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three months’ past, and James had quickly learned that doors that had been open to any friends of Grandfather were not so easily breached by the old man’s troupe without him. The first refusal had been the hardest; the second had ended James’s attempts. We’d adjusted quickly, of course. We had always supplemented the patronage of families with our own thievery. Now we just had to consider ourselves more professional. But I still silently chafed that James had never put me forward to make the requests. As Grandfather’s offspring, I could at least have tried to preserve the thread of his goodwill.
    James, however, was male. Which meant that avenue of logic was hopeless to him. He would never believe that a woman could do any job as well as a man. At least not any job worth doing.
    Still, he was my troupe master, and I owed him loyalty.
    â€œMaster James, I meant no disrespect,” I said. “I only suggested it as an idea.”
    â€œAn’ it’s a poor one,” James replied, his tone as short as any I’d ever heard from him. Seeing my distress, he sighed, rubbing his hand through his hair. “Meg, look. We are not long for this place. I give us a week, tops, less if Meredith has her baby and we can be on our way. If you can find your two young lovers and get them back their letters, I give you leave to do so. But you must be careful. You cannot get caught. And the moment I say we must leave this town, I will mean it. We must go.”
    I’d already started grinning well before he’d finished, and he knew the battle was lost. He sighed again with true remorse.
    â€œJust don’t get caught,” he said once more.

CHAPTER FIVE
    The sun broke clear and fine the next morning, Sunday, and my plan was set.
    Finding young lovers who were hidden even from themselves would normally not be easy. Leeds was a thriving town, never more so than now, it seemed, with the demand for woolen goods quite overwhelming the craftsmen who created them. Starting in the midst of the bustling industrial section of town would be madness. And, truth to tell, having the gentleman’s name—Henry—was not as much of a help as you might think. For thirty long years England had been ruled by a King Henry. . . . It had become the most favored name in the land for male babies. Most likely this Henry was a member of the Dobbs family, since his letter bore that seal, but even that was not a guarantee.
    I had other ideas though.
    James had done me the favor of reading the letters from Henry and Lucretia aloud, and so I knew that Lucretia’s family was of prominent stature in the area. That, and the mere facts that she was able to write and had the parchment and ink and wax with which to fashion a proper letter, reduced the pool of likely women significantly. I was also fairly certain that Lucretia was young, and had never been married. No widow would go on about the potential husbandship of a man she fancied. . . . She would be more savvy than that.
    I had no intention of ever marrying myself, of course, and couldn’t see the point of such unions in many cases. But love was a different thing altogether. Love was worth helping along, even if a marriage did not result in the end. The world could always use more love.
    Exuding an air of self-possessed confidence, I smoothed my hand down my skirts. I’d selected the smart green-and-black panel-slashed gown for this occasion. It looked more impressive than it was, given that the velvet was parchment thin and the woolen bits were frayed at the edges. But from a distance, in the shadows, or even to an undiscerning eye, in a gown such as this I could pass as a young woman of quality. If James had noticed my nicer garb this morning during the breaking of our fast, he didn’t mention it. He also didn’t raise a brow when I slipped out of the common room of the Cock’s Crow Inn, my hair brushed to a fine sheen