The ballroom had been closed up after the ball; it was rarely used except for social functions. The room was warm and close as James, Christopher, and Thomas threw off their jackets and stripped down to shirtsleeves. Most were still wearing the same weapons belts they’d had on in the park: James had added several new daggers to his own.

Only Matthew was unarmed. Blinking and disheveled, he found his way to a plushly upholstered chair and fell into it. “I am quite all right,” he said, waving an airy hand. “Please continue with your plan.” He squinted. “What was your plan?”

“I’ll tell you in a moment,” James said. He was quite sure none of them were going to like it. “Thomas?”

Thomas nodded, seized hold of a heavy sideboard, and began to shove it in front of the ballroom doors. Christopher looked worriedly at Matthew. “Perhaps some water?” he said.

“I’m quite all right,” Matthew repeated.

“I found you drinking from a flask and singing ‘Elsie from Chelsea’ in the Baybrooks’ carriage,” said Thomas darkly.

“It was private there,” said Matthew. “And well-upholstered.”

“At least it wasn’t the Bridgestocks’ carriage, because they have already experienced enough tragedy today. Nothing bad has happened to the Baybrooks,” said Christopher, with great sincerity.

“Nothing until now,” said James. “Christopher—was everything all right, dropping off Miss Blackthorn?”

He tried not to sound as if he were too invested in the answer. Matthew raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

“Oh, perfectly,” said Christopher. “I told her all about culturing bacteria, and she was so fascinated that she never spoke a word!”

James had gone to pile chairs in front of the doors to the withdrawing room. He hoped Grace had not expired from boredom. “Did you have to tell Mrs. Blackthorn what had happened at the park? She can’t have been pleased.”

Christopher shook his head. “I confess I didn’t see her. Miss Blackthorn asked that I drop her at the gates, not the front door.”

“She probably doesn’t want anyone to see the state of the place,” said Matthew, yawning. “The gates alone are festooned in rust.”

James eyed him. “Thomas,” he said, in a low voice. “Maybe a healing rune?”

Thomas nodded and approached Matthew cautiously, as one might approach a stray cat on the street. Some time ago James had discovered that healing runes sobered Matthew up: not entirely, but enough.

“Push up your sleeve, then, there’s a good fellow,” Thomas said, seating himself on the arm of Matthew’s chair. “Let’s wake you up and James can tell us whatever mad thing he has planned.”

Done with the chairs, James cast a glance around the room, dusted off his hands, and said, “We’d better check the locks on all the windows. Just to be sure.”