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respect that was grudging and uncertain. At last, she curtsied. “Leave it to me, miss. I’ll see it done.” Suiting deeds to words, my maid left me there, presumably to go inform Norris of his new status as assistant to Miss Margaret Fitzroy, spy of honor. We might be late, but what was that now that there were tips to be made?
    I fell back into the chair at my desk. I took the key from the chain around my neck, unlocked the drawer, pulled out my purse, and counted my much diminished stack of coins. It was still another week until the Quarter Day. At that point, I could expect fifty pounds of my salary. Before then, however, I had to pay Libby, and now this Norris, enough to keep them quiet and going about my business. What’s more, bills from the provisioners of my family’s dinner waited among the letters on my desk. Notices had also come from mantua makers, glove makers, milliners, and jewelers. Then there was my upcoming release from waiting to be thought on. Her Royal Highness had so far said nothing about my staying at court all the year round. If this did not change, when the royal family moved back to Hampton Court for the summer, I would be fully expected to quit the palace, or at least stop depending on the royal household for my maintenance.
    I looked at my meager supply of coins. I looked at my journal, where I tried to keep notes as to my various outlays, and thought ruefully on all the times I had seen Uncle Pierpont working at his ledger. I had always wondered what kept him so chained to that book. Now I had begun to learn.
    Perhaps I should add a postscript to my letter and ask Mr. Tinderflint for money. As soon as I thought this, pride rebelled. I had been a dependent before. It galled me to think that after scarcely three months on my own, I must become dependent again. But it was not simply pride, or, at least, not only pride. Mr. Tinderflint had come into my life suddenly. He might leave it just as suddenly. I needed to be able to rely on my own resources.
    I scooped my coins back into my purse. I could write my patron at any time. There were other means of increasing my income to try first.

SEVEN
I N WHICH O UR H EROINE FINDS HERSELF ONCE MORE OUT IN THE COLD.
    My royal mistress, Caroline, Princess of Wales, is an enlightened woman. She reads much, and argues more. Very little escapes her sharp eyes and clever brain. Included in her extensive studies are the most modern ideas regarding the health of the body. These ideas include, unfortunately, a near fanatical dedication to Fresh Air and Exercise.
    Under normal circumstances, nothing short of fire or flood can keep Princess Caroline from walking two or three hours through whatever park might be nearest, or riding out with her husband, who regards time on horseback as one of the greatest felicities known to man.
    The current circumstances, however, were not normal. The princess was less than a month from being delivered of her latest child. The physicians and His Royal Highness had all but cornered her and ordered that the daily walks cease for the good of the baby, who might otherwise be tempted to make its entry into this world prematurely. Princess Caroline agreed, reluctantly, but she drew the line absolutely at the kind of close confinement regarded as necessary for English ladies. “Apart from the fact that I will not tolerate being shut up in a dark, smoky room for a month, we shall have no nonsense of warming pans or illegitimacy here.”
    As there were those who still doubted which side of the blanket the Prince of Wales had been born on, there was sense in this. Still, I was not the only one she made nervous. It was commonly understood that if a breeding woman took in too much fresh air, it might well expose the babe to harmful and noxious vapors. I am no student of medicine, but I can state that if there is one thing that abounds in London, it is noxious vapors.
    However, Her Royal Highness had relented exactly as far as she intended. If