"You are wondering why I did," she said as she settled the hood. "I am not known for my helpfulness."

"I know that you can be kind, when you wish to be."

A smile hovered about her mouth. "High praise, Captain. I helped her, because I knew she was your friend. And Lady Aline's." Her eyes were a mystery. "Good night."

I touched her velvet-clad arm. "May I call on you tomorrow? I would like to hear your version of events, if you do not mind discussing them. You were there and likely much less agitated than Mrs. Brandon."

"Of course." She inclined her head. "I will tell you all I can. Call at four o'clock. I intend to laze about tomorrow and be home to very few. Good night."

I released her arm and bowed. Lady Breckenridge acknowledged the bow with a nod, then swept out into the strengthening rain under the canopy that the obliging footmen held over her.

By the time I returned to the sitting room, Louisa had regained some color. The blanket was tucked around her again, and pillows cradled her back. Lady Aline sipped a full glass of whiskey, her rouged face now bright pink.

"I should have been more gracious," Louisa was saying.

"Nonsense," Lady Aline said. "Donata Breckenridge is a woman of sense, despite her ways. She enjoys playing the shrew, and who can blame her? Her husband was appalling to her from beginning to his very nasty end. She has a good heart, but she hides it well."

"All the same," Louisa murmured. I realized that she was embarrassed. A viscountess, a member of the aristocracy, had witnessed her husband's humiliating arrest and confessions.

"She will say nothing, Louisa," Lady Aline assured her.

Louisa sank into silence.

I pulled a chair close to the divan. "Louisa, I will have to ask you questions about tonight," I said. "Can you bear to answer now? Or would you rather wait?"

"She needs her rest, Lacey," Aline said.