She wiped her damp palms on the drab fabric of her skirt, telling herself that she was Emmie Brown, chambermaid, conscientious and not very bright. Her droopy mobcap reinforced that image, with the added benefit of obscuring her face. No one would ever guess that she wasn't what she appeared to be.

Taking the warming pan in one hand and a lamp in the other, she emerged from the safety of the backstairs into the upper west corridor of Bourne Castle. The wavering light of her lamp revealed a dozen identical doors.

Luckily, it was the house custom to place a card identifying the occupant in a bracket by the door of each guest room. Presumably that was for the benefit of illicit late night traffic. Kit had once heard of an amorous swain in search of his mistress who had burst through a door, crying, "Is Lady Lolly ready for Big John?" only to find that he had accidentally invaded the chamber of the seventy-year-old Bishop of Salisbury. The memory almost made her smile.

Levity faded as soon as she raised her lamp to check the first card. Mr. Halliwell. As far as she knew, he was not a member of the Hellions Club, so she moved to the next door. Sir James Westley. He was on her list, so she set down the lamp and hesitantly turned the knob. The door swung open under her hand.

Heart thundering, she stepped inside, trying to act as if she had every right to be there. Nonetheless, she was relieved to find that the room was as empty as it was supposed to be. She set the warming pan on the hearth, then began searching the clothes press.

Based on the evidence of his clothing, Westley was portly in build and dandyish in his tastes. Swiftly, she searched the hanging garments, paying particular attention to pockets, but she discovered nothing of interest. Then, one by one, she pulled out the trays containing linen. Nothing.