“I hope you don’t have a desire to follow your ancestors to the chopping block,” Marisa said.

“It’s Darcy O’Mara, you dope,” Belinda said, giving me a knowing look.

I smiled and put my finger to my lips. The ballroom was filling up rapidly. We found a table and sat at it. Belinda was whisked away to dance almost instantly. Dressed as a harem dancer, she waggled her bottom seductively as she stepped onto the floor. Whiffy Featherstonehaugh approached us, looking very uncomfortable as an ancient Briton with animal skins draped around his shoulders. “Care to hop around the floor, old thing?” he said to me.

“Not now, thanks,” I said. “Why don’t you dance with Marisa?”

“Right-o. I’ll try not to tread on toes,” he said, taking her hand and leading her away. I sat and sipped at a glass of Pimm’s. Everyone was having fun, dancing and laughing as if they hadn’t a care in the world. I was conscious of the highwayman, standing at the far side of the ballroom, watching me. At least I was safe among so many people, surely. If only I could find Darcy.

At last I saw the executioner’s black hood and ax moving among the crowd on the far side of the room. I got up and made my way toward him.

“Darcy?” I grabbed his sleeve. “I have to talk to you. I want to apologize and I really need your help. It’s very important.”

The band struck up the “Post Horn Gallop” and couples started charging around the room whooping loudly and shouting out “Tallyho!”

I took Darcy’s arm. “Let’s go outside. Please.”

“All right,” he muttered at last.

He allowed me to lead us out of the ballroom and onto the terrace at the back of the house.

“Well?” he asked.

“Darcy, I’m so sorry that I accused you,” I said. “I thought—well, I thought that I couldn’t trust you. I didn’t know what to think. I mean, you did come into Whiffy’s house that day and I couldn’t believe it was just to see me. . . . And all those strange things going on. I didn’t feel safe. And now I know who was behind them, only I need your help. We’ve got to catch him. We’ve got to get proof.”

“Catch who?” Darcy whispered, even though we were alone.

I leaned closer. “Tristram. He was the one who killed de Mauxville and now he’s trying to kill me.”

“Really?” He was standing close beside me and before I knew what was happening, a black-gloved hand came over my mouth and I was being dragged backward into the shadows at the edge of the terrace.

I squirmed to glance up at that black-hooded face. The smile was not Darcy’s. And too late I realized that he had said the word “really” with a w, not an r.