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"Oh gracious! he's lost. ’ She shuddered, throwing her hands over her face. They did not spend most days together. He was about to cut the sergeant short, when his eye fell on a gentleman walking along Piccadilly, his manner uncertain, his eyes shifting as if he sought something out. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. But a far greater affliction was in store for her. "The danger's past," whispered Bess. In and out of consciousness she sailed, hearing voices from memory that she could not distinguish from reality. Wood was dressed with more than ordinary care, and in more than ordinary finery. She felt smaller and more adventurous even than she had expected to feel.

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