‘A debt to her mother. That’s why I say you should be careful.’ Then she added in a stage whisper, ‘Besides – I think she is growing fond of you.’

Acir Korentan saw Fiammis pause at the entrance to the Botanical Gardens and then go in. He followed at a discreet distance.

He had taken care to make sure she knew he had left Sulien on the overnight diligence. A little distance outside Sulien, he had asked the coachman to set him down and had walked back to the city before dawn.

By the time he called at Mistress Permay’s, Khassian had already left. Mistress Permay told him that a letter had come for the composer; she thought it might have been an assignation with a lady, for he had asked her how to find the Botanical Gardens, and if young gentlemen visited the Botanical Gardens, with their shady arbours and hidden pavilions, it was rarely to examine the plants.

A lady.

When Acir caught sight of Fiammis in the dappled shadows, slowly twirling her parasol over one shoulder as she walked, he knew his suspicion had been correct.

Winding paths led around an ornamental lake covered with pallid water-lilies whose crimson stamens seemed to exude a peculiarly foetid scent. Beneath the jade leaves finned silver-spotted carp, nosing up to the surface, then diving in a trail of bubbles.

Did Fiammis know she was being followed? There seemed little purpose to her meandering walk; she stopped to look at the carp, she stopped to sniff a geranium leaf…

It was damply warm beneath the heavy foliage; the dappling sun drew out earthy odours of rotting bark and leafmould.

A little further ahead, the path divided: a curving bridge of lichened stone led upwards into a dark-arched tunnel of knotted rhododendrons; beneath the bridge the lake path wound on towards a summer pavilion heavy with wistaria.

Fiammis took the path that led up on to the narrow bridge. Acir hung back, unable to follow without being discovered.

The Botanical Gardens drowsed in the humid afternoon.

Fiammis’s languid walk became swift, purposeful. Acir cast a quick glance around, wondering what had provoked this change.

And then he saw Khassian coming along the lake path below.

Fiammis leaned out over the bridge parapet, her frilled parasol balanced on her forearm, almost as if she were lining up the sights of an arquebus.

Suddenly Acir realised what she was about. Suddenly he understood.

He threw himself forward, gripped the parasol in both hands and wrenched it from her.

She tried to grab it back.

Beneath them, oblivious to the danger, Khassian strolled on towards the pavilion.

Acir twisted the parasol out of her grip and, with shaking hands, tried to disable the concealed mechanism.

‘Be careful!’ Her shriek came almost too late. His fingers tripped a hidden catch – and something shot from the point of the parasol, rebounding off the parapet on the other side of the bridge with a metallic twang.