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nonplussed. As she tried to order her thoughts, a burst of laughter came from the open front door as two women entered the hall, followed by a footman. They were in evening dress, dominoes over their wide-hooped gowns, black loo masks over their eyes.
    “Lud, but that was a night and a half,” one of them pronounced, plying her fan vigorously. “Such a pair of swordsmen, I do declare, Lilly!”
    The other woman went into a renewed peal of laughter and unfastened her mask. “That Lord Bingley, I dareswear, would have been all cut and thrust for another hour if I hadn’t near swooned with exhaustion…. Oh, Mr. Garston, would you be so good as to send a salt bath to my room? I’m in sore need.”
    “Immediately, Miss Lilly.” He bowed. “I gather you and Miss Emma ’ad a good night. Mr. and Mistress Dennison will be right ’appy to ’ear it.”
    “La, good enough, Mr. Garston.” Miss Emma yawned. “But a tankard of milk punch won’t come amiss.”
    “I’ll order it straightway, miss. You go along up and leave it to me.” Mr. Garston sounded positively avuncular now as he beamed at the two yawning young women.
    Juliana was staring with unabashed curiosity. They were both very pretty, richly gowned, elaborately coiffed, but they were so thickly painted and powdered, it was hard to tell their ages. They were certainly young, but how young she couldn’t decide.
    “Lud, and who have we here?” Miss Lilly said, catching sight of Juliana behind the stolid figure of Mr. Garston. She regarded her with interest, taking in the simple gown and the roughly pinned hair. “A new servant?”
    “I don’t believe so, miss,” Garston said with a meaningful nod. “But Mistress Dennison ’asn’t made clear to me quite what ’er plans are fer the young lady.”
    “Oh?” Miss Emma examined Juliana with a raised eyebrow. Then she shrugged. “Well, I daresay we’ll find out soon enough. Come, Lilly, I’m dead on my feet.”
    The two wafted up the stairs, chattering like magpies, leaving Juliana uneasy, annoyed, and exceedingly puzzled.
    “Now, then, missie, you cut along to yer chamber,” Mr. Garston said. “Ring the bell, there, and the maid’ll come to ye. Anythin’ ye wants, she can provide. I daresay Mistress Dennison will be seein’ you when she rises.”
    “And what time’s that?” Juliana debated whether she could duck past him and reach the door before he could catch her.
    “Noontime,” he said. “That’s when she ’as visitors in ’er chamber, while she’s dressing. But she’ll not be ready fer ye much ’afore dinner.” As if guessing her thoughts, he turned to the open door and banged it closed.
    Juliana stood frowning. It seemed she was a prisoner. And what kind of woman was it who had visitors in her bedchamber while she was dressing for the day?
    There didn’t seem much she could do about the situation at present, so, thoughtfully, she returned upstairs to the peace of her own chamber to consider the situation. She couldn’t be kept there against her will indefinitely, and Mistress Dennison had so far given no indication of wishing to do so.
    The maid who answered the bell seemed tongue-tied, capable of little more than a curtsy and a murmured “Yes, miss” to all conversational sallies. She either couldn’t or wouldn’t answer direct questions about Mistress Dennison’s establishment, and when she left, Juliana found her appetitefor her breakfast tray had diminished considerably under her growing unease.
    When a few minutes later she heard the key turn in the lock outside, she started from her chair, raced across the room to try the door, and found it locked. For ten minutes she banged on the door and called at the top of her voice. But she could hear nothing in the passage outside.
    She ran to the window and gazed at the street three floors down. There were no handholds in the brickwork, no convenient wisteria or creepers. The windows on the floor below had small wrought-iron