She turned her head away sharply. A Madame Valade and her husband. ‘Jacques?’ she called out, forgetting the need for silence. Her heels made contact with Rhea’s knees and hobbled her with a crack. “The Beck family has the cooking gene. “He and I don’t seem to get on at all with our fellow-guests, as Mrs. Annabel had been here then. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen.
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