"Uncle Paul, Cicely," said Anne. "You sent for me? I received a note in which you most expressly requested my presence at Tilbury Park."

"Let me see that note," demanded Mr. Tilbury.

Anne thought for a moment. When she and Dicken had concocted this story to explain her sudden presence at the Park they had failed to consider that Uncle Paul might ask to see the note.

"It is with my things," Anne prevaricated. "I shall produce it directly." Privately she thought, 'I shall explain that bouncer later.'

The narrow house off of St. James Square had seen better days. Paint peeled in layers around the grimy windows. The thick oaken door was hidden in shadows. A tall, thin man, hat pulled down low to obscure his features, rapped once, then twice in rapid succession upon it.

Within seconds the door creaked open to admit him into an equally darkened hallway. Making his way to the back of the house he stopped at another door. Opening it he looked down the stairs it revealed to see a soft light glowing at the bottom.

Reaching the bottom he paused to take in the scene before him. Around a long rectangular table which stood in the middle of the earthen floor were two men and a woman. The woman was somewhere past thirty, attractive with blonde hair and pale blue eyes. But there was a hardness to her shapely mouth. The men were different from each other, one older with greying hair and a face that bespoke an indulgent life.

The other man was small, with a narrow nose and eyes set close together. His clothing was somewhat shabby, his shirt cuffs and collar frayed.

The man at the bottom of the steps took off his hat and walked to the table assuming the seat at the head of it.

"We will not wait for Cecily, she is recovering the Star of the Sea from her father. The fool. Thinking he could blackmail us!" He laughed heartily.

The older man coughed slightly and said, "Are you sure she can handle him?"

"Handle him? She's been doing it for years. She'll have no problem on that score. As for you, Lord Brookfield, perhaps you can explain how you let Anne Tilbury, one of the few people who knows Cecily is skilled in poison, slip through your fingers."

The older man paled visibly, "That was my wife's fault. She was supposed to handle the girl."

Turning to the woman the man said, "Mrs. Andrews, how fairs Mr. Daventry? Will he be causing us any problems?"

She smiled harshly, "He's too afraid to go against us. Knowing that we have the marriage lines his little innocent needs to prove her brother is actually the Marquess and not Seaforth. To say nothing of the 'evidence' we have manufactured to blame him for his uncle and cousins' deaths. He will not cause any problems. In fact, I promise he'll be willing to do anything I tell him to do. Look how he comes to the house whenever I send for him without question. No, General, Daventry will not be a problem."

The General nodded his approval. Turning to the shabbily dressed man he said, "And, Mr. Warburton, how goes the plot against the Crown?"

"It would be better if we eliminated Seaforth. He knows too much and suspects more. He knows the jewels are the Queen's, they are too famous for him not to. I badly misjudged him when I secreted them in with his family jewels. I never thought a country horse dealer would inventory them when he inherited the title. Having started the rumour that he had a hand in the death of his brother and the missing marriage lines should have been enough to keep him occupied. I had not counted on his niece and nephew standing by him. I say we get rid of him. Now."

The General shook his head. "No, we cannot eliminate him until we have the other two jewels. Without them we lose power over the Prince. I think we will hold off on doing anything about Seaforth for now. You have someone watching him, Mr. Warburton?"

"Oh, yes, more than one in his employ reports his coming and goings to me. He can't make a move without my knowing of it."

"And I tell you, Falcon, I can handle the ribbons as well as you!"

"My dear, 'Jamie,' if I may use Jacob's enchanting nickname for you, I have no doubt that with two solid arms you might, just might, mind you, be able to handle the ribbons of your phaeton somewhat as well as I, but must i remind you, for at least the twentieth time, YOU HAVE A BLASTED BIG HOLE IN ONE OF THEM!"

James blinked. He couldn't recall August Falcon ever raising his voice so loudly. His usual put down was done with more finesse.

"Really, August, there's no need to shout."

August threw him a disgusted look and by the simple expedient of elbowing James out of the way climbed into the phaeton and commandeered the reins.

"Now, Jamie, to Tilbury Park."

James leaned back into the leather seat and silently thanked August for taking the reins. If the truth be known his arm was painful and somewhat swollen. Having dispensed with his coachman, fearing he was a spy, he had found himself faced with driving. He had not thought that August would come along. But he knew he would be grateful for August's sword arm if needed. And if Anne had decided to confront her uncle in his own home, it probably would. A small finger of fear touched him. Where was Anne and just what was she doing?

The precise melodies of Bach filled the music room. Cecily, seated at the harpsichord, looked demure, graceful, and very beautiful. Her unpowdered glossy black curls brushed her bare shoulders and her fingers flew over the keyboard. The Honorable (and callow) Mr. Percival Foster gulped, waiting anxiously for his moment of glory, when he was to turn the page for his goddess. Anne, seated in the shadows as befitting her poor relation status, was anxious herself. Thus far, the evening had gone as she had predicted to Dickens. Uncle Paul had accepted her story that her friend Miss Rossiter had not been injured as badly as her fiancé Mr. Falcon originally feared. Cecily had cooed that Aunt Harriet was "much better this evening" and insisted Anne go right up to her and that she later join them for dinner, "Just potluck, really with the local gentry, so you shall not feel out of place."

Cecily's cattiness did not bother Anne. She was relieved to hear there would be company. Her Plan hinged on Uncle Paul and Cecily following their standard pattern of "entertaining." The gentlemen had rejoined the ladies after dinner in the music room, where Cecily allowed herself to be persuaded to play. Anne looked at Mr. Foster and sighed inaudibly, knowing that shy gentleman was Cecily's next victim. Her cousin lived for causing pain in others. In men, breaking hearts was her specialty. She was also an expert in humiliating ladies in subtle but unmistakable ways. Anne shuddered slightly. The triumphant look Cecily and Uncle Paul exchanged when Anne was announced that afternoon indicated that Anne was due to be a target for Cecily soon.

Mr. Foster licked his lips and turned the page. Anne scolded herself for wool gathering. Dickens should on the terrace now. As a governess and poor relation, Anne had mastered the fine art of moving unobtrusively and, like a shadow, she drifted to the french doors and opened them. Her heart was quaking for there were several matrons present who felt that any hint of a draft would lead to inflammation of the lungs and would not hesitate to say so. And then Cecily could have a field day with her cousin.

Cecily finished her piece and acknowledged the volley of compliments with a well feigned modesty. Mr. Foster gulped again, opened his mouth once or twice, much in the manner of the goldfish Cecily kept in the music room as a curiosity, and then found his voice to urge, "Miss Tilbury to sing for us now, oh, do please sing!"

Sending that young man a flirtatious look from under her long curling lashes, Cecily toyed with one of the red roses in the silver bowl on the harpsichord while the rest of the guests joined in the request. Cecily assented and stood up straight, raised her chin and began a simple country aire.

She knew her voice was lovely and well pitched. She was well aware of the pretty picture she made. But oddly enough, some of the guests were looking puzzled rather than rapturous. Mrs. Digby of Oakhurst Terrace (the old biddy) was even frowning. Cecily put more effort into her song and hit the high B flat with the confidence of a diva born to sing. She was outright shocked when Mr. Collins, her father's (mostly ignored) chaplain gave a very unclergy-like snort. She stopped singing and turned sharply to see what Mrs. Digby, Mr. Collins, and by now even the love struck Mr. Foster were staring at.

Behind her were two large cats. Their still cool posture and lifted chins seemed to mimic Cecily's singing stance and their yowls almost matched the melody of her song. Cecily had turned away from her audience and it was a good thing as even Mr Foster would have quailed at the fire in her eyes as she advanced on the cats. With all the attention focused on her cousin and the cats, Anne slowly inched toward the door of the music room. Her Plan was working perfectly.

"Who allowed these creatures in here?" Cecily asked, in a strident voice quite at odds with her singing voice. Mr Foster looked at her, surprised by her tone and she immediately continued, "Aren't they darling?" Her voice was a little flat, but she would have carried it off if a sudden barking had not assaulted her ears. The French doors burst open and a pane of glass shattered as a furry whirlwind shot into the room. It was a dog, seemingly half wolfhound, half Great Dane (and the worst half of each) which froze momentarily at the sight of the cats and then with a renewed triumphant series of barks, hurled itself at the felines. The cats separated, one climbing the new drapes, the other disappearing into the nearest hiding place.

"Balder!" Anne whispered to herself. Baffled, she thought confusedly that Theo or Fiona must be here, but how and why, she could not imagine. Not did she have time to wonder. Balder was creating a greater diversion than she and Dickens had planned, and she froze at the music room door transfixed by the events unfolding.

Balder, with great enthusiasm, had placed his front paws on the drapes where Bastet had taken refuge but he could not reach the spitting cat. Giving her up for the moment he whirled, so that his drooling, hairy jaws were inches away from Mr. Collins. A freindly dog, he woofed a greeting. Mr. Collins started back involuntarily, his elbow knocking the goldfish bowl to the ground. A wave of water splashed over Mrs. Hartford's bountiful bosum and the fish lodged in her cleavage. Balder sniffed interestly at the fish for a moment but then decided to turn to his original prey.

Nose to the ground, the hound began an vigorous search for the missing cat. Mr. Foster, recovering from his stunned immobility, grabbed at the beast, but Balder eluded his grasp with ease and barked even more loudly, baring long, rather sharp looking teeth. Mr. Foster retreated. Uncle Paul rose from his chair, but Bastet chose that moment to make an acrobatic jump from the drapes to the harpsichord. As there is not room on a harpsichord for both a large cat and a large silver bowl of roses, Uncle Paul became the second person in the room to receive a soaking. Sputtering, he fell back in his chair.

Cecily did not lose her head. Amid the cacaphony of canine barks, feline yowls, feminine shrieks, and masculine cursing (from Mr. Collins!) she spoke in carryng tones, "Ring for James."

Endeavoring to do so, Squire Whyteleaf reached for the bellpull only to find Bastet had made a second spectacular leap and was dangling from from the embroidered rope. Anne saw her chance and called, "I'll fetch help!" and fled, not to seek James, the second footman, but to hurry to Uncle Paul's library to commence her search.

Balder's nose caught a whiff of Cat. With a triumphant bark that could have shattered the remained window, he hurled himself at Boadicea... who had taken refuge under The Honorable Miss Cecily Tilbury's hoopskirt.