the steps and his left arm hung awkwardly. He smiled when he saw us, but with the shame-faced air of somebody who knew he’d lost control of himself. He wasn’t exactly blocking our exit, but had positioned himself so that we couldn’t pass without noticing him. I thought he might want to apologise or justify himself for the fight, but he spoke to me with an attempt at a jaunty air, as if nothing had happened.
‘I say, that was a most capital blow at the quintain. I only wish I could do half so well.’ Then, to Amos: ‘Would you be kind enough to introduce me, Legge?’
Amos did it correctly enough, though I sensed he wasn’t pleased.
‘Miss Lane, this is Mr Miles Brinkburn. Mr Brinkburn, Miss Liberty Lane.’
Miles Brinkburn’s shapely eyebrows flicked up and down. He might have been surprised by my first name–a cradle gift from my two radically minded parents–or perhaps he was registering my unmarried state. Under my gloves, he couldn’t have seen whether I was wearing a ring. Either way, there was a hint of speculation in those eyebrows that made me annoyed enough to speak my mind.
‘That was a downright unchivalrous trick you played.’
He bowed in the saddle.
‘Then I am rebuked. Should I have challenged him to single combat?’
‘If you do, you’d better stipulate that it’s on foot,’ I said.
He winced. It had been ungenerous to remind him that his brother was the better rider, but I wanted to see how he reacted.
‘Beauty has a right to severity, Miss Lane. I hope I may be permitted to alter your poor opinion of me.’
I gave him a cold bow and moved my hand on the rein, indicating that we wanted to ride past him. He stood his ground.
‘You obviously have an interest in knightly pursuits, Miss Lane.’ (I hadn’t particularly, but didn’t interrupt.) ‘I wonder whether you might be interested to see my ancestral armour.’
I’d heard some unlikely lines of invitation from gentlemen to ladies, but this was the most blatant yet. I decided he was mocking me and replied accordingly.
‘I believe I’ve seen it already, Mr Brinkburn. Brought low in the sawdust.’
He kept his good temper.
‘That was only hired stuff. I’m having my own ancestor’s armour sent from home. It’s arriving at Pratt’s in Bond Street tomorrow. There’s any amount of interesting armour and things at Pratt’s. Perhaps we’ll even find another lance for you to break.’
From his smile, he seemed to think that he was irresistible. It suited me to let him think he was.
‘What time at Pratt’s?’
‘Would twelve o’clock suit m’lady?’
‘I’ll think about it.’
He nodded as if the thing were settled and at last moved aside to let us through the gate.
‘So is it in the line of business, then?’ Amos said, as we rode along the west side of Regent’s Park.
He knew me well enough to guess that I hadn’t been bowled over by Miles Brinkburn’s charm to the extent of losing all discretion. A lot of my friends were embarrassed by the singular way I made a living, but Amos was unsurprisable.
‘Probably, yes,’ I said. ‘I’ve been asked to investigate something connected with his family. I can’t decide whether to agree or not.’
‘I don’t think there’s much harm in him,’ Amos said. ‘But he’s a touch impudent, like. He wants watching.’
Was that meant as a warning to me to watch my reputation? Mr Brinkburn had indeed been impudent in trying to make an assignation with me when we’d only just been introduced. There were two possible reasons for that. The obvious one was that he’d taken me, from my unmarried state and apparent readiness to attract attention, as a woman whose business it was to make assignations with gentleman. The other was more worrying. Was it possible that he knew already, by some means, that I’d been approached to investigate his family’s extraordinary problem? If so, Amos was right and the younger Mr Brinkburn certainly did want watching.
The approach had come, as was often the case in my investigations, from that rising young Conservative MP, Mr Benjamin Disraeli. He’d told me about it two days before, at a private viewing at an art gallery in Pall Mall that I was attending with the family of one of my singing pupils. He’d come up to me in the refreshment room.
‘What a pleasant surprise to find you here, Miss Lane.’
I was sure he would have had sight of the guest list in advance and knew very well that I’d be there. He was a man who preferred surprising other people to being surprised. But I played him at his own game, making social chat.
‘I understand I am to congratulate you on your forthcoming marriage, Mr Disraeli.’
To a plump chatterbox of a widow, with a more than comfortable income, a dozen or so years older than he was. At least that should take care of his debts.
‘Yes indeed. Mary Anne has consented to make me a happy man very soon. I only wish all unions could be as well starred.’
While we were talking, he was deftly steering us towards two empty places on a sofa at the far end of the room, under a landscape in oils so gloomy that nobody was likely to come for a closer look. When we were settled he inquired politely how business was going.
‘Reasonably well, thank you,’ I said. ‘I’m doing more private intelligencing than music teaching these days.’
‘Yes. I understand the Staffords were more than grateful about that regrettable business with the statue.’
He was entitled to know something about my work. It had been Mr Disraeli who’d invented my metier for me, pointing out that I seemed to have a talent for investigation and might make a living by using it on behalf of people whose problems were too delicate to go to the police. His network of acquaintances was wide, growing all the time, and he cheerfully admitted that favours to friends were useful currency for a politician. We were useful to each other. Far more than that–and in spite of our political differences and my knowledge of his failings–I liked the man. He took his risks gallantly and was never dull. Even now, sipping lukewarm tea under one of the most dismal paintings in London, I felt my pulse quickening.
‘So you want to talk to me about somebody’s ill-starred marriage,’ I said. ‘It’s no good asking me to collect evidence for a divorce. I’ve tried that once and it was my only failure.’
‘Yes, but that was because you decided to take the wife’s part. If you’d stayed on the husband’s side…’
‘He was a liar, an adulterer and a bully. I’d rather teach music to tone-deaf five-year-olds all my life than work for people like that.’
‘Then
