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emulate.’
    I managed to avoid wincing.
    ‘And Mrs Patterson must come too,’ Mrs Jenison said, clearly hoping to give her dinner table some respectability. ‘You will come, Mr Heron?’
    ‘Of course,’ Heron said.
    ‘Such a gentleman,’ Mrs Annabella said, almost swooning. I was unsure whether she was referring to Heron or Nightingale.
    A little later Heron and I stood on Jenison’s doorstep, watching the sun lower over the roofs of the houses on the other side of the street. A breeze lifted a strand of Heron’s pale hair and wafted it across his forehead; like me, he prefers not to wear a wig. A cart struggled up the slope of the road; the carter climbed down to lead the horse. Inside the house, I could hear Mrs Annabella bidding a prolonged and verbose farewell to Ridley.
    ‘This Nightingale must be special to tempt Jenison to invite him to dinner,’ I said.
    Heron’s lips tightened. ‘I have the greatest respect for Jenison’s abilities as a businessman, but I have always found his taste highly suspect.’
    ‘He heard the fellow in London in March. I hope he doesn’t charge London prices.’
    ‘We have had correspondence on the matter,’ Heron said, dryly. He too is one of the Directors of the concerts. ‘I suspect that if he brings his ladder with him, I shall find it remarkably difficult to get to concerts this season.’
    ‘The prospect seems to be encouraging some people to buy tickets,’ I said ruefully, and hesitated, watching the carter. I was reluctant to confide my suspicions to Heron – or to anyone for that matter – since they rested on such flimsy foundations, but he might have information which would help me, either to confirm Ridley was the villain, or to exonerate him. I said casually, ‘I’ve not met Cuthbert Ridley before. He’s been away from town some years, I understand?’
    ‘Damn near ten,’ Heron said, with surprising vehemence. ‘He was sent to an uncle in London, then went on to Oxford from there. The last year or so he has been back in London practising the law with his uncle.’
    ‘He’s very shy.’
    Heron was contemptuous. ‘Affectation.’
    I stared in surprise. ‘He acts the part? But why?’
    ‘I have long since ceased to make the effort to understand.’ The carter had stopped to unload beer barrels two or three houses up the street; the breeze bowled his hat away and he ran after it. ‘If it were possible,’ Heron said, ‘I would wash my hands of him completely. However, my late wife was his mother’s closest friend and so I was appointed his godfather.’
    ‘You’re introducing him into local society?’
    ‘I have promised his mother I will.’ He grimaced. ‘It is not likely to be an easy task. In the absence of his father, I am also supposed to find him a position, but since he clearly does not wish to exert himself in the slightest, that looks to be more difficult still. He seems to make it his business to defy his mother at every turn.’
    ‘He’s young,’ I said. ‘Sowing his wild oats.’
    ‘I shudder to think how wild,’ Heron said dryly. ‘Some of his uncle’s stories are, to say the least, disquieting.’ He gave me a quick glance. ‘I would advise you to stay out of his way.’
    I was startled. ‘You think—’
    ‘I think he’s a malicious fool,’ he said.
    A noise behind us. We both glanced back into the Jenisons’ house. Ridley was saying something to the footman who was presenting him with his hat and cane; the footman looked faintly unsettled. Heron’s hand started tapping a gentle tattoo against his thigh; he said, ‘Do you have time to give me a violin lesson, Patterson? Tomorrow, perhaps?’
    It was plainly impossible to talk further now and I wondered if Heron’s request was intended to provide an opportunity to continue our conversation. I was relieved that he at least assumed I’d continue to teach despite my new-found wealth; Heron has a very fine sense of what is appropriate behaviour and what is not.
    We