Juliana silently resolved to send the footman through that unsavory-looking door, but she curtsied meekly to her husband, eyes lowered to the mud-encrusted cobbles.

Lucien ignored the salutation and hurried off, the smell of cognac drawing him like a dog to a bone.

"Oh, dear, I thought the viscount was going to negotiate for us," Rosamund said, dismayed.

"We have no need of Edgecombe for the moment." Juliana gathered up her skirts and set off toward the gate, watching her feet warily as she picked her way through the festering kennel in the middle of the street, praying she wouldn't catch her high heel on an uneven cobble.

The gatekeeper stared blearily at them as they stopped at his hut. His little eyes were red-rimmed and unfocused, and he smelled most powerfully of gin. He took a swig from the stone jar on his lap before deigning to answer Juliana's question.

"Lucy Tibbet?" He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Tibbet, eh? Now, who'd 'ave put 'er in 'ere?"

"Mistress Haddock," Lilly said.

"Oh, that bawd!" The gatekeeper threw back his head and guffawed, sending a foul miasma into the steamy summer air. "Lucifer, but she's an 'ard one, she is. Worse than that 'ubby of ‘ers. That Richard. For' bless me, but 'e was worth a bob or two. weren't 'e?"

"If by that you mean he took every penny his girls earned, I'd agree with you," Lilly said acerbically. She was clearly made of sterner stuff than Rosamund and Emma, who were hanging back, holding their skirts well clear of the matted straw and rotting vegetables littering the cobbles.

"You one of 'em, missie?" The gatekeeper leered. "Mebbe we could come to some arrangement, like."

"And maybe you could tell us where to find Mistress Tibbet," Juliana said, stepping forward. The gatekeeper drew back involuntarily from the tongues of jade fire in her eyes, the taut line of her mouth, the tall, erect figure. This lady looked as if she were unaccustomed to meeting with opposition, and she held herself with an assurance that whores generally lacked.

"Well, now, mebbe I could, my lady… fer a consideration," he said, pulling his whiskery chin.

"I have forty pounds here to pay her debt," Juliana said crisply. "In addition I will give you a guinea, my good man, if you make things easy for us. Otherwise, we shall manage without you."

"Oho… hoity-toity, aren't we!" The gatekeeper lumbered to his feet. "Now you listen 'ere, my fine lady. The name's Mr. Cogg to you, an' I'll thankee to show a little respect."

"And I'll thank you to mind your manners," Juliana said. "Are you interested in earning a guinea or not?"

"Ten guineas it'll be to secure 'er release." His eyes narrowed slyly.

"Forty guineas to pay off her debt, and one guinea for your good self," Juliana said. "Otherwise, I shall visit the nearest magistrate and arrange for Mistress Tibbet's release with him. And you, Cogg, will get nothing."

The gatekeeper looked astounded. He was unaccustomed to such authoritative young women at his gates. In general, those who came to liberate friends and relatives were almost as indigent as the prisoner. They addressed Mr. Cogg as sir, with averted eyes, and crept around, keeping to the shadows. They were not comfortable with magistrates, and in general, a threatening word or two was sufficient to ensure a substantial handout for the gatekeeper.

Lilly had stepped up to Juliana's shoulder, and she, too, glared at the gatekeeper. Emma and Rosamund, emboldened by their friends' stand, also gazed fixedly at Mr. Cogg.

After a minute the gatekeeper snorted and held out his hand. "Give it 'ere, then."

Juliana shook her head. "Not until you've taken us to Mistress Tibbet."

"I'll see the color of yer money, first, my lady." He drew himself upright, but even standing tall, his eyes were only on a level with Juliana's. She regarded him as contemptuously as an amazon facing a pygmy.

"I'm going to find a magistrate." She turned on her heel, praying the bluff would work. It could take hours to find a magistrate and hours to secure Lucy's release by that route. And Juliana always hated to alter her plans. Having once set her heart and mind on walking out of this place with Lucy, she was loath to give up.

" 'Old on, 'old on," the gatekeeper grumbled. He knew that if a magistrate ordered the prisoner's release, he'd see not a penny for himself. A golden guinea was better than nothing. He took another swig from his stone bottle and came out of his little hut, blowing his nose on a red spotted handkerchief. "This a-way."

They followed him across a yard, thronged with people. Two small boys darted between the legs of the crowd and cannoned into the gatekeeper, whose hands moved seamlessly, clouting them both around the ears even as he continued to walk. The boys fell to the ground, wailing and rubbing their ears. A woman screamed at them and came running over, waving a rolling pin. The children scrambled to their feet and disappeared so quickly, it was almost as if they'd never been there.

The gatekeeper went through another gate into an internal courtyard, as busy as the other. There were cooking fires there, and women scrubbing clothes at rain butts. The stick-thin bodies were clad in rags, the children half-naked, for the most part. The scene reminded Juliana of the gypsy encampments in the New Forest during her childhood.

But inside the building things were very different. Here there was sickness and despair. Rail-thin, hunched figures sat on the filthy stone stairs, their eyes blank, as the gatekeeper, followed by Juliana and her companions, puffed his way upward. Juliana glimpsed rooms off the landings- rooms without furniture, with unglazed windows and straw on the floor. And in the straw lay huddled bodies, crumpled like pieces of discarded paper. The air reeked of death and desolation. These people were dying there. These were the folk for whom there was no salvation. Who had no one in the world with money either to procure their release or to ensure them at least sufficient bread to keep body and soul together.

Her three companions were silent, looking neither to right nor left, avoiding the sight of the horrors that hovered on the edges of their own lives. The horrors that inevitably came to the old and infirm of Covent Garden if they weren't clever or lucky enough to provide for the uncertain future.

"She's in 'ere." Mr. Cogg stopped at an open doorway at the top of the last staircase. He was breathing heavily, sweat running down his face. "Lucy Tibbet!" he bellowed into the dimly lit attic room. "Lucy Tibbet… show a leg there."

A faint groan came from the far wall, and Lilly pushed past him and almost ran into the room, her pink skirts swinging gracefully. The others followed, blue and palest green, bending together over a shape on the straw. They looked like summer butterflies in a dungeon, Juliana thought as she crossed the room to join them, her nose wrinkling at the powerful stench emanating from a tin bucket in the corner.

Lucy lay in the straw, her eyes half-closed. She was filthy, her hair matted, shoeless and clad only in a torn chemise. The hectic flush of fever was on her thin cheeks, and a clawlike hand fluttered in Lilly's palm.

"Sweet heaven, what have they done to you?" Emma cried, dropping to her knees on the dirty straw. "Where are your clothes?"

"Jailer took them," Lucy croaked. "To pay for bread and water. Until there was nothing left…" She turned her head on the straw, two tears trickling from behind her closed eyelids. "They took my good shift and gave me this one in its place. I suppose I should be thankful they didn't leave me naked."

"Oh, how wicked!" Rosamund's tears fell onto the straw.

"We've come to take you out of here," Juliana said, seeking in brisk action to mask her own appalled distress. "Rosamund, if you lend Lucy your cloak, it will protect her a little until we can get her into the hackney."