Callie's message to Mrs. Fowler had warned her that on no account must she come to the porter at the front facade, but to enter by the laundry court. She would have no trouble locating this, for Callie had instructed the same footman to return to the Antlers with a sedan chair and escort her to the Hall at the appointed time. Under a full moon and racing clouds, a pair of hefty retainers trotted up to the rear of Shelford Hall bearing the chair. A figure swathed in a dark domino emerged and stepped daintily to the washroom door.

Callie met her, still masked, feeling much as if she ought to have thirty pieces of silver jangling in her pockets when Mrs. Fowler thanked her with such a pretty profusion. But then she thought of the note and stiffened her resolve. The one forgery—that might have been excused as a naïve mistake—but when she uttered the second counterfeit note, she had known full well how heavy the consequences were. And then she came to Trev again as her savior from her own folly!

Callie had provided a blank card and writing materials on the big ironing table in the dry laundry. "I couldn't find an extra ticket," she said, drawing a closed lantern near. "But this is out of the card stock from Lady Shelford's desk." She set the lantern on the table and shone light on the paper. "Here is ink. Write it as: 'The Pleasure of your company is requested at a Masked Ball'—and you must make a capital of P and M—yes, just so." Callie had noted the peculiar and unique manner in which Mrs. Fowler inscribed these letters. The original invitations had been engraved, and Callie had been ready to explain that these had run out and the latter ones written by hand, but in the event Mrs. Fowler didn't question writing her own ticket. She did it so readily that Callie thought perhaps she had some experience of the practice.

"Where am I to meet him?" Mrs. Fowler asked, looking up from the table. She had procured a half mask on a stick; she picked it up with the card and turned to Callie.

"He's waiting for you," she said. "He says that you must be ready to f ly on the instant."

"Oh, I am ready!" she exclaimed. "I can go tonight if I must."

"What of your son?" Callie asked, the point on which she was most uneasy with this snare.

"Oh, he's well enough where he is; I've left him with Mr. Fowler's parents. They dote on him, I assure you!" She gave a nervous giggle. "I think he would much rather his mama escape with her life than take the time to fetch him, don't you?"

"It must be terrifying." Callie watched Mrs. Fowler through her mask. "Monsieur told me a little of how he felt, fearing for what might be done to him."