THE DOWNPOUR HELD ONE ADVANTAGE, WHICH WAS that the Bow Street Runner apparently didn't care to stand outside in it and watch Dove House. Trev actually entered by the front door, a rare treat in his life lately. He had to shake off his coat, strip to his shirtsleeves in the entryway, and towel his hair dry with a cloth brought by Lilly, before he could step into the dining room. His mother seemed to have gained enough strength to sit up and have her breakfast there.

She glanced up at him from a newspaper spread out on the table. "Lilly, bring the fresh coffee. And then you must—" She caught her breath on a light cough. "You must do a guard at the kitchen door."

"Yes, ma'am." Lilly curtsied and gave Trev a pert glance, ogling him in his shirtsleeves as she left the room.

He pulled out a chair. "You frighten me, ma mère. I hope this doesn't mean Cook is entertaining the constable again."

"No, this time it is the Runner," she said, taking a sip from her cup.

"Excellent," he said. "A redoubtable woman."

"But why are you here, mon enfant?" She coughed again, covering her lips with a lacy handkerchief.

"Where is Nurse?" he countered. "Should you be cavorting out of bed in this frivolous manner?"

"I have made Nurse an errand, to walk very far in the rain."

"Making a nuisance of herself, is she?"

"She is a good woman, but she troubles… me very much, that I must be bled, which I do not wish."

"Never mind her, then. But you look well, Maman. You look well." He gazed down at one of the heavy old knives of sterling, running his finger over the ornate coronet engraved above the f lowing initial M. "Je t'aime, ma mère," he said to the tablecloth. "I must leave England."

He heard her give another small cough, but he didn't look up. Lilly scratched at the door. Trev gave a gruff assent, and the maid entered. She poured his coffee, set the pot down, and retreated.

"Voyons, it is just as good that you go, then, eh?" his mother said, when Lilly had closed the door behind her. There was a hint of anger in her thin voice. "What need do we… have with you here?"

He took a deep drink of coffee, not caring that it burned him. "C'est à chier, non?" he said, closing his eyes brief ly.

"Oh my son!" She reached across and caught his hand. "I am sorry! It was a sting of the moment only. Forgive me! Forgive me."

He pressed her fingers. "You've nothing to forgive. Not you." He let her go, still not meeting her eyes. He rolled the sterling knife over, watching the dull light gleam on ancient silver. "But let us for once be frank with one another. How much do you know, Maman?"

She drew a shuddering breath. He looked at her sidelong.