The shop was dim, lit only by the light coming through the transom. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the meager light so I could make out the tall, lanky man with sparse yellowish hair facing me. “I was wondering if we’d get that,” he said, grabbing my parcel. “Were there difficulties?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” I replied. “I’m merely a courier. Now I must be on my way. Have a good day, sir.” He stepped out of the way and opened the door. It closed so quickly behind me after my exit that it nearly caught the tail of my skirt.

The ribbon shop was several blocks farther downtown. The front door was locked there, as well, and after I tapped on the glass, the curtains were pulled aside ever so slightly so that the proprietor could peer out at me. Then the door opened a crack. “What do you want?” a voice quavering with age asked.

“I’m on an errand for Lady Flora Lyndon. She needs some ribbon for a ball gown.”

The door opened wider, and the voice said, “Please come in.” A tiny white-haired man in a green apron then stood before me. “My apologies. One can’t be too careful these days. I’m not sure which is worse, the British or the rebels.”

I couldn’t imagine why either group would have any interest in ribbons, but I gave him a sympathetic smile as I handed him Flora’s note. “Here is Lady Flora’s order.”

“Right away, miss.”

The shop was small and old, with a narrow wooden counter, behind which were towering shelves full of ribbons of all colors, fabrics, and sizes. The shopkeeper climbed a library ladder and reached for a spool of pale blue ribbon, which he brought down, measured against a yardstick nailed to the counter, and cut. He rolled the cut ribbon into a loop, wrapped it in white paper, tied that off with string, then wrapped that parcel in brown paper and tied it off with twine, leaving a loop like a carrying handle. All of this took only seconds. “Will there be anything else, miss?”

“Not if that is all Lady Flora requested.”

“Very good, then.” He handed me the parcel. “Thank Lady Flora for her custom,” he said, darting around me and opening the door just enough for me to slip through. I’d barely made it to the sidewalk before the door slammed shut and I heard the click of a lock. If the shopkeepers were this nervous, I wondered how safe I was walking these streets. Conditions didn’t seem all that bad. There were neither roving bands of rebels nor military patrols. But the streets being so empty made me feel exposed and vulnerable.