“As soon as I have the documents in hand, I’ll set off for Westminster. I’d like to confront them there,” I said. “I want to present myself as if I’m already a constituent and coming to them with a concern. I think they’ll respect me for taking a direct approach, even if they don’t agree with our position. My goal will be to identify those who show the slightest hints of sympathy and then I’ll begin cultivating relationships with their wives.”

“What an interesting idea,” Lady Carlisle said. Her smile suggested she was pleased, and I wondered if she was glad to have found someone else who shared a more radical vision. “I look forward to hearing about your results. You shall all have pamphlets and distribution lists by the end of the week. And unless anyone has something else to add, I believe that concludes our business for today.”

Ivy and I milled around the room for another quarter of an hour, drinking tea and listening to the usual sort of society gossip. No one mentioned Mr. Dillman’s brutal death out loud, though I knew it was on everyone’s mind. We’d all seen the sensational coverage given to his murder by the morning papers. Instead, most of the chatter focused on Polly Sanders. The words said about her were not kind, and she was not the only person to suffer under the rule of icy tongues.

“That hideous Lady Glover sent out another round of invitations,” one of the ladies said to another. “I do hope no one has the bad form to accept.”

“I don’t understand why she even bothers,” the other said. “No one is going to befriend her, no matter what airs she puts on.”

“Have you ever met Lady Glover?” I asked Ivy, keeping my voice low. “She drives her phaeton through Hyde Park with zebras pulling it.”