By the time she came down to an elevenish breakfast, clouds had rolled across and a slight drizzle had begun. Truthful ate a rather lacklustre poached egg, looked at the rain outside, and felt gloomy. London was not living up to its promised allure. To make matters worse, Agatha had decided to have one of her turns and had taken to her bed and the replacement maid had none of her skill with hair or dress. Consequently Truthful was wearing a not particularly well-ironed walking dress of sprig muslin and a half-bonnet to hide her hair, and felt a complete dowd. Soon after she finished her breakfast, a footman brought her a note on aquamarine paper folded into the shape of a cocked hat. It was, Truthful soon discovered, a request from her Great-aunt, asking her to call upon her in her bedchamber, as she was feeling indisposed and would not be coming down. Truthful climbed the stairs with some trepidation. She had known her Great-aunt Ermintrude reasonably well as a child, but had not seen her aged relative for many years, due to her frequent indispositions and consequent aversion to travel.
