"Nobody at all," said a man's voice from the shadows, and both girls leaped to their feet just as Mac Stoker came forward, limping under the weight of a sack over his shoulder.

"The pirate," breathed Jennet.

There was a sheen of sweat on his brow, but his color was much better. Hannah realized that it was many days since she had last seen him or asked the Hakim about his condition--a vague guilt washed over her at that thought--but it was clear that he was much better.

"Ladies. Sneakin' in through the kitchen, is it?"

"Where are you going?" Hannah asked.

"Sure, and have you forgot your manners?" He shifted his sack and there was the muffled clank of metal on metal. "Lucky for youse I've no time to be giving you any lessons. I'm away, to find me ship and me crew and the sweet Giselle, o' course. To settle accounts." There was nothing cheerful about his smile.

"Does the laird ken ye're goin'?" asked Jennet. She had stepped back a bit, just behind Hannah.

"Sure, and why should he care? He has no further need of me. So I'll thank youse to step out o' me way."

"We'll need passage home," Hannah said. "Soon."

He laughed, putting back his head to show the scar around his neck.

"Ah, you're your father's daughter, I'll say that for you. Give him this message from Mac Stoker: next time he wants to put a foot on a ship of mine, he'll pay me first. In gold."

27

"Now look at this." Curiosity stood at the open door with her arms crossed. "A house so big you got to write a letter to send word from one end to the other. That from the earl?"

The footman extended the note on a small silver platter. "Aye, mem."

"Ain't for me, I'm sure."

"No, mem. For Mr. Bonner."

Nathaniel had been walking back and forth to exercise his leg, and he came to the door to take the letter. But Curiosity was not yet done with the footman.

"MacAdam, is that right?"

"Aye, mem."

"Mr. MacAdam, tell me now, what was all the fuss in the courtyard earlier?"

He blinked. "Visitors for the earl, mem."

"Is that so. Anybody interesting?"

MacAdam's face crumpled in surprise, and then straightened. Nathaniel wondered if Curiosity would keep him there until she made the man laugh out loud.

"Monsieur Contrecoeur, mem, an associate o' the earl's. And two French ladies wi' him."

"That's what I wanted to know. Thank you kindly, Mr. MacAdam."

He bowed from the waist. "Is there a reply, Mr. Bonner?"

"Not right yet," Nathaniel said.

Curiosity said, "Before you go, tell me--have you seen our Hannah anywhere?"

He stopped. "She's in the kitchens, mem, suppin' on bread and new milk wi' Jennet."

"Is she, now? Thank you kindly."

She closed the door behind him and came over to Nathaniel where he was unfolding the note in the light of the window.

"You've made a conquest of that footman, Curiosity. I expect he'd tell you anything you care to ask."

"All it takes is some common courtesy," she said. "Now, what the earl got to say that he cain't tell you to your face?"

"We are summoned to dine."

Curiosity took it from him and held the heavy paper away, squinting at it. "You and your lady. Elizabeth won't like it."

"Elizabeth won't like what?"

She stood at the door to the dressing room, fixing the buttons on her bodice. She was wearing her gray linen again, and she seemed much more at ease. Nathaniel held out an arm, and she came to him.

"The little ones sleeping?"

"They are, finally. Now, what is it I won't like?"

"The earl wants to see the two of you at his dinner table," said Curiosity. "I suppose he wants to show you off to his friends from France."

"We don't need to go, Boots."

There was a line between her brows as she thought it through, and then she surprised him. "I think we should accept," she said. "Perhaps there is something to be learned from them."

Elizabeth had no interest in the earl's dinner guests, but she did hope that Monsieur Dupuis would be there, to lay her hazy fears to rest. She had asked about him today in the expectation that she could bring him and Nathaniel face-to-face, but thus far there had been no response.

She went to dress for dinner in a poor mood, made worse by the sad state of her best gown.

"No' the gray, mem," Mally said, unable to hide her horror at the idea. "No' wi' the ladies frae France at the table, and them sae fine."

"I do not care a fig what they think of my gown," Elizabeth said, trying very hard to mean what she said. "They will talk to me nonetheless, I am sure."

"Gin ye'll pardon me, mem--" Mally broke off and then started again, very earnestly. "If ye take yer place at the table lookin' like a puir governess, it willna matter what ye ha' tae say. They canna see beyond the claes. It's the way o' rich folk."

Elizabeth did not doubt Mally's sincerity and goodwill, nor could she deny the simple truth of what she said. Rich French merchants and their wives would dismiss her out of hand if she went to the earl's table in a much mended Quaker-gray dress. The question was, did she really care if they took no note of her? Why had she agreed to this dinner at all?