The posture might easily have been mistaken for one of prayer-and no one among them could say that it was not-but they understood it better as West's means of composing his soul.

So that he might not be moved to act precipitously, they gave him all the time he needed.

West opened his eyes, edged himself upward a few degrees, and fished for the card in his pocket. "This was waiting for me when I returned home. It is the reason I sent word around for you to meet me here.

The colonel has told you what happened last evening?"

North nodded. "I wish you had called upon us earlier, West. With nothing to report, Elizabeth and I went home after observing Sir Alex go straightaway to his own residence." Southerton's smile was wry. "I know I have been remiss in not asking for help when it was most certainly needed, so I can't very well upbraid you for it, but-"

"But you mean to do it anyway," West said. "Let us consider that it has been accomplished."

"Good of you to spare us that speech," East said, helping himself to a cup of tea. "What is to be done, then? The colonel says that Miss Ashby most likely left with Beckwith. Can that be right? He was not even among those who received an invitation."

Blackwood adjusted his spectacles to read the card West had passed to him. "From the description Lady Powell supplied, we are as certain as we can be that it was Beckwith."

"The lady has a great deal to answer for," South said.

West shook his head. "She was simply a convenience for them. If not she, then someone else would have been found."

The colonel looked up from examining the card. He handed it to East. "You say that the card came this morning?"

"No. Mr. Blaine told me it was delivered shortly after midnight. I only received it when I returned home."

Eastlyn nicked the card with his fingernail before passing it to South. "They meant for you to see it much earlier, then."

"Yes. I suppose they couldn't know I would start searching for Miss Ashby immediately."

South gave the card a little toss and it sailed directly into Northam's waiting hands. "You will admit it was a more reckless decision than you are usually wont to make. With so many hours passing in the interim, they may well believe you do not intend to come for her at all."

"That's possible," West said. "But they have been privy to the exchange of letters between us. I think they know I will not avoid a confrontation."

North slipped the card between two fingers of West's outstretched hand. "Love letters, were they?"

"I was rather late in declaring my feelings," West said. "I proposed marriage first." The regard of his friends was uniformly chastising and mildly amused. "Yes, well, she's forgiven me. I should like to think she did not extend her trust unwisely." His gaze wandered to each of the others in turn. "You are with me, then?"

South set his cup down in its saucer. "Now, there is a fool's question. We are certainly not assembled at this hour to take the bishops' part." This assertion was supported by others. "You have but to tell us your plan."

"Yes," West said. "My plan. I will come to that directly." He tapped the card with his forefinger. "I am unfamiliar with this address. Number 48 Whittington. Do you know where it is?"

Eastlyn offered the information. "The West End. It is a private gentleman's club. Webb's. My wife's cousins had occasion to go there, and things being what they were, I had occasion to see them beingadmitted. The Earl of Tremont was a bishop, of course, but it never occurred to me that the club might be exclusively for the Society. You may well know the place by another name. I have heard it sometimes called The Flower House."

West stopped tapping the card. His complexion, already pale from lack of sleep, became paler yet. "The Flower House is a brothel."

East considered how he might put it to his friend. "I shall depend upon you not to kill the messenger."

"Go on."

Quite aware West had made no promise, Eastlyn went on in spite of it. "The Flower House is indeed a brothel, one that caters to certain... umm, peculiarities. It is my understanding that entree is only given to club members. If it is true that membership is only for bishops, then it follows that those in the house serve at the will and pleasure of the Society."

West looked to the others to see if they had anything of import to add. They remained silent, as much struck by East's information as he was. "The name of the club again?" he asked.

"Webb's."

"Spell it."

East did so.

"Mightn't it just as easily be Webs?" South asked, picking up the thread of West's thinking. "The kind one associates with arachnids?"

"Of course," East said. "I have never seen it written."

"Spiders," North said quietly. "The bishops are that."

"It certainly fits, doesn't it?" The colonel rubbed his chin with his knuckles as he mused on this. "Nature's extraordinary weavers. Wouldn't you say so, West?"

Pushing himself completely upright in his chair, West nodded. "Miss Weaver's Academy. The pieces fit rather more neatly than one could have first supposed." He glanced at Eastlyn. "What else do you know about The Flower House?"

"Only what I have told you. Rumors. I have never been closer than the gated entrance."

"Footmen?"

"No. One can easily go as far as the front door without being stopped. Admittance would be a trifle more difficult after that. One would require identification... a password, perhaps. Something that-"

West held up the card. "This?"

"That is certainly how you are meant to gain entrance, but whether it will work for the rest of us..." His voice trailed off as he considered the problem. "Is there time for me to have more printed? I will take it to Sir James. It can be accomplished in a few hours." "I cannot wait so long, but knowing you will follow in due time will be considerable comfort."

North held up one hand. "We should all go together, West. Not you first, with us trailing behind. What if the cards don't give us entree?"

"Then you will be resourceful, I expect, and find some other means." He glanced at East again. "Tell us about the house."

"It sits squarely in the middle of a row of others exactly like it. The trade entrance is below the ground floor at the front. I imagine servants use the rear. I cannot tell you any more than that."

"There you have it, North," West said. "It is sufficient for our needs. I am confident you will find me. The governors are expecting me to come alone."

"To close their trap," the colonel said.

"Without a doubt, yet if we arrive together they may do nothing at all. I need them to reveal where Ria is, not hide her away. Going there alone is a risk worth taking."

"That is your plan?" asked South. "You will advance as the spy and we will follow?"

"Essentially, yes."

"You don't think it requires some refining?"

"Wellington made it work." West regarded his friends. "Do you mean a soldier, sailor, and tinker cannot do the same?" He glanced at Blackwood. "Even when a colonel commands it?"

Ria stared at the tray of food that had been brought to her room. It was a light repast only: shirred eggs, two fingers of toast, half an orange, and a cup of tea. She'd been told to eat but had no appetite to do so.

The consequences of refusing the order, even one so small as this, were at the forefront of her mind.

They had explained to her what she might expect while she was their guest. Guest. It was the word they had actually used to describe her presence in the house, and she still felt slightly ill when she considered how easily the explanations came to them. They took turns telling her how she would pass the time.

Sir Alex discussed her primary responsibility would be to tutor the young women in their subjects. They were all agreed that intelligence enhanced the desirability of their students, and though they regretted that she could no longer be headmistress of Miss Weaver's, her arrival here was perhaps more fortunate than not.

Lord Herndon explained there would be menial tasks as well, though none that she should consider beneath her, and all of them essential for the smooth management of the establishment. The conservatory was his special interest, and he took considerable pride in the flower house. It should be the very equal of the one in his own home. If not, he would know the reason why.

Ria heard from all of them. She would sweep the floors on Tuesdays. Change the linens on Wednesdays. Her turn in the kitchen would come every ten days, and she would be expected to assist the cook in whatever manner was required. It was Mr. Beckwith who explained there would be no chores in the evening. Nothing would be required after that except that she make herself available to any one of them who wanted her. "Do you understand?" he had asked politely.

And Ria had nodded.

"There will be no formal ceremony to serve as your initiation," he went on to say. "That sacred rite is performed when virginity is to be offered. You cannot offer us that, can you?"

Ria had no difficulty bringing to mind the slender Ionic column and altar that were so perfectly realized in the illustrated book and the painting of Miss Parr. The purpose of the altar was borne home to her again.

"I am not a virgin," she told them.

"That is a certainty. You are a whore."

"No."

"You lifted your skirts for Westphal."

Ria said nothing.

"You spread your thighs for him."

Ria could feel their eyes on her, their narrowed gazes boring into her. She could have been wearing a suit of armor and still felt as vulnerable as she did in the thin batiste gown.

"You invited him into your bed," Beckwith said without inflection. "And you let him mount you."

Ria had brought her hands to her ears then, only to have them pulled away and held. She was forced to hear the intimacy of her lovemaking with West described in the most vile terms imaginable. And when the words finally provoked tears, Beckwith smiled.

The memory of weeping in front of them heated Ria's cheeks now. She picked up her fork and stabbed at the egg. Nothing she had done shamed her as those tears had. They had waited until she could hardly breathe for the shudders that wracked her, until her head was bowed and her spirit crushed, and then Sir Alex led her back into her bedchamber and locked her inside.

Jane was no longer in the room, and Ria was able to rind a small measure of relief in her absence. She had checked the door through which Jane had been removed and found it locked. It was too much to hope, she thought, that someone would make the sort of mistake that might lead to her leaving this place.

Ria raised the forkful of egg to her mouth, then set it down without taking a bite. The smell of the food made her stomach roil. She could not imagine that she would be able to swallow it without being sick.

Placing the tray on the floor, she wondered if she was being observed even now. Would someone come in and insist that she eat what was prepared, or were there allowances made when no demand was expressly made by one of the bishops? She had not been ordered to eat, she recalled. The tray had merely been presented to her.

No one came. Ria knew this did not necessarily mean she was unobserved, and she kept this in her mind as she pulled a blanket around her shoulders and rose from the bed. The house was quiet, eerily so.Except for the occasional creak of a floorboard under her feet and the rush of wind across the skylight overhead, she heard no other sounds. As much as she abhorred the idea of being watched, the uncertainty of it, coupled with the silence, was almost as unnerving.

Ria blew out the candle on the washstand so the room's only light came from the fireplace. She walked the perimeter of the room as she had done before, this time examining the paneled walls more closely, looking for a sliver of light that might indicate an opening to another room. She found it beside the fireplace, just to the left of where Jane had raised her hands and hooked her gold bracelets to the wall.

Ria pushed very lightly at the panel but would have been astonished if she could have moved it. When it didn't budge, she turned around and surveyed the room from this angle. She was able to gain some idea of what was visible when the slotted panel was opened. Most of the bed could be seen, but Ria thought if she stayed close to the head, she was not entirely within an observer's line of sight. The area just below the panel and along the fireplace wall was also not visible. Stepping as little as a foot away, however, would put her back in view.

Ria continued her exploration but found no other means by which she could be watched. She wished she knew what use she might make of this understanding and settled for the small comfort the discovery brought her.

When the room's chill drove her back to stand in front of the fireplace, Ria reflected on what Beckwith and the others intended for her. She did not know precisely when she had ceased thinking of them as the governors of Miss Weaver's, only that they were firmly in her mind now as the Society of Bishops, and that everything West had told her about them, she had come to experience herself.

Their cruelty still had the capacity to take her breath away, but she supposed that in time she would become inured to it. How could one survive otherwise? Jane seemed well on her way to finding a place within herself where she could escape the vicious attentions of the bishops, and Ria suspected the same would be true for her.

By making one girl subject to the painful consequences of disobedience by another girl, the bishops had found an effective method for quickly gaining cooperation. Ria knew that she might inadvertently cause Beckwith or one of the other bishops to punish Jane, but that she would never deliberately provide them with an excuse to do so. It seemed likely the other girls would act no differently. Rebellion held little appeal when someone else must always be made to pay for it.

Ria returned to the bed and huddled at the head of it. When a wave of shivering passed, she slipped between the sheets, drew the blankets around her, and turned on her side toward the fireplace. She craved sleep, but more than that, she craved escape. To that end, she closed her eyes and waited for the weariness that anchored her limbs to the bed to have the same influence on her mind.

That peace was denied her as her thoughts merely tripped and tumbled over each other. West. Miss Weaver's. Jenny Taylor. The bishops. West again. Jane. Amy Nash. The altar. West in her bed. The Society watching. Whispering. The ton observing. The Gazette reporting.

Soldier. Sailor. Tinker. Spy.

Ria could not suppress a shudder, nor turn her head into her pillow fast enough to stifle her small cry. It was no longer a simple thing to distinguish what part of her reaction was hope and what was despair.

She had always known West would come for her, but she had avoided considering what it would mean when he did so. The bishops would use her to punish him, to force his surrender just as they had usedJane to make her compliant. She thought she could bear anything for herself, but to see West being made to do the bishops' bidding, that was pain of another kind, and she had no sense of her tolerance for it, nor his.

She slept at last, fitfully at first, then more deeply. If there were dreams, she did not recall them upon waking. The room was already being cast in shadow when she opened her eyes; the skylight revealed that dusk was upon London. She was surprised she had been allowed to sleep so long, but she did not mistake it as a courtesy extended. It was far more likely the bishops had some other business to occupy them.

She had barely begun to stir when a movement in the hallway caught her attention. Cocking her head, she heard a key turn. Almost immediately, the door swung into the room. Jane was there, this time with Sir Alex a step behind her. Ria watched Sir Alex lock the door and palm the key, then indicate to Jane that she could proceed to the bed.

Ria did not miss the look of concern on Jane's face when she saw that the tray of food had been ignored. Jane did not speak to her but directed her comments to Sir Alex.

"She hasn't eaten. There is nothing on her tray that has been touched."

Sir Alex's dark-blue glance dropped to that food at Jane's feet. "Perhaps she thinks it is tainted. Show her it is not."

Jane bent and picked up one cold finger of toast and bit it. Swallowing, she held it out to Ria. With her head turned away from Sir Alex, she was able to mouth the word please.

Sitting up, Ria took the offering. It had the grit of sandpaper on her tongue, but she managed to swallow one bite, then another. Sir Alex came to stand at the foot of the bed and watched silently until Ria ate some part of everything she'd been given.

"Place the tray on the mantel, Jane," he said, "then yourself at the wall."

Ria did not look in Sir Alex's direction, but she sensed he was closely observing her reaction rather than watching Jane. She did not make the mistake of asking him why Jane must attach herself to the wall. She understood now that it was in aid of proving Jane's obedience, and the purpose was simply that he wished it so. Ria's eyes were drawn away from Jane and back to Sir Alex as he reached into the pocket of his frock coat. She thought he was simply putting the key away; then she realized he was exchanging it for something else.

She blanched when she saw the bracelets he held out in his open palm. They were not identical to the ones Jane wore, but their purpose was precisely the same.

"Until yours are ready," he said. "Give me your wrists."

Ria thought she could not do it, yet she watched her hands extend themselves toward him, her palms turned upward, just as if they were possessed of a will separate from her own. What Sir Alex placed around her wrists and locked individually into place were iron cuffs. They were not connected by a chain, but the cuffs could be fixed together as desired with an iron pin. Sir Alex showed her how it worked by crossing her wrists so the hooks on each cuff fit together to make a tunnel for the pin. Once the pin was in place, she could not grasp it with her own ringers to pull it free. Someone else would have to do that, and Ria understood immediately that it would not be Jane or one of the other girls. She would be freedjust as she would be bound-at the whim of the bishops.

Sir Alex laid his slender hand over the cuffs. "They are heavier than those you will come to know later, but that is all to the better, I think. You will not mind the bracelets so much once you have worn these for a time."

Ria thought he would remove the pin from between the cuffs, but he did not. He touched her face instead, brushing her cheek lightly with his knuckles, and spoke to her in a pleasant, matter-of-fact tone, just as he might use if they were conversing over tea.

"You cried very prettily earlier," he said. "I have often wondered if you could be made to cry. Jane does, you know, though not as easily now as she did in the beginning. She imagined herself in love with me. Did you know that? Go on, you may speak."

"Yes," Ria said, keenly aware of Jane's presence. "I came to realize that. I don't think she would have left the school otherwise."

"Love makes fools of us, is that it, Miss Ashby?" He did not wait for a response. "It must certainly be true in your case. You took the bastard duke to your bed. I readily admit I could not credit it at first, but Miss Taylor was most convincing in her missive. She came upon you, it seems, in your own apartments at the school. It was careless of you to entertain Westphal there, but perhaps more careless that you did not make certain you could not be disturbed. As headmistress, you must see that your conduct has to be above reproach. We thought we could count on that." He shrugged. "It seems we could not."