Effie settled Franc more firmly under her arm as she entered. She’d had no choice but to bring him. The only servant in Brook Street she trusted to look after him was the upstairs maid, Mary—a sensible girl, and the very one Lady Belwood had commanded to accompany Effie this morning.

Mary dutifully followed as Effie examined the displays of glass bottles, potions, and plasters. “What are you looking for, miss?” she asked. “P’raps I can help.”

“Vesta matches,” Effie said. “And a case.”

The young maid was too well trained of a servant to question the purpose of either item. She assisted Effie in locating them, and then waited while Effie made her purchase from the linen-smocked proprietor.

An oil and candle shop was next, followed by a stationer’s, and then a draper’s shop where Effie bought a ball of sturdy twine.

Having satisfied herself that she had all she required for the next stage of her mission, Effie’s thoughts turned from practical preparation to intellectual necessity. “Hatchards Booksellers in Piccadilly,” she told the coachman as she and Mary climbed back into the Belwoods’ carriage.

Hatchards had the reputation for being one of the best stocked bookshops in the city. Effie had often read about the place, but she’d never been herself. So much of London was still a mystery to her. She was uncovering it by degrees, with the aid of a good map and the guidebook she’d purchased on her arrival, both eager and wary, lest the city’s much-vaunted attractions should prove to disappoint.

The coachman set them down in front of the famous shop not ten minutes later, amid the teeming traffic of the busy street. Its entrance was flanked by two large mullioned windows featuring colorful arrangements of the latest works of poetry and prose.

Effie passed through the shop’s dark painted door, with Franc in her arms and Mary close behind her. Inside, several ladies and gentlemen were perusing the expansive shelves and examining the offerings on the strategically placed table displays. A few people glanced up, but most paid Effie no heed.

“You may look about at your leisure,” Effie told Mary. “Or remain here if you prefer.”

A row of wooden chairs was arrayed by the door. Another female servant was seated there, awaiting her mistress. Mary bobbed a curtsy before joining her.

Effie approached the shop counter, her ruffle-trimmed grenadine skirts rustling softly over her petticoats and crinoline.

A mustachioed shop assistant in a plain cloth suit came to assist her. Spying Franc, his mouth formed a moue of distaste. “May I help you, miss?”

“I hope you can,” Effie said. “I require this quarter’s edition of the Westminster Review.”

The shop assistant promptly retrieved it, passing it to her across the counter. “Is that all?”