Lord Petty rushed downstairs, concealed himself behind a cask cauled with webs, the smell of old wine so prohibitively expensive they’d bill you for a sniff. Just as Mr. Fox and Mrs. Fox came near Lord Petty’s hiding place, Mrs. Fox, her mouth so richly rouged it might as well have been bloodied with kisses, exclaimed, “Such a precious ring, this one wears. Look at that sapphire: that color, deeper even than the heart of a lake. And look, my feral darling, my fine-tailed love, look at the gorget of diamonds that frames it. Does it not make you think of the baby’s breaths in my wedding bouquet?”

Lord Petty looked down the line of Mrs. Fox’s white arm, down to where her finger led the eye. At his end, he saw a ring without compare, its knotwork as fine as lace, too fine for the slackly hanging hand on which it had been enshrined. Better, Lord Petty thought, that it be freed and fitted upon Mrs. Fox’s finger. Better still if it was Lord Petty who set that beautiful ring there.

But that was not to be. Not with the memory of those bodies in the gallery at the top of the stairs, not with Mrs. Fox’s red lips upon her husband’s red hair, not with the knowledge of what might happen if they found Lord Petty hiding there, hunched behind a barrel, no better than a common rogue. He remained still instead, tongue between his teeth, breath held like a fox beneath the hunter’s heel.

“Do you want the ring then?” said Mr. Fox.

“I suppose I would not object if you were to liberate that splendid thing. But it is not necessary, Mr. Fox, not with you in my bed, not with your heart in my armoire, not with your love, so wild and true, to wear like a queen’s trousseau.” She stroked that beautiful corpse’s still hand and jealousy did clench Lord Petty’s heart tight. If only she’d permit him, he’d lay his cheek upon her lap, a hound faithful to the grave, and there’d be nothing he would not bring her, no prey too ferocious, no antlered prize too fearsome. Everything and anything, so long as she’d let him be hers.

Mr. Fox, hair matted to the sleek frame of his face, looked to where Lord Petty squatted, safe from the eye, but not nose or black-tipped ear. He said: “Let’s not trouble ourselves then. If it will not disappoint you too much, we’ll just leave that ring here, so you won’t worry at want the way a dog might worry at his mites.”