"Oh?" To hide her reaction, Callie turned to the bucket of mash on the stove. She took up a cloth and clasped both hands about the wooden handle of the pail, gripping it tightly.

He reached to help her lift it from the stove. "They're low fellows, those thief-takers, but they know the criminal mind. Careful! Allow me, my dear. They tracked him from Hereford to the Bristol docks. He's jailed and awaiting the assizes by now. Take care!" He leaped back as the bucket tilted and clattered to the f loor, spilling a f lood of hot molasses and barley grain.

Trev should have been on a packet ship for Boston instead of under his mother's bed. His trunk—and Jock along with it—were aboard. But Trev had gone ashore with the last mail, telling himself he ought to leave a final note for his maman and that he'd somehow find the words to write it on the Bristol quay. He hadn't, of course. Six beakers of blue ruin in a dockside gin house had not loosened his pen, but they had succeeded in making him miss the last call for the ship tender.

Jock was doubtless a little put out. Trev sincerely hoped that Boston had excellent tailors.

He'd woken up with a thundering headache and no purse. By the time his head was clear, he'd been halfway to London on borrowed blunt, with the intent to track down whoever it was who had blackmailed Sturgeon. It was a bothersome itch in the back of his mind—though not as bothersome as the dust ball that was tickling his nose at the moment. He stif led a sneeze.

"Why is this window wide open to the cold night air?" Nurse demanded. Her sturdy shoes clumped across the f loor, making the boards vibrate under Trev's cheek. He'd just made it under the bed before the door opened. "The plain truth is, that young maid is a good-for-nothing! I'd supposed Madame would be asleep," she added severely. "And the candle still lit!" There was an ominous pause. "I daresay you didn't think to ring for me to snuff it?"

"You may put it out now," his maman said faintly. "No—ah no, pray—there is no need for you to… occupy the dressing room tonight."

Nurse's feet clumped indignantly. "My duty to you, Madame."

"But… you wish me to sleep," the duchesse said in a plaintive tone. "Do you not?"

"Certainly, Madame."

"Then I think… " His maman trailed off. "I do not say that the snore would… wake the dead. But perhaps I think it might."