“If anyone needs a costume ironed, just let me know,” Lady Mountjoy said. “You have all brought costumes, I hope. Those young men are always so helpless. Never bring anything with them. I had to throw together costumes this morning and then young Roderick complained that he didn’t want to be an ancient Briton. Too bad, I told him. I had managed to put together a highwayman and an executioner for Tristram and Mr. O’Mara, but that was it, apart from the animal skins and the spear. I sent him up to hunt through the attic. You never know what you’ll find up there.”

So at least that much of Whiffy’s story rang true. And I now knew that Darcy was going to be an executioner. He should be easy to pick out in that costume. I lingered over tea as long as I dared but neither Darcy nor Tristram appeared. When it was time to change, I suggested that the other girls might like to get ready in my room, since it was so spacious and had good mirrors. They agreed and that way I was guarded until it was time to go down to the ball.

They chatted excitedly, but I was a bundle of nerves. If I wanted to prove beyond doubt that Tristram was the murderer, I’d have to offer myself as bait. Only I’d need someone to keep an eye on me, who could later act as a witness.

“Listen, girls,” I said, “whatever you say, I believe that someone in this house is trying to kill me. If you see me leaving the ballroom with any man, please come after us and keep an eye on me.”

“And if we find you locked in passionate embrace with him? Do we stay and watch?” Belinda asked. She was still taking this as a joke, I could tell. I decided my only hope was Darcy. He was strong enough to tackle Tristram. But after the way I had treated him, had I any right to expect his help? I’d just have to throw myself on his mercy as soon as I got a chance to be alone with him.

I was still nervous as we made our way down the grand staircase, Belinda, Marisa, and I. A band was playing a lively two-step and more guests were arriving through the front doors. A footman stood at the bottom of the stairs with a tray, handing out masks to arriving guests who weren’t wearing them. Marisa took some and handed them to us.

“Not that one,” Belinda said. “It comes down to the mouth. I won’t be able to eat any supper. The slim highwayman type will be better.”

“There is a highwayman over there,” Marisa whispered. “It must be Tristram. I didn’t realize he had such good legs.”

“I’m looking out for an executioner,” I said. “Let me know when you see him.”