia said, with a quick glance at her sister-in-law, ‘There’s no point trying to conceal anything.

Somebody else will only tell you and you will wonder why we did not.

Have you heard of the Friends of Lavinia, Mr Pennyfeather? ’

He blinked and said that he had no recollection of the name. ‘Some sort of secret society?’ he ventured hopefully. ‘Something from foreign parts, perhaps? Like those Illuminati?’

He seemed invigorated by the idea that this case, already important, might prove to have an international political dimension, and disappointed when Amelia, with some not enormously helpful interjections from Sophie, explained that they were essentially a loose band of young ladies with vivid imaginations and not enough to occupy their time.

She mentioned no names. But when Amelia, blushing, went on to describe, in the most innocuous terms she could manage, the origin of this group of persons and their connection to herself, Mr Pennyfeather perked up again.

‘If I understand you correctly, then, this Lady Thornfalcon has got hold of the notion that this Lord Thornfalcon – who isn’t her husband, despite a body naturally assuming that he must be, on account of the names – is her property, as you might say?

And now he’s engaged himself to you, much to her displeasure?

My lady?’ This, plainly, was the sort of motive he could understand.

‘Yes,’ said Amelia. ‘I suppose the rest of it doesn’t signify – all the “deceased husband’s brother” nonsense. He can’t marry her and he doesn’t want to anyway, but she thinks he should.’

‘I am by way of being something of an amateur of history in my own way and on my own time, as is my helpmeet Mrs Pennyfeather,’ revealed the officer unexpectedly, ‘and I’m sure if the noble lady in question had studied it at all herself, as I recommend to everybody of every station in life, she’d realise that those sorts of havey-cavey goings-on won’t do, not by any means they won’t, and are bound to end badly.

Catherine of Aragon could tell her that, for certain sure.

Or Henry the Eighth, come to that! Married his dead brother’s wife – lived to regret it.

As,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘did she, no doubt.’

Amelia appeared much struck by this novel perspective on the problem.

‘That’s very true,’ she said, and the Runner beamed at her approvingly.

‘But justice obliges me to say that Lady Thornfalcon herself could not have pushed me, because she was already at the ball, down in the ballroom, and I dare say a dozen persons could vouch for her presence.’

‘Ah,’ said Mr Pennyfeather sapiently, ‘it’s very fair of you to say so, and reflects well on your good heart, but that’s where history comes in again, if you don’t mind me saying, miss – my lady, I mean.

Nobody ever said that wicked King Richard the Third killed the little princes in the Tower himself, did they?

Not in person. But where are they now? Tell me that, eh? ’

‘Dead, presumably,’ said Rafe drily. ‘Whatever else we don’t know, which seems to be a great deal, we do know that.’

‘Yes!’ said the Runner with some energy.

‘Dead as dragons! But they wouldn’t be, if Sir James Tyrrell hadn’t been paid to sneak in and bump them off at old Crookback’s behest. So clean hands, if I may put it so, don’t necessarily mean a clean heart, your grace and ladies.

And so it may be here. So it may well be…

’ He was scribbling furiously in his little book now, as one inspired, and his audience watched him with some apprehension.

‘I don’t think so,’ Amelia said doubtfully.

‘Lady Thornfalcon would be very silly to ask some young lady she can scarcely know to push me, and hope that I would be killed by it and that the lady would keep quiet about it afterwards. And I don’t think she’s silly.

I know someone did it – I felt the push – but I think it was an action of the moment, a sudden impulse, not some deep plot. ’

‘Ah! But then, a young lady can’t possibly plumb the deepest darkest depths of the human heart!

’ said Mr Pennyfeather poetically. He was clearly enjoying himself hugely now.

‘History offers us so many examples of wicked women. Thieves, of course, though I am sure you ladies would not credit it, and much worse than that! Marie de’ Medici, the poisoner queen, for example! ’

‘My direct ancestor,’ said Sophie cordially.

He looked alarmed, as well he might. ‘Catherine de’ Medici… No, perhaps not. Lucrezia Borgia, then!’

‘More of a distant cousin.’ Even Amelia could not be sure if this was true, or a joke at the Runner’s expense.

Her sister-in-law seemed to have no great liking for this officer of the law.

‘Are all your wicked women foreign like me, Mr Pennyfeather? Perhaps English women are not so bad, then, or at any rate, not so enterprising.’

‘Oh, I assure you, your grace, they are!’ he said earnestly, keen to uphold the achievements of his countrywomen in this field. ‘Sarah Malcolm is an infamous name from the last century, and I know of many more from my own experience. Shocking cases!’

‘Well,’ said Rafe, rising, ‘we must leave you to investigate, Pennyfeather. You have been called in by Sir Humphrey, as is his right, and it is not for us to tell you where you must look for your culprit. But I do hope you will appreciate that my sister is the innocent victim in all this, and that dragging her name into some further scandal will not do her any good at all.’

‘No, I’ve no desire to do that, I promise you, sir.

’ He began to bow himself out, but straightened and said diffidently, ‘I must just ask you one last thing before I go: did you happen to recognise any of the people who were behind you at the top of the steps? I’m trying to make up a list, for process of elimination, but it’s very slow work. ’

They could not help him; they hadn’t been looking behind them, but waiting to descend the stairs and chatting to each other. ‘Miss Thornfalcon might know,’ Amelia said. ‘She’s very quick-witted, I think.’

‘His Lordship, of course, would have been otherwise occupied,’ the Runner suggested with romantic emphasis, and Amelia could only assent with as much composure as she could summon.

She realised now that if Marcus hadn’t been distracted from the people around them by the tender emotions – which clearly he hadn’t, for which she ought to be grateful – she most certainly had without realising it. She had been easy prey.

Mr Pennyfeather took his leave, and they all looked at each other with varying degrees of discomfort.

‘Well, I have no great liking for police spies,’ Sophie said, in case they hadn’t observed as much, ‘but I must say, although it seems most unlikely that this odd little man will ever find out who shoved you, Amelia, I do not at all dislike the idea of Lavinia Thornfalcon having a few uneasy moments over it in the meantime. That is one good thing, I suppose.’

Amelia shook her head. ‘She’s altogether too cool.

She’ll smile icily and remind him that she is a widow and a great lady, and tell him nothing.

Because I don’t believe she was directly involved at all, even if she really is morally responsible.

It would take more than poor Mr Pennyfeather to discompose her, I think, horrid creature that she is. ’

Rafe said, ‘I wouldn’t be so sure. Some of these Bow Street men are very shrewd, and all his chatter about history may just be a smokescreen. It would not do to underestimate him, I believe.’

And he stared rather pointedly at his wife, who shrugged in Gallic fashion, her face implausibly innocent. ‘We have nothing to hide,’ she said. ‘Let the widow and her foolish Friends look to themselves.’

‘Quite right!’ said Charlie, who had made little contribution to the conversation previously, though he had given all along the rather touching impression, much like a large dog, that he was most anxious to help, if he only knew how.

‘Dashed shocking thing. Can’t have people running around pushing girls downstairs. Let alone my own sister! Lock them up!’