The Worthingtons’ cottage lay a little way outside Grave Village, up a narrow lane. The cottage was small but well cared for. Lord Grave rapped the shiny brass knocker. A moment later, Mrs Worthington opened it.

      “Your Lordship!” she said, looking most surprised and also not very pleased.

      “I’m very sorry to intrude, but I wondered if we could have a quick word with Violet.”

      Mrs Worthington frowned. “Oh dear. Can’t it wait? The poor little thing’s worn out. She can hardly keep her eyes open.”

      “Just a few minutes?”

      Mrs Worthington sighed. “If you insist.”

      “Most kind.” Lord Grave took off his top hat and stepped through the doorway. Lucy followed him inside.

      The cottage had just one large room downstairs. The floorboards were bare, but swept clean. Not a speck of dust clung to the rough wooden beams that crossed the ceiling. Mrs Worthington led the way up the rickety staircase, which creaked rather alarmingly.

      The stairs opened out directly on to a bedroom that was as small as Lucy’s own but seemed bigger as there was only the one bed, which Violet was lying in. She and Caruthers were snugly tucked up under a pink-and-white patchwork quilt.

      Mrs Worthington bent over her daughter and spoke gently to her. “Violet. Lord Grave’s here. He wants to speak to you. Is that all right?”

      “Yes, Mother,” Violet said. Her voice was slow and sleepy.

      Mrs Worthington gestured for Lord Grave and Lucy to go over to Violet’s bed.

      “Hello, Lucy. Thank you for saving me,” Violet said. She looked up at her two visitors. Her eyes were dull and her face looked pinched and grey.

      “Violet, I’d just like you to tell me what you remember of the attack. The boy cut you with his knife, is that right?” Lord Grave said kindly.

      Violet nodded.

      “And then what happened?”

      Violet’s eyes began to close. “A penny. Then a peashooter,” she whispered.

      “I think she’s delirious,” Lord Grave muttered.

      Violet’s eyes opened a little. “The boy. He cut me. He had a penny. Smeared it with my blood. Put it in his handkerchief. Then Lucy hit him on the back of the neck with her peashooter. Can I go to sleep now?”

      Lord Grave opened his mouth to ask another question, but Mrs Worthington stepped between him and the bed. “I think that’s enough for today, sir,” she said firmly, and began ushering Lucy and Lord Grave towards the stairs. Lucy glanced over her shoulder and saw that Violet was already fast asleep.

      When Lord Grave and Lucy had been politely but speedily shown out of the Worthingtons’ cottage, Lord Grave lingered on the doorstep for a few moments.

      “I wish I could have gleaned a little more information from young Violet. I’m beginning to think your attacker really might have been magical.”

      Lucy frowned. “If he was, why didn’t he use magic to fight back when I hit him with the attack sparks?”

      Lord Grave nodded. “That’s a good point. But perhaps he’d already got what he wanted? Which in this case was blood. Perhaps he’d hoped for your blood, but decided to make do with Violet’s.”

      “But why would he do such a thing?” Lucy asked, feeling slightly queasy.

      Lord Grave put his top hat back on and gazed grimly at Lucy. “There are many magical uses for blood, Lucy, and all of them are very nasty indeed.”

      Back at Grave Hall, Lucy expected that she and Lord Grave would spend some time together discussing what Violet had revealed. But Lord Grave had other ideas.

      “It’s a stroke of luck that I invited MAAM to come a couple of days before the actual ball so that we could have a catch-up before the other guests arrive. Lord Percy sent me a chit this morning to let me know they’d all be here at five.”

      Lucy, who had become more and more acquainted with the magical world over the last few weeks, knew that chits were a special invention of Lord Percy’s; flying notes that MAAM used to send messages between themselves, and to communicate with other magicians.

      “So,” Lord Grave continued, consulting his pocket watch, “there’s about half an hour before they arrive. We’ll be able to confer with them about all this later. In the meantime, would you mind helping Mrs Crawley? I believe she may be feeling somewhat overwhelmed with the preparations for the ball.”

      Lucy agreed, but she couldn’t help feeling a little put out. Sometimes she resented the fact that Lord Grave wanted her to be part of MAAM, but also expected her to be a servant. Nevertheless, she set off to the kitchen.

      Mrs Crawley was sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by a stack of potatoes. She was sipping at a large tankard of her favourite home-brew. The ale was flavoured with Extra Violent Mustard Mix and Mrs Crawley used it as a pick-me-up when she was feeling particularly fatigued.

      “Oh, thank goodness!” she said when she saw Lucy. “I really do need a hand! All these potatoes need peeling, could you make a start on them? Becky keeps sneaking off somewhere. She’s acting very oddly. Lord Percy and the rest of MAAM are arriving soon. Oh, and Diamond O’Brien and the rest of the circus folk are coming tomorrow. It’s all going to be a bit frantic now until the big day!”

      “Have you ever seen the circus?” Lucy asked, picking up a potato and starting to peel it. Lord Grave had invited O’Brien’s Midnight Circus to provide some entertainment at the ball. Lucy had seen some of the acts before, and had been extremely impressed.

      “No, his Lordship hasn’t always approved of that sort of thing,” Mrs Crawley said, taking a gulp of her ale.

      This was true. Relations between MAAM and O’Brien’s Midnight Circus had been somewhat glacial due to the fact that the circus folk operated on what Lord Grave called “the fringes of ethical magic”. However, following the death of two magicians at the hands of Jerome Wormwood, Lord Grave and Diamond O’Brien had decided that the magical community needed to come together.

      “Oh, you’ll love it! There’s magical knife-throwing, a woman who can fold herself up and trapeze artists. Without trapezes!”

      “That sounds very exciting, to be sure!” Mrs Crawley wiped beery foam from her moustache. The refreshment had rallied her and she recovered her usual good spirits. “Now then. Lord Grave wants to give MAAM a nice dinner tonight. I’d like you and Becky to wait at table, Lucy. Don’t pull that face. If the wind changes you’ll