Determined to have her own way, she went straight along to his office and rapped on the door. There was no reply.

‘If you’re looking for your father, he’s been called out to a patient.’ Sister Crespine was coming along the corridor in her cape and bonnet; she had finished her work for the day and was going home. ‘He said he would probably be late. You’re to sup without him. Cook’s been told.’ It seemed too good an opportunity to miss.

Orial went to her closet and looked with dissatisfaction at her few gowns. Dowdy high-necked school gowns, girlish checks and sprigs. Nothing suitable for the Assembly Rooms.

She wandered around the upper floor until she found herself in her parents’ room. Her fingers reached out to unlock the inlaid chest, to touch the delicate fabrics of Mama’s gowns. A faint faded perfume drifted out, dried petals of orange blossom and lavender sprigs, as she lifted up the folds of muslin. She rubbed the smooth satin of some blue ribbons against her cheek, lost in a memory of distant childhood.

She carefully eased a gown out of the chest, shaking it loose from the protective folds of petal paper, and held it up against herself.

‘Yes,’ she whispered, looking with satisfaction at her shadowed reflection in the cheval mirror. ‘Yes.’

‘Orial?’ Dr Magelonne opened the door of the parlour and looked in; the fire had burned down to embers. Perhaps she had gone to bed.

He was back much later than he had intended. He had known the old Mareschal many years; indeed he had helped him walk again after a hunting accident. It was difficult to get away without taking a glass or two of apple brandy and listening to the Mareschal’s hunting anecdotes.

Cook had left him some bread and ripe blue-veined cheese; he felt too tired to eat much but chewed dutifully as he scanned tomorrow’s schedule.

The last of the spent coals subsided with a soft hiss into ash. He started.

The house felt odd. Something was not quite right. Perhaps he should let Orial know he was back in case she heard the footsteps downstairs and feared robbers had broken in…

He tiptoed upstairs and tapped lightly on her door. No reply. Sleeping already. He opened the door a crack and gazed fondly in.

Her bed was empty.

CHAPTER 10

The Assembly Rooms were packed; all the glitterati of Sulien had come in their jewels and feathered wigs to hear Cramoisy Jordelayne sing. Orial, overwhelmed by the elegance of the crowd, shrank into Khassian’s shadow, hoping no one would recognise her.

Khassian, pale and austere, kept his hands concealed.

‘Listen to them!’ she heard him mutter. ‘Gaudy starlings, all whistling, jeering, chattering…’