She passed Olivia Etterly in discussion with the King of Denmark—

(“Oh yes, it’s an excellent opportunity, Your Majesty, I bought land there myself only last month, such divine views of the jungle, I’d be pleased to introduce you to my agent, who just so happens to be present this evening.”

“What is their name?”

“Miss Fairweather, Your Majesty. A widow of integrity and excellent repute.”)

—and glancing away with a smile, caught sight of Bloodhound Bess laughing heartily with Prince Wilhelm of Germany as she slipped a gold medallion from his breast.

She and Miss Darlington came before Queen Victoria, and Cecilia was astonished to see Miss Darlington curtsy to the Queen. She followed the example and as she rose found the Queen staring up at her.

“Ah yes, the conundrum,” Victoria said. Cecilia smiled politely, but her wits turned inward, rummaging through old boxes, tossing memories hither and yon, trying to remember where they’d heard that word before. “We are pleased to see you here tonight,” the Queen continued. “One must do what one can for the younger generation, don’t you agree, Albert dear?”

She applied this question to a marble bust of Prince Albert that stood on a small, black-clothed table beside her chair. The bust had nothing to say, but it did stare at Cecilia with such intensity that she wished she was wearing a coat over her ball gown.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Cecilia said.

“Not that we actually want to do anything,” the Queen added, “but the mournful sighs got too much for us.”

“I know what you mean,” Miss Darlington said wryly.

Cecilia, who had no idea what she meant, watched the two ladies smirk at each other and began to worry. Perhaps she ought to have taken that cocaine pill after all: she suspected she would have a headache before this night was done.

The company dined in an opulent room surrounded by high, overwrought walls and the glare of so many candles Cecilia could barely see the food on her golden plate. She was seated between the King of Belgium and Princess Louise, and if the princess’s bracelet happened to fall into a surreptitious pocket of Cecilia’s skirt, that could be fairly described as an accidental collision between fingers and gold chain; and if the king later could not find his signet ring, well, anything might have happened to it—there must be a dozen innocent reasons why it ended up in Cecilia’s purse.

Besides, no thieving was obviously more of a guideline than a rule, since there might be circumstances in which thieving was essential—for example, if King Leopold’s life had been endangered by his signet ring (due to a spontaneous allergy to gold)—and everyone knew it was morally acceptable to ignore guidelines.

The mealtime was as tedious as Cecilia had expected. She spent the entire first course listening to the king boast about all the buildings he had commissioned to be raised (albeit not literally, Belgian people being too sensible for piracy), and he mistook the glazed look in Cecilia’s eyes for shining interest. Alas, she somehow managed to knock over a candle and the king’s beard caught fire, which at least broke the tedium for a few minutes; after this, she turned to her left and for the remainder of the meal discussed the weather with Princess Louise.