Callie nodded. She brushed her thumb through a copy of The Lady's Spectator, one of the more daring of the new journals that Dolly had brought to Shelford. Although it was much sought after in some quarters, several of the ladies of the village would not even allow it within their doors. Doubtless that was why Madame—languishing at the low end of village precedence—had a copy only a few months old at her bedside. It was a summer number, full of town gossip and moralizing in equal measure, warning ladies against the unwholesome activities of the bon ton while describing them in rich and titillating detail. Callie was suddenly glad that her appearance as Madame Malempré had occurred in such a backwater as Hereford, or she suspected that she would have found the entire escapade described in detail in the upcoming Christmas volume. The editors of The Lady's Spectator appeared to know a great deal about all manner of personal and public activities.

She searched for something she could read aloud without blushing, and finally found an article on a finan cial scandal, in which the perpetrator had, according to the affronted editors, "sold out his own holdings in good time while keeping the true state of affairs from the public." When the stock company in question failed, this malefactor had f led to Naples, where he was now residing comfortably on the sixty thousand pounds he had previously settled on his wife, much to the fury and financial embarrassment of his creditors.

The article editorialized at length on the shameful tendency of the justices to allow these villains of both sexes to impose upon society without fear of retribu tion. Callie added emphasis to her reading voice as the author summed up with high f lourishes of moral contempt. Then she paused. She frowned as she finished the article's last sentence, which compared this disgraceful situation to that of Mrs. Fowler's escape from a just penalty for her crime of forgery.

"Oh," the duchesse said, opening her eyes suddenly. She lifted one slender hand. "Pray do not read me of this tiresome Mrs. Fowler. I have no interest in that… sordid affair."

Callie found to her chagrin that she did. Prurient and low though it might be, she had a burning desire to discover more of the woman who protested her innocence in the public papers. And now, finding that Mrs. Fowler was apparently accused of forgery—Callie hardly seemed able to hold the journal steady. She riff led through the pages quickly, following the indication pointing to Further Articles Relating to the Trials of Mrs. Fowler and Monsieur LeBlanc, Page 24. Fortunately the designated page included a story about a well-known actress driving herself alone in Hyde Park, an uneventful progress, which was nevertheless endowed by the editors with broad hints of sinister meaning. Callie read it aloud, trying to examine the articles about Mrs. Fowler from the corner of her eye.