She flexed her fingers to limber them up. “I hope my aim isn’t cold. I haven’t shot at a target since the last competition at school months ago. I haven’t even met any of my clubmates yet, but Mother seemed to think that would not be a problem.”

“I believe as long as you pay your dues, the club will not mind. Not with someone of your mother’s influence backing you.” Bertie gave a wry smile. “The Thorndike name opens doors all over London, including ones to ladies’ archery clubs.”

The Diana Toxophilite Society banner hung straight with nary a ripple in the now still air, and she turned toward it. Her surname might open doors, but would the people behind the doors be nice because of who she was, or would they pretend to be nice because of what she was? They crossed the grass, and Juliette’s stomach fluttered. She reached for her training in deportment and manners. She must do her mother proud.

“The weather is mild enough that the Prince Regent will probably make his promised appearance.” Uncle Bertie set her belongings on the grass and held up her shooting jacket, bright-blue with black trim, to help her shrug into it. The long, close-fitting sleeves hugged her upper arms, while the inset undersleeves were loose, allowing for freedom of movement. She nodded her thanks and fastened the crossover closings about her waist.

The belt came next, with its flannel tassel for cleaning arrows, a small box of grease for oiling her glove and brace, and the pouch for holding her arrows. The bow and her selection of arrows resided in a case at the moment, brought home with her from school.

“I should check in with the club secretary. Where will you be?” She put her cloak back on over her uniform. It was too chilly to go without while waiting her turn to compete.

“Oh, you know me. I’ll be around.” He handed her the bow case. “One must mingle, listen, glean. I’m supposed to meet up with Detective Swann somewhere here this morning. No doubt if I wander about, he’ll find me. He is going to deliver the latest on his case, and I have some information to pass along to him.”

He shrugged. “You, however, are to remember that you are under orders not to get involved in the Montgomery case. His murder is a matter for the police. We agreed upon that.”

A disturbance near the dais caught her attention, and she didn’t have to answer. She had no intention of butting in on the investigation, but she also wouldn’t shirk helping where she could. “What’s going on over there?”

Men strode across the grass, all in rough garb with mufflers about their faces and hats pulled low against the cold. They carried … sticks?