Indeed, Victoria appeared every bit the demure, ingenuous debutante that she was… except for the solid wooden stake she held in her hand.

It was the circumference of two of her fingers and nearly the length of her arm from wrist to elbow. One end was sanded smooth, and the other whittled to a needle-sharp point. It was too thick to weave into her coiffure, much too long to fit in the small bag that dangled from her wrist.

"Under your skirts, my dear. Slip it into the knee garter under your skirts," Aunt Eustacia told her calmly. She had a face lined with age, but glowing with beauty and intelligence, as if every bit of happiness from all of her eighty-some years shone at one time. Her hair, still blue-black, she wore scraped back into an intricate mass of coils intertwined with seed pearls, white lace, and jet beads. It was a coiffure more appropriate for a girl Victoria's age than for an aging woman. Yet Aunt Eustacia carried it well; as well as she wore her high-necked gown of blood-red taffeta.

"Why do you think I gave you the garter? Be quick; your mother is bound to return at any moment!"

"Under my skirts?"

"You must be able to access it quickly and easily, Victoria. It will be well hidden, and with practice you will learn to slip it easily from underneath and have it in your hand when you need it. Now be quick!" Aunt Eustacia did not wait for her to move; she twitched at Victoria's skirts, exposing the ivory lace garter tied just below her knee, and watched as her niece slipped the stick betwixt lace and flesh.

No sooner had they finished than the door opened, and Lady Melisande burst in, followed by her two twittering companions. "'Tis time, Victoria! Come, come!"