"Friday or possibly Saturday," George Ridge said, raising his tankard to his lips and taking a deep, thirsty gulp of ale. "Off the Winchester coach."

"A young lady… unattended?" Joshua pulled harder at his ear. "Can't say I did see such a one, guv. A'course, the York stage comes in at the same time. Quite a bustle it is 'ereabouts."

George leaned heavily on the stained counter of the taproom. Gold glinted between his thick fingers as he spun a guinea onto the countertop. "Maybe this might refresh your memory."

Joshua regarded the guinea thoughtfully. "Well, per'aps ye could describe the young person agin?"

"Red hair, green eyes," George repeated impatiently. "You couldn't mistake her hair. Like a forest fire, all flaming around her face. Pale face… very pale… deep-green eyes… tall for a woman."

"Ah." Joshua nodded thoughtfully. "I’ll go an' ask in the kitchen. Mebbe one of the lads saw such a one in the yard, alightin' from the coach."

He trundled off into the kitchen, and George cursed under his breath. The Rose and Crown in Winchester had been no help. They couldn't remember who was on the waybill for either Friday or Saturday. The scullery maid thought she remembered a lad boarding on the Friday, but the information had been elicited after the outlay of several sixpences, and George couldn't be sure whether it was a true recollection. Anyway, a lad didn't fit the description of the voluptuous Juliana.

He loosened the top button of his waistcoat and fanned his face with his hand. A bluebottle buzzed over a round of runny Stilton on the counter. His only other companion was an elderly man in the inglenook, smoking a churchwarden pipe, alternately spitting into the sawdust at his feet and blowing foam off the top of his ale.

The sounds of the city came in through the open door, together with the smells. George was no stranger to the farmyard, but the rank odor of decaying offal and excrement in the midday sun was enough to put a man off his dinner. A wagon rattled by on its iron wheels, and a barrow boy bellowed his wares. A woman screamed. There was the ugly sound of a violent blow on soft flesh. A dog barked shrilly. A child wailed.

George resisted the country boy's urge to cover his ears. The noise and the bustle made him nervous and irritable, but he was going to have to get used to it if he was to find Juliana. He was convinced she was in the city somewhere. It was the only logical place for her. There was nowhere for her to hide in the countryside, and she would never escape detection in Winchester or any of the smaller towns. Her story was by now on every tongue.

"Well, seems like y'are in luck, sir." Beaming, Joshua emerged from the kitchen.

"Well?" George couldn't keep the eagerness from his voice or countenance.

"Seems like one of the lads saw a young person summat like what ye described." Joshua's eyes were fixed on the guinea still lying on the counter. George pushed it across to him. The innkeeper pocketed it.

" 'E didn't rightly know which stage she come off, guv. But it could've been the Winchester coach."

"And where did she go?"

Joshua pulled his ear again. " 'E couldn't rightly say, Yer 'Onor. She disappeared outta the yard with all the other folk."

Dead end. Or was it? George frowned in the dim, dusty, stale-smelling taproom. At least he knew now that she was in London, and that she'd arrived in Cheapside. Someone would remember her. As far as he knew, she had no money. It appeared that she'd taken nothing from the house… a fact that mightily puzzled the constables and the magistrates. Why would a murderess not complete the crime with robbery? It made no sense.

"What was she wearing?"

Joshua's little eyes sharpened. "I dunno, guv. The lad couldn't rightly say. It was early mornin'. Not much light. An' the yard was a mad'ouse at that time o' day. Always is."

George's frown increased. "Bring me a botde of burgundy," he demanded suddenly. "And I presume you can furnish a mutton chop."

"Aye, guv. A fine mutton chop, some boiled potatoes, an' a few greens, if'n ye'd like." Joshua beamed. "An' there's a nice piece o' Stilton, too." He slapped at the bluebottle, squashing it with the palm of his hand. "I'll fetch up the burgundy."

He went off, and George walked over to the open door. It was hot and sultry, and he wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. He had to find lodgings and then a printer. Reaching into his inside pocket, he drew out a sheet of paper. He unfolded it and examined message with a critical frown. It should do the trick. He would have twenty or so printed; then he could hire a couple of street urchins for a penny to post the bills around the area. A reward of five guineas should jog someone's memory.

" 'Ere y'are, sir. Me finest burgundy," Joshua announced. He drew the cork and poured two glasses. "Don't mind if I joins ye, guv? Yer 'ealth. sir." He raised his glass and drank. Everything was very satisfactory. He had a guinea in his pocket from this gent, and there'd be at least another coming from Mistress Dennison when his message reached her. In fact, he could probably count on two from that quarter. She was bound to be interested in this gentleman and his curiosity about her latest acquisition. Not to mention the fact that the girl hadn't come off the York stage, as she'd maintained, but from Winchester. It was all most intriguing. And bound to be lucrative.

Joshua refilled their glasses and beamed at his customer.

Juliana, do you care to come for a walk with us?" Miss Deborah popped her head around Juliana's door. "Lucy and I are going to the milliner's. I have to match some rose-pink ribbon. Do come."

"I have the impression I'm not permitted to leave the house," Juliana said. It was noon on the day after her presentation in the drawing room, and she hadn't stirred from her chamber since parting from the Duke of Redmayne. The house had been quiet as usual throughout the morning, but in the last hour it had come to life, and Juliana had sat in her room waiting for something to happen.

"Oh, but Mistress Dennison told me to ask you," Deborah said in genuine surprise. "She said an airing would do you good."

"I see." Juliana rose. This was an unexpected turn of events. She had expected to be more, rather than less, confined after her conduct the previous evening. "How kind of her. Then let's go."

Deborah looked a little askance at Juliana's dress. She was back in the simple servant's muslin. "Should you perhaps change?"

Juliana shrugged. "That might be a little difficult, since I have nothing but what I'm wearing and the gown I wore last night."

Deborah was clearly nonplussed, but before she could say anything, Bella bobbed up beside her in the doorway. "Mistress sent me up with this gown, miss, fer yer walk. I'nt it pretty?" She held up a gown of bronze silk. "An' there's a shawl of Indian silk to go with it."

"Oh, how lovely." Deborah felt the gown with an expert touch. "The finest silk, Juliana." She sighed enviously. "His Grace must have spent a pretty penny. Bridgeworth is generous enough, of course, but I often have to remind him. And it's so uncomfortable to have to do that, don't you agree?" She looked inquiringly at Juliana, who was hard-pressed to find a response that wouldn't offend Deborah but that would express the truth.

"I haven't yet found myself in that position," she said vaguely, taking the gown from Bella. The silk flowed through her hands like water. She glanced toward the open window. The sun poured through. How long had it been since she'd been outside? Days and days. She was in London, and she'd seen nothing of it but the yard of the Bell in Cheapside, and the street beneath this window. If she had to take the duke's gown to leave her prison, then so be it.