I adjusted my straw hat, Homburg shape with a large brim, and we set off for Lady Carlisle’s house in Kensington. Crossing Park Lane, we entered the sprawling expanse of Hyde Park at the Grosvenor Gate and made our way along crowded paths shaded by towering trees. Sunshine and warm weather had brought most of society outside, and the park was a favorite gathering place on summer mornings. All around us, couples tilted their heads close together as fearsome chaperones walked beside them, ready to poke with well-placed parasols any overeager gentlemen. Friends waved to us, calling out greetings, but we had no time to stop and chat.

Until we saw Winifred Harris.

I would have liked to pretend not to have noticed her, but the figure she cut was too imposing to miss, not only due to her larger-than-average height and girth, but also because of her booming voice. I walked faster, but to no avail.

“Ivy, dear!” she called, then stood, unmoving, as if waiting for us to come pay homage to her.

Ivy smiled and crossed to her friend. “My dear Winifred,” she said. “What a delightful surprise to see you.”

“It can’t be much of a surprise, Ivy,” Mrs. Harris said, squinting at us through a fashionable lorgnette that was attached to her too-snugly tailored jacket. “It’s the Season. Where else would you expect to find a woman of my standing at this time of day? Hyde Park is the only place to be seen.”

“I only meant it was a pleasant surprise for me,” Ivy said. “I never meant to suggest you would—”

“Yes, yes,” Mrs. Harris said. “How is your husband, Lady Emily? I understand he’s embroiled in this unpleasant business that occurred in Southwark last night.”

“He’s involved in the investigation, yes,” I said.

“A very dodgy business,” she said. “I do hope his insistence on working doesn’t harm your reputation. It’s unseemly for a man of his fortune to seek gainful employment.”