Picking up Lady Stanwick's cue, I take a clownish bow to our host worthy of a Commedia del Arte Zany and dance down the table toward his unwelcome guest.

"I s'll gladly remove the head of Belsey Bob for thee, Sire!" I declare with a flourish of my sword and place the point over the heart of the stranger who calls himself Lord Victor's brother, then recite a few lines from a mummers play:

In come I, St George, that man of honour and courage stout and bold;
With my sword and spear all by my side I have won twelve crown of gold;
It was I who fought the Fiery Dragon and brought him to great slaughter,
And by those means I hope to win the King of Egypt's oldest daughter.

The Deceiver's eyes glow and his smile broadens unnaturally. Taking this as my cue to end the charade, I pretend to cut off his head, take a few bows and leap lightly off the table. My father leads the applause, while motioning me to meet him in the foyer. I nod my head in acquiescence, pick up my skirts and head for the nearest water closet to freshen up in private and calm my thudding heart. I have yet to digest all that has happened. The evil at Drakesheath Manor this eve is tangible, the Godwinson family cabal an ancient web too tangled by time to fathom. I still have their names safely tucked away. I hope I shall never have to fulfill their master's bloody request.