She was exquisitely dressed, of course, but Gabby thought that Mrs. Ewing looked even more tired and peaked than usual. She seemed to pale as she looked over Gabby’s shoulder and saw the little cluster of ladies assembled in the parlor.

“We ought not to stay,” she said. “I only came because Phoebe was so very anxious to find out whether you have had word of…of Kasi Rao.” She lowered her voice as she said his name.

“I received a letter this very morning.” Gabby beamed at the little girl. “Apparently our friend loves being in the country. He has made friends—” She bent over and whispered in Phoebe’s ear.

But Phoebe’s shrill little voice was not yet modulated for secrecy. “A chicken!” she squealed. “Kasi Rao has made friends with a chicken?”

“Apparently,” Gabby laughed.

Phoebe plucked her sleeve. “Are you quite sure that those bad men won’t be able to steal him away from Mrs. Malabright?”

“Quite sure, darling. But we oughtn’t to speak of it, just in case.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Ewing said hurriedly. “We knew that…we simply …” She looked miserable.

“Please do join my guests, if only for a moment.” Gabby looked down at the little girl. “Would you like to visit Margaret and have a jam tart?”

Phoebe smiled. So Gabby turned her over to Codswallop and escorted an obviously reluctant Mrs. Ewing into the room.

Lady Cucklesham looked up with avid interest. “I’m afraid…who did you say that you are?”

“My name is Mrs. Ewing,” Emily said stiffly.

“And your husband must have been one of the Herefordshire Ewings?”

She shook her head. “No, he was without family.”

“Indeed. But surely you are Emily Thorpe. At least, you were Emily Thorpe. Perhaps you can tell us how your dear, dear father is faring,” Lady Prestlefield said. “I heard something to the effect that he was ailing. But I have no doubt you can tell us more exactly.”

“I am afraid not.”

Sophie leapt into the breach. “Was that lovely little girl yours?” She turned to Lady Prestlefield. “I met Mrs. Ewing at Lady Fester’s ball and spent a good part of the evening sighing over her gown. I had no idea that she was the mother of such an exquisite child! Now I have two things to envy you for, Mrs. Ewing.”

Lady Prestlefield smiled, the poisonous smile of a delicate viper. “Have you a child, then, Mrs. Ewing? Oddly enough, although I had heard so much about your…beauty, I had not heard that you and your husband had a child.”

Emily’s skin hadn’t a trace of color in it, but she met Lady Prestlefield’s eyes steadily. “Phoebe is my sister Carolyn’s child, Lady Prestlefield. Surely you remember Carolyn Thorpe? I believe you made your debut in the same season.”