In the early hours of the morning after the ill-fated Sanditon ball, an express rider arrived at a stately, elegant house on Grosvenor Square.

Because the lady of the house paid all her staff well above the norm and treated them all - butler to scullery maid - with kindness, respect and fairness – those awake at that hour eagerly scurried to be of service. The express was delivered promptly to the lady, who was breakfasting as usual in the conservatory.

She almost always awoke early. She always said her mind was freshest in the morning, ready with new ideas and new plans.

When Fowler, her long-time butler, handed her the envelope and stepped back to await further instructions, she peered at it curiously, commenting as she opened it.

"It is from Heyrick Park, Fowler. My cousin. Nothing ever happens there, and it is not black so no one has died."

She began to read, silently, saying nothing. When she was done, she slammed the letter down on the table.

"Good God!" she exclaimed.

"Well, Fowler, thankfully one does not start every day with a shock such as this!" The mistress looked towards him, her eyes wide. "I am not at home to callers today. Please come to the study in thirty minutes, with Mrs. Morgan. We have much to do!"