‘Ghastly, aren’t they?’ Mrs Channock said, causing me to jump.

I coughed to hide my embarrassment. ‘Pardon, madam?’

‘My husband helped bring down that big one, or so he claims.’ She gestured to the stag that hung above the mantle. ‘Should you need a good nap, ask him for the story. It is positively biblical in length.’

I smiled but said nothing further, not wishing to be rude about her husband nor my hosts. I was rescued from having to find a change of subject by my other dining companion, who introduced herself as Mrs Fredericks.

‘Have you ever heard such a voice?’ she said, looking rather intensely across the table to where Olesca was taking his seat.

‘Never,’ I said.

The magistrate’s wife rolled her eyes and turned from our conversation; she had the air of a woman contentedly bored with life.

‘Not even in the capital?’ Mrs Fredericks said. Though she was masked as Mrs Channock was, I could tell she was a livelier, younger woman, who I doubted would ever become so jaded.

‘I don’t have the pleasure of such performances very often, myself, but my day-brother is a musician. I feel fairly confident the capital holds few voices such as we were blessed with tonight.’

‘I’ve heard he has a very fine voice, your day-brother.’

‘He will be pleased to hear you say so,’ I said.

At the far end of the table, Mrs Eder stood and tapped her glass. We all stood, and those whose glasses needed charging were attended to. A murmur of laughter rippled along one end of the table as young Victor insisted he be served, holding out his empty glass. I was glad to see him there – I hadn’t noticed the boy in the drawing room. His father indulged him, much to the amusement of the men at the table. Their wives were quietly less enthused, I thought.

‘Welcome, new friends and old, to our home,’ Mrs Eder said. ‘As the nights grow cold it warms the soul to see you all. And to our newest friend, Special Inspector Morden, we bid a special welcome, and God’s speed in his vital work.’

I was toasted, which I found most uncomfortable. A gentleman I didn’t recognise raised a further toast to our hosts, and then we sat as the soup was served.

‘I imagine he will be quite jealous,’ Mrs Fredericks said. She had taken off her mask for the meal, revealing a soft and kind-looking face.

‘I’m sorry?’ I said, not following.

‘Your day-brother: jealous of not having heard Olesca sing?’

‘I imagine he will,’ I said. I tried to hide how much I enjoyed that idea, which had not occurred to me.

‘Are you still wittering on about that southerner’s butchering of our songs?’ the magistrate’s wife said.

Mrs Fredericks gasped. ‘You can’t possibly mean that!’

‘I can, and I do. It is disrespectful what that boy does. I tell Margarete every time, and yet she still forces that southern bird to warble out of tune.’