him. At some point Dassel’s inspiration dried up, and he began to pay Emilia for her compositions. It was an arrangement that staved off total financial ruin, although the debts outpaced her income, no matter how hard she tried.
She touched the thicker of the two stacks of pages: her opera. She had taken Homer’s Iliad for inspiration, with Cassandra as the lead soprano. But as she leafed through the music, she set it aside. The culmination of the second act eluded her, and Emilia did not have the mental fortitude to confront that problem today. Something smaller would have to do for now.
Emilia knew that time was running out. She must be married soon, and to a rich man, and at the age of two and twenty, after two unsuccessful seasons, her hope was dwindling.
***
'I say, Milton old boy,' Roberts huffed, 'such pacing will wear the carpet bare.'
Max stopped where he was, halfway across the study. It faced the square, with a large window on one end, and bookshelves on the opposite wall. The hardwood floor was covered in a large carpet, the object of the lieutenant’s concern. Roberts sat by the window, stroking the dog’s curly head.
'I daresay you’ll give poor Bouncer a case of nerves,' Roberts continued.
'Bouncer?' Max echoed.
Roberts grimaced, his moustache twisting. 'You’re right, it won’t do.' Gazing into the canine’s eyes, he said, 'Wolfy? Fiddler? Jollyboy? Oh, I rather fancy that one.'
'Jollyboy it is,' Max said, although his mind wasn’t on the naming of the animal.
'Jollyboy has a very fine nose, you know, Milton. He knows I’ve a pocket full of bacon, don’t you, Jollyboy?'
The man was smitten, Max observed with amusement. Roberts patted the dog’s head and then stood, raising a hand and ordering the animal to sit. This had no effect on Jollyboy, who instead jumped up and tried to lick Roberts on the nose.
But even such an entertaining scene could not draw Max from his worries.
It was dashed bad luck. How had he encountered Emilia Whitmore, of all people, right outside his door? And he knew she recognized him. His days of anonymity were numbered, and in the single digits, at that.
Without noticing, he began to pace again. He hardly looked where he was going and stumbled as the dog got tangled in his legs.
Roberts scolded him, 'Zounds, Milton, this won’t do at all. Come along, we shall have a game of billiards to set you to rights.'
The townhouse they had leased was well-appointed, with a fashionable drawing room decorated in creamy yellows and touches of greenish-blue, which boasted a new billiards table. Max obediently followed Roberts upstairs and allowed him to set up the game, positioning the ivory balls just so.
After scrambling up the stairs Jollyboy collapsed in a panting heap as if he’d just run a marathon. His face had a canine smile that Max couldn’t help but find endearing.
'Do you truly believe the lady recognized you?' Roberts asked as he leaned forward to hit his white ball, targeting the red.
Max could picture her face as it drained of colour. Her dark, almost black eyes widened in shock. How distressed she had looked. It unsettled him more than he cared to admit even to himself. Max sighed. 'I’m afraid so. All my careful scheming...'
The balls cracked against each other and Roberts straightened. 'Nonsense, all cannot possibly be lost.'
'How will I manage any sort of stealthy investigation if word gets out of my return from the dead?' Max asked.
After a miss, Roberts gestured at the table, prompting him to take his turn.
As Max did so, Roberts said, 'You’ve told me of your suspicions. Half the work is already done. We need only acquire the proof.'
Max sent his own cue ball careening across the table and missed the object ball entirely. 'Yes,' he said as he backed away to give Roberts space. 'I’m almost certain it was the footman who blackmailed me. But almost certain isn’t the same as entirely certain. What if I’m mistaken?'
'You discovered the girl behaving improperly with him, did you not?'
'Lady Charlotte’s reputation would have been quite undone,' Max agreed.
'They conceived of the scheme as a result,' Roberts said.
'That is my conclusion.'
'Well, then.'
'Yes,' Max conceded. 'It does seem the only likely explanation. And the man who approached me was indeed the right height. But I never saw his face, it was too dark.'
'Nevertheless. What you need now is the note he gave you and a sample of the footman’s handwriting, signed in his name,' Roberts said. 'You had him