The carriage belonged to Lucius Grenville. Those were his perfectly matched grays pulling it, his liveried coachman on the roof, his family crest on the door, and his footman on the back. The footman, who had been helping me into and out of Grenville's carriage for the last year, gave me a grin of greeting.

"I was on my way to see you, Lacey," Marianne called down. "I didn't realize that was you until we'd near run you down."

The footman on back leapt to the ground, fanned away the beggars who gathered around the conveyance like moths round a lantern, and opened the door for me.

I obeyed Marianne for two reasons. First, I was dazed by the encounter with Carlotta, and the real world seemed a bit distant and hazy. Easier to obey orders than argue. Second, I knew that Marianne would not come all this way in a carriage if she did not need to speak to me on some matter of importance. She rarely made any effort without hope of reward.

The footman assisted me into the coach, careful of my bad left knee, and I settled myself facing Marianne. He shut the door, and the carriage jerked forward to continue through the crowd of Covent Garden to nearby Russel Street. I lived in Grimpen Lane, a tiny cul-de-sac that opened off Russel Street, nestled between the buildings of Covent Garden and the houses of Bow Street.

"You are white as plain paper, Lacey," Marianne said. "What is the matter with you?"

When I sat, unable to speak as we creaked our very slow way through Covent Garden, she persisted. "Who were those women you were speaking to? Were they blackmailing you?"