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“Really?” asked Fen skeptically. “I don’t think I’m anyone’s favorite.”

“Everyone says so,” answered Cuthbert, serenely.

“Well, maybe it’s because I employed his god-daughter,” suggested Fen.

Cuthbert shrugged.

“Did I see you throwing apples at the players the other night?” Fen asked him.

“No,” he answered, looking untroubled.

“It looked very like you.”

“It was apple cores,” he corrected her. “What did your friend want?” he asked nodding at her unopened note.

Fen exclaimed, she’d forgotten all about it. She broke it open and scanned the note written in Eden’s elegant fine hand. “Eden writes that she has my finished portrait in her rooms. That’s funny,” she said lowering the note. “I would have thought signor Arnotti would have wanted the remaining balance before he relinquished it.”

“He’s done a runner,” said Cuthbert, taking a large bite of bread.

“Pardon?”

“In the night,” he chewed his bread and leant against his hand. “With some heiress. Everyone’s talking about it below stairs.”

Fen gaped at him. “W-when?”

“Last night,” said Cuthbert. “He’s cleared out.”

“What heiress?” she asked faintly, almost dreading the answer.

“That half-batty one,” said Cuthbert. “With all the dogs.”

Fen moaned, placing her head in her hands. “No, it can’t be!”

But somehow, something clicked into place. Bess’ oddly resentful attitude toward Eden. It must have been mere jealousy. Remembering her own feelings about Lady Anne Sumner, Fen even felt a sympathetic pang.

“What is this? What has happened?” asked Linnet, drifting over to the table with Archie in her arms. “Fenella, is all well?”

Fen shook her head. “Cuthbert, tell your mistress.”

Cuthbert took a piece of toasted bread from his mouth and reached across the table to dip it into Fen’s mulled wine bowl. “That heiress who’s a bit peculiar,” he said taking a bite of soggy bread. “She’s up and run off with that artist fellow.”

Linnet looked back at Fen. “Which heiress?”

“I think,” said Fen looking at her between her fingers. “He means Lady Bess Hartleby.”

“That’s her!” said Cuthbert clicking his fingers. “She’s taken all six of her dogs with her too,” he said. “And her two hawks and four horses. Her uncle’s seething.”

“Is that the uncle who means to marry Lady Constance?” asked Linnet with interest.

“And the artist – is it signor Arnotti?” asked Fen, wanting to be doubly sure.

“Yes, that’s him. The one with the eyebrows.”

“This is terrible,” said Fen. “Now I have a second friend who has run away from court!”

Linnet returned her horrified gaze. “I hadn’t thought of that,” she whispered aghast. “But I don’t see how you can be held to blame.”

“Lady Doverdale seemed to feel differently,” Fen pointed out. Then another thought occurred to her. “Is not Bess’ uncle on the privy council?”