He re-opened his report and wrote feverishly. Emily unwrapped her parcel. When Peregrine had finished his additions and swung round in his chair he found, staring portentously at him, a watercolour drawing of a florid gentleman. His hair was curled into a cockscomb. His whiskers sprang from his jowls like steel wool and his prominent eyes proudly glared from beneath immensely luxuriant brows. He wore a frock coat with satin revers, a brilliant waistcoat, three alberts, a diamond tie-pin and any quantity of rings. His pantaloons were strapped under his varnished boots and beneath his elegantly arched arm, his lilac-gloved hand supported a topper with a curly brim. He stood with one leg straight and the other bent. He was superb.

And behind, lightly but unmistakably sketched in, was a familiar, an adorable facade.

‘Emily? It isn’t – ? It must be – ?’

‘Look.’

Peregrine came closer. Yes, scribbled in faded pencil at the bottom of the work: ‘Mr Adolphus Ruby of The Dolphin Theatre. “Histrionic Portraits” series, 23 April 1855.’

‘It’s a present,’ Emily said. ‘It was meant, under less ghastly circs, to celebrate The Dolphin’s first six months. I thought I’d get it suitably framed but then I decided to give it to you now to cheer you up a little.’

Peregrine began kissing her very industriously.

‘Hi!’ she said. ‘Steady.’

‘Where, you darling love, did you get it?’

‘Charlie Random told me about it. He’d seen it on one of his prowls in a print shop off Long Acre. Isn’t he odd? He didn’t seem to want it himself. He goes in for nothing later than 1815, he said. So, I got it.’

‘It’s not a print, by Heaven it’s an original. It’s a Phiz original, Emmy. Oh, we shall frame it so beautifully and hang it – ’ He stopped for a second. ‘Hang it,’ he said, ‘in the best possible place. Gosh, won’t it send old Jer sky high!’

‘Where is he?’

Peregrine said: ‘He had a thing to do. He ought to be back by now. Emily, I couldn’t have ever imagined myself telling anybody what I’m going to tell you so it’s a sort of compliment. Do you know what Jer did?’

And he told Emily about Jeremy and the glove.

‘He must have been demented,’ she said flatly.

‘I know. And what Alleyn’s decided to do about him, who can tell? You don’t sound as flabbergasted as I expected.’