Page 26 of A Murder at Kew Gardens

"Agreed."

"And perhaps new gloves."

"You drive a hard bargain."

"I learned from the best." And then she offered a triumphant smile.

Two evenings later, Lady Pembury's house blazed with light, carriages lining the street. From the open door came the murmur of voices and one alarming trill from a soprano warming somewhere out of sight.

Chrissie stopped dead. “That,” she said, “was not human.”

“It may have been an exercise.”

“It sounded like a plea for rescue.”

I threaded my arm through hers. “Courage.”

“I am thinking of Cosmos.”

“Very wise.”

“I am also thinking of chocolate.”

“Equally wise.”

Lady Pembury received us with the air of a general reviewing troops. “Lady Rosalynd! Lady Chrysanthemum! How delightful. We are to have a most elevated evening.”

Beside me, Chrissie made a small sound.

“How delightful,” I said.

“Mr. Bellweather is to play first,” Lady Pembury continued. “A most sensitive young man. He feels Chopin very deeply.”

“That is what I feared,” Chrissie murmured.

I tightened my grip upon her arm.

The drawing room was crowded but not yet seated. Ladies drifted in little groups while gentlemen congregated near the mantel.

At the far end of the room a young man sat before the pianoforte with such an expression of suffering that I feared for both him and Chopin.

I had just begun surveying the room when a voice behind us said, “Lady Rosalynd.”

I turned to find Lord Redmayne, impeccably dressed, looking as though he would gladly have exchanged the musicale for pistols at dawn.

His gaze shifted. “Lady Chrysanthemum.”

Chrissie smiled. Politely. Barely. “Lord Redmayne, how pleasant to see you.”

A silence opened between them.

He bowed. “I trust you are well.”

“Perfectly, thank you. Decorative, but perfectly well.”

For the briefest moment he looked uncomfortable.

I intervened before blood was drawn. “How fortunate to meet you here, my lord. I did not know you were fond of musicales.”