Flora had been at the school for almost five years. She had spent all of her childhood at an orphanage in London but had been turned out to fend for herself at the age of thirteen. Edna had been orphaned at the age of eleven, when her parents had been murdered while defending their humble shop from thieves, though as it had turned out there had been precious little to defend. There had been nothing with which to provide for their only daughter. Fortunately, Mr. Hatchard had found her, as he had Flora, and sent her to Bath. When Claudia stepped inside the Lamb and Flag, she was forced to wait while the landlord finished conducting a leisurely chat with another customer on the fascinating topic of fishing and two other men—not to be dignified by the term gentlemen—ogled Flora and Edna and desisted with insolent smirks only when Claudia glared at them. She then looked pointedly at the landlord, who was pretending not to notice her. If another minute passed, she decided, she would certainly speak up. And then the door from the stable yard opened and closed and everything changed just as if someone had waved a magic wand. The fish conversation ended as if it were of no significance whatsoever and the customer faded away into oblivion. The landlord preened himself with obsequious hand-rubbing and jovial smiles. It was the Marquess of Attingsborough who had come through the door, Claudia saw when she turned her head to look. And even if the landlord had not yet been informed that he was here—which he no doubt had been—there was something written all over the man that proclaimed him an aristocrat, a certain self-confident arrogance that immediately irritated Claudia. “Welcome to the Lamb and Flag, my lord,” the landlord said, “the most hospitable inn in Marlborough. How may I serve you?” Hospitable indeed! Claudia looked pointedly back at the landlord and opened her mouth to speak.