Hester put an arm around her and grasped her wrist with her other hand. Awkwardly but efficiently she marched her to the edge of the dais. Rose, however, misjudged the step, tripped over her skirt, and pitched forwards, only just saving herself from serious hurt by dragging Hester with her, and at the last moment by putting out her hands to break her fall.

Hester landed hard, knocking the breath out of her lungs. This saved her from using a word that had not passed her lips since the days in the army that Rose had referred to. Struggling to disentangle herself from her skirts and stand up without treading on Rose and falling flat again, she rose with great difficulty to her feet. "Get up!" she commanded furiously.

Rose rolled over slowly and sat up, looking stunned, then began to laugh again.

Hester leaned forward, caught Rose's hand, and jerked hard. Rose slid forward but remained on the floor.

It was Alan Argyll who came out of the crowd. Everyone else was milling around, trying to pretend nothing had happened, and either surreptitiously looking at the spectacle or studiously avoiding looking.

"For God's sake get her out of here!" he snarled at Hester. "Don't just stand there! Lift!" He bent and hauled Rose to her feet, balancing her with some skill so that she would not buckle at the knees. Then, as she began to subside again, he picked her up, put her over his shoulder, and marched her towards the door. Hester could do nothing but follow behind.

Outside it was not a difficult matter to send for Rose's coachman. Ten minutes later Argyll assisted her, with considerable strength, into the coach.

"I assume you will go with her?" he said, looking at Hester with disdain. "You seem to have arrived with her. Somebody needs to explain this to her husband. She can't make a habit of it, or she'll be locked up."

"I shall manage very well," Hester assured him tartly. "I think she has gone to sleep. Her servants will help as soon as we get that far. Thank you for your assistance. Good night." She was angry, embarrassed, and, now that it was over, a little frightened. What on earth was she going to say to Morgan Applegate? As Argyll had pointed out, his political career would never recover from this. It would be spoken of for years, even decades.

The ride was terrible, not for anything Rose did but for what Hester feared she would do. They sped through the lamplit streets in the rain, the cobbles glistening, the gutters spilling over, the constant sound of drumming on the roof, splashing beneath, and the clatter of hooves and hiss of wheels. They lurched from side to side because they were going too fast, as the coachman was afraid Rose was ill and needed help.