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‘Miss Stafford is as concerned about her young charge having her father killed. If she can, she will find out the details and let me know. I am asking her to betray the confidence of the man she loves. It is so impudent of me.’ She paused with the import of what was at stake. ‘But Mary, I don’t need to tell you how discreet we have to be.’

They continued in silence with just the clip-clopping of the horses’ hooves on the cobbles and the occasional shouts of drivers and carters as they passed. Angelica was aware of the enormity of what she intended to do, of what tragedy might transpire if she didn’t succeed. She had always been brave but now that she had been overtaken by this fierce love for Ivor Asprey she felt unsettled and vulnerable. Only with her mind more tranquil now she had a plan, was Angelica able to appreciate at last that he seemed to love her in return and, miraculously, appeared quite unconcerned by her dubious family and sullied reputation. But underlying her unexpected ecstasy was a throbbing fear that clutched her heart; even love such as theirs could be destroyed in one fell act.

As they entered the house in Berkeley Square, Martin sprang forward with excitement, straightening his wig and struggling into his frock coat. ‘The mistress would welcome your presence in the drawing room,’ he said mock-formally as he took Angelica’s bonnet and pelisse. Turning to Mary, he continued, ‘Mrs Leigh is giving us all the day off for the Jubilee celebrations, so we can see the balloon ascent, battle enactments and fireworks.’ He linked his arm in hers and danced her down the corridor to the kitchens at the back.

Angelica mounted the stairs to find her mother sitting on the sofa between the windows, various handwritten lists strewn around her. She looked up as her daughter entered the room. ‘My dear, I’m having such fun organising our party for the Jubilee. I’m giving the servants the day off. Martin’s threatening to leap over the moon with joy.’

Angelica could not even begin to confide the day’s momentous events to her. Their sensibilities were so different it took energy she did not presently possess to argue her point of view against Mrs Leigh’s pragmatic eye for the main chance. However, she had to explain about the gold. ‘Mama, this morning I took a hundred coins from the chest Mr Crowe brought from France.’

Her mother barely looked up from her notes as she said, ‘I consider that bounty for you. Mr Breville is more than generous to me. I hope you spend it wisely, my dear.’

‘Oh Mama, thank you.’ Angelica dashed to her side and embraced her. ‘That’s very kind of you.’

Amabel Leigh kissed her cheek and laughed. ‘It’s the least that your papa owes you and it’s Neddy you have to thank. It’s Mr Breville’s generosity that makes mine possible.’

‘Well I am. I think him the perfect companion for you.’

Her mother looked up, a smile on her lips and a coquettish tilt to her head. ‘And I indeed am the perfect companion for him.’

‘Indeed. When is he back from the Staffordshire potteries?’

‘Oh, tomorrow, I hope. It’s a long journey home.’

Angelica sat down again and took up her book. It consoled her that the smooth leather binding of Mr Asprey’s Waverley had been handled by his hands too.

As they were going in to dinner, Martin arrived, flourishing a silver salver with a note at its centre. Bowing deeply he said, ‘All very havey-cavey, Miss Angelica. Some scruffy young whelp delivered it and dashed off before I could speak.’

Full of trepidation, she unfolded the paper. There in Miss Stafford’s elegant hand she read:

Chalk Farm Tavern, tomorrow at dawn, half past the hour of four

She stuffed the paper into her pocket and took her mother’s arm. ‘I’m sorry to leave you to dine alone, Mama, but there’s something I have to do.’ Before Mrs Leigh could remonstrate with her, Angelica dashed from the room to find her maid. Within minutes, Mary was tying her bonnet in the hall while Angelica slipped into her pelisse, grasped her bonnet and the portmanteau she had stowed under the hallway table.

‘Mary, it’s still light for a couple of hours. I hope you’re happy to walk? We involve fewer people in our deeds.’

She nodded. ‘Bow Street Magistrates is just next door to the theatre. And I think cousin Dan is one of the officers on duty tonight. I’ll be glad to see him.’ They set off towards Piccadilly; Angelica had chosen one of her larger brimmed bonnets and tucked her flaming hair out of sight so she was less recognisable.

As they walked quickly past the male preserves of St James’s on their right, Angelica was reminded again of just how shocking the enterprise was she had embarked upon. If she were to invade the exclusive portals of one of the august gentlemen’s clubs of the area it would be as nothing compared to her effrontery in interfering in the sacred matter of masculine honour. To disrupt a duel was outrageous but this was just what she intended to do. And in order to do so, she and Mary had to enter the Bow Street Magistrates where the only women to darken their doors were drunks, thieves and bawds. Young ladies, even on the margins of polite society like Angelica, were expected to keep well away from the contamination of the underbelly of London life.

They walked on past Albany where it was rumoured Lord Byron had just moved into Lord Althorp’s set, with his talking macaw, and was living the life of a Regency dandy. Mary peered into the courtyard of the great building. ‘I saw the poetic lord once at the theatre, talking to that buffle-headed whore, Susan Boyce. She did seem very taken with him in his midnight blue opera cloak.’

Angelica laughed. ‘Mary! You shouldn’t talk so.’

‘Why not? ’Tis saucy ninnies like her who bring your profession into disrepute, giving licence to hell-hounds like Rackham.’

‘Come now, Mary. You may be right about Lord Rackham, but Mr Kean considers Lord B’s interest in the theatre more artistic than carnal. He calls him the most discerning of critics – methinks largely because he rates Mr Kean so highly.’ The women chuckled. Soon they were at Leicester Square and Angelica offered to carry the portmanteau which she feared had become quite heavy in Mary’s hand. As they rounded the corner of Russell Street, they saw an officer of the Horse Patrol in his distinctive red waistcoat standing outside the door to the Magistrate’s Office. An idea came to Angelica that she could offer a donation to this newly founded body of law enforcement; that way it would not appear to be a blatant bribe.

The man stood aside in some surprise as Angelica and Mary entered the building. At the desk sat another officer writing in a ledger. He looked up, bored, then seeing Angelica, her beauty barely obscured by the size of her bonnet, leapt to his feet. ‘Miss, what may I do for you?’ Mary stepped forward and asked if Dan Pellini was on duty. The officer nodded and looked at them both with curiosity. ‘He’s down with a felon in the cells. I’ll fetch him. Who shall I say?’

‘His cousin, Mary Summer, but he’ll just know me as Mary.’ As the man disappeared into the back of the building, she turned to Angelica. ‘I only became Mary Summer once your mother plucked me from the streets. The season was summer, so that became my name.’

A tall, raw-boned young man entered the room, smart in his uniform, his curly chestnut hair waxed into a neat helmet that befitted the seriousness of his job. ‘Mary, ’tis good to see ye.’ He came forward with his hands out and took one of hers.

‘Dan, it is too.’ Mary turned to Angelica. ‘Miss Leigh, this is Dan Pellini, my childhood companion. Dan, this is my mistress, Miss Leigh..’ Both bowed as Mary continued, ‘I’m glad to see you, and doing so well.’

The first officer was watching this exchange with interest. Angelica touched Mr Pellini’s sleeve. ‘Sir, may we tell you our business?’ He nodded and walked to the further corner of the room and opened a door.

‘This is our interview room.’ He gestured for them to enter a small dingy space lit by one high window, grimed with dust and soot, the threads of cobwebs hanging with trapped dead flies. ‘Sit down, ladies.’