"Whatever do you mean?"

"It strikes me that matters have gone very efficiently thus far with Bright Place primarily because Mr. Manwaring is situated nearby and able to meet with us at a moment's notice. Business will not he nearly so convenient if we remove ourselves to Bath. We shall have to depend upon the post and the occasional visit."

"We managed to work quite nicely with him during our years in Deepford." Amelia picked up the newspaper and frowned over one of the articles. "It's true that having Mr. Manwaring in the vicinity has made things go more smoothly. But I am sure we shall be able to carry on business from Bath."

Iphiginia stifled a small sigh. Perhaps she had been wrong when she had concluded that Amelia and Manwaring were made for each other.

Lord only knew that she was not nearly so clever about such matters as she had once thought. The situation in which she found herself was a perfect example of how muddled affairs of the heart could become.

Until now she had assumed that her problem was that she loved a man who could not bend his own rules far enough to allow himself to admit that he loved her.

But perhaps the situation was even worse than she had thought. Perhaps Marcus had become so chained by his own rules that he could never love any woman again.

"Damn you, Nora," Iphiginia whispered. Amelia looked up. "What was that?"

"Nothing." Iphiginia drummed her fingers on the table. One thing was for certain. She must take care not to become pregnant. It would he the last straw, for then Marcus would surely insist on marriage. And she would have no choice but to wed him for the sake of the babe.

"Do you know something, Amelia? Being a mistress is a bloody complicated business."

"I am told that being a wife is even more difficult," Amelia said.

"Yes, I suppose that is quite true." But if Marcus loved her, Iphiginia thought wistfully, she would take the chance.

The note was waiting for Iphiginia on the white velvet seat of her carriage that afternoon when she returned front a shopping expedition. She was seized with a sense of foreboding when she saw the folded sheet of foolscap.

She waited until the coachman had closed the door before she reached out to pick up the note. She saw with relief that there was no sign of black wax or a phoenix seal.

Slowly she unfolded the note and read the contents.

My Dearest Pandora. If you wish to open the box and discover the truth about the past, present, and future you must come to Number Nineteen Lamb Lane off Pall Mall tonight on the stroke of midnight. Come alone. Tell no one and all will be made clear. If you do not come, or if you fail to come alone, someone you care about will suffer the consequences. Yrs. A Friend

Iphiginia's fingers trembled as she carefully refolded the note.

Your sister. Your aunt.

The words seemed to burn straight through the paper. The threat was not the least bit subtle. Whoever knew that she possessed a sister and that Zoe was her aunt, knew everything, Iphiginia realized.

My Dearest Pandora…

Iphiginia quickly reopened the note and studied the salutation. Pandora was a clear reference to the Greek tale of the lady who had given in to temptation to open the magic box and in so doing had unleashed chaos and woe.

Iphiginia felt a kinship with Pandora at that moment. Whoever had sent the note had apparently noted the similarity.

Iphiginia had given in to the temptation of an affair with Marcus and trouble was now abroad in her world.

GAS LIGHTS HAD NOT YET BEEN INSTALLED IN LAMB LANE. The narrow street, lined with small shops, huddled in the shadows. Ale pale glow of a fitful moon provided just enough illumination to reveal that the hackney which carried Iphiginia was the only vehicle in the vicinity.

The coach came to a halt with a clatter of wheels and harness. Iphiginia started — when the coachman rapped on the roof to announce their destination.

"Number Nineteen Lamb Lane", the man called loudly.

Iphiginia gathered her dark cloak around her and pulled the hood over her head. She opened the carriage door and cautiously descended to the pavement.

"Do not forget," she said to the man on the box. "I have paid you to wait for me."

"I'd be waitin'," the coachman muttered in a surly voice. "But there'd be an extra fee if ye bring any of yer clients back 'ere."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Ye heard me. If yer thinkin' o' usin' me coach fer a bedchamber tonight, ye'll 'ave to pay me a fair rent. I'll give ye the usual hourly rate I give the other girls."

Iphiginia felt herself turn hot with embarrassment or anger. "What on earth do you think I am about, my good man?"

"Same as what most of the other wenches are about at this time o' night in this part o' Town. Business. Go on, now. Just keep in mind that I'll he wantin' me fair share if ye use me coach."

She did not have the time to deliver a scathing lecture to a drunken coachman. Iphiginia turned away, disgusted, and studied the darkened entrance to Number Nineteen. Here was just enough moonlight to make out the sign over the door.

DR. HARDSTAFF'S MUSEUM

OF THE GODDESSES OF MANLY VIGOR

LEARN THE SECRET AND AUTHEN-NC

INVIGORATING POWM OF TUE GODDESSFS OF ANTIQUITY

It appeared that her curiosity about Dr. Hardstaff 's museum was about to be satisfied, Iphiginia thought.

A glance over her shoulder assured her that the coachman was still waiting in the street. She saw that the carriage lamps burned with a reassuring glow.

Iphiginia went toward the darkened premises of Number Nineteen. She wished Marcus were with her. Or even Amelia or Zoe. Anyone at all, for that matter.

She was far more anxious this evening than she had been the night she paid the visit to Reeding Cemetery. The threats contained in the note that she had found in her carriage had jarred her nerves as nothing else could have done.

When Iphiginia got close to the sign for Dr. Hardstaff's Museum, she noticed a painted hand at the bottom. The pointing finger urged visitors to go down the narrow walkway between two buildings.

Iphiginia peered hesitantly into the thick shadows of the tiny alley. She could just make out a flight of steps that led to the upper story of the building.

With one last glance at the hackney, Iphiginia started down the alley.

She climbed the stairs as quietly as possible, her pulse beating more rapidly with each step. Every squeak, every groan of the treads sent a shiver through her. The darkness seemed to grow more and more dense around her.

She should not have come here alone. But there had been no choice.

At the top of the stairs she paused and studied the closed door in front of her. Another sign, this one hardly discernible in the shadows, indicated that this was the entrance to Dr. Hardstaff's Museum.

The rumble of carriage wheels in the street jolted Iphiginia just as she put her hand on the knob. The hackney was abandoning her.

"No," she gasped, and turned to rush back down the steps.

The lights of a second carriage appeared. Iphiginia halted, one foot on the landing, one on the first step. Her hackney had not left, she realized. Another one had arrived.

It rolled to a halt near her own. Horses stomped their hooves. Voices echoed through the shadows.

"Wait for me," a man ordered crisply.

"Aye, m'lord. Take yer time. Brung a gennelman here last week what spent most of the night." The new coachman chuckled heartily. "Dr. Hardstaff's goddesses give quite a cure, they tell me. Wonder if it works."