“Ha! That’s nothing, you should try wearing a—” Margaret broke off, reddening. “Gown,” she substituted for crinoline. “Though I suppose a cassock is a kind of dress.”

“Lady Margaret! Thank goodness you’re unhurt.”

“I’m perfectly fine, Lochiel. Reverend Beckwith here gallantly came to my rescue.”

“You are a priest?”

“Reverend Sebastian Beckwith. Priest, parson, or rector, I answer to all, though I am more commonly known as Father Sebastian, of the Parish of St. George’s. You don’t look like members of my flock, if you’ll forgive me saying so. Are you lost?”

“We’re not lost, though you’re right: we’re not exactly in familiar territory.” Lochiel’s brow cleared and he held out his hand. “Cameron of Lochiel. How do you do?”

“And I am Lady Margaret Montagu Douglas Scott, to give me my full Sunday name. How do you do?” Margaret dropped a slight curtsy. “It was my idea that we visit Lambeth. We were intending walking back across Westminster Bridge, but then we got caught up in the crowds heading to the market. I’ve never tasted roast chestnuts before, and it was the lure of that which led me to abandon Lochiel’s protection. And then that thief bowled me over. Did they catch her? The woman with the— Was it a rabbit?”

“Peggy is well-known to the stall-holders here. They’re usually happy to give her any leftovers at the end of the day, for they know she’s often left a bit short.”

“So the rabbit was for her dinner?”

“No, most likely to be sold to pay a debt, or more accurately someone else’s, knowing her husband. It’s not like her to steal, though. I’ll call on her later.”

“She won’t go to gaol, will she? I am woefully ignorant of such matters.”

“I was woefully ignorant myself when I first arrived here two years ago. I was earmarked for what you might describe as a well-heeled parish in Cheltenham, but I found that a comfortable sinecure didn’t sit well with me.”

“And how do you find being uncomfortable instead?”

“The church provides perfectly adequate accommodation, and my widowed sister Susannah—Mrs. Elmhirst—keeps house for me.” Father Sebastian’s smile faded. “Compared to my parishioners, my lady, I live in the lap of luxury.”

“Lady Margaret, we really should be going. I think we’d better get a hackney, if one is to be had.”

“There is a stand at the station,” Father Sebastian said. “The quickest way across is by Waterloo Bridge, though most people use Westminster to avoid the toll. You are going across the river, I take it?”

“Whitehall. Montagu House, to be exact,” Margaret said. “If we had a boat we could be there in five minutes.”

“A cab will suffice,” Lochiel said firmly. “I think I can run to paying the toll. Good day to you, Father.”