She rose and started for the door. "I'll just send Mary to you to help you dress. She'll be along directly." She paused at the doorway and remarked with a twinkle, "And there's someone else, or rather, two 'someone elses' who will also be along directly, as they too expressed an interest in visiting you this morning. You are quite the popular lady, Miss Tillbury."

Anne's brows rose and so, to her mild astonishment, did her spirits. It seemed to be true that nothing ever looked as dismal in the daylight as it did at night. The reflections which had caused her such heartache that she had eventually fallen asleep on a pillow soaked with tears had been largely dispersed by the sunny presence of Gwendolyn Rossiter (such a cheerful little person!) and the prospect of a reunion with Boadicea and Bastet.

As if the thought had summoned them, and, thought Anne, it might very well have done so, two furry black bodies flowed through the door in the wake of the little maid who had opened it.

"I'm Mary, Miss," explained the woman with a broad beaming grin. "An' Miss R says as H'I'm to help you dress s'marnin. These two," indicating the cats, who'd settled on the bed one on each side of Anne, "must be h'acquaintances of yourn. Very h'insistent they was on seein' you."

"Indeed they are, Mary," replied Anne with a smile as she pushed Bastet's head out of her cup of chocolate, "and I thank you for the assistance in helping me dress. I believe my things are in that wardrobe over there."

Cor, thought Mary to herself, she's a polite one and no mistake! But then, all Miss R's friends was true ladies, not like them as thought they were, paradin' of theirselves and their fine airs to all and sundry and all the while treatin' their maids, what helped them to look so fine, no better than a dog! She'd been rescued from one such untenable situation by Miss Rossiter, whom she now idolized. Mary began humming a bright little tune as she rummaged through the wardrobe. Upon discovering a rather becoming green dress among the uniformly drab clothing hanging there, her humming changed to singing... until an unearthly howl arose behind her. With a shriek she whirled around, to behold Miss Tillbury helpless with laughter on the bed, and the two cats, heads thrown back, apparently engrossed in producing the noise that had so startled her.

"What on earth?" Mary managed to inquire, her knees like water and beginning to be convinced that the Quality (saving her beloved Miss R) were short several sheets at the very least.

"Oh, please forgive me..." wheezed Anne, struggling to sit upright again. "I am so used to their ways. You see," she said with an engaging grin, "Bastet and Boadicea are cats of many talents. And chief among those talents is... singing. Any time they hear a melody, they feel called upon to, er, join in. I suppose being cats, and therefore far superior to us humans, they feel it incumbent upon them to show us how it should be done. It's really quite amazing how well they can 'carry' a tune, once you get used to the, er, sound. I actually had to ban them from the house after that Unfortunate Incident with La Garibaldi at Lady Brookfield's last musicale. At any event, I am very sorry that they startled you. But your expression, when you turned round..." she grinned. Mary found herself grinning back. Then she chuckled, and Anne started laughing again wherefore Mary was undone, and the two girls laughed until they cried.

The cats, having ceased their serenade, looked at each other and would have shrugged if they could. Human behavior, although frequently amusing, was nonetheless not always easy for a cat to understand.

At No. 8 Berkeley Square, several streets away, His Lordship the Right Honorable and Most Noble Marquis of Seaforth gazed unseeingly at the plate of succulent sirloin and eggs in front of him and swore.

"Hell and the devil confound it! A pox on all females!" A large fist banged on the table, causing his cup of coffee to jump.

"Beautiful sentiments for so lovely a morning," drawled a mocking voice from the doorway. The lean elegance that was August Falcon sauntered into the breakfast room. Strolling over to the sideboard, he lifted the lids of several of the covered dishes and inspected the contents critically.

Seaforth stared, then remarked ironically, "Do make yourself quite at home, Falcon. Care for breakfast?"

Falcon raised one eyebrow and regarded Seaforth and then his plate through a jewelled quizzing glass. "Never touch the stuff myself." He sat down and selected a crumpet from the basket on the table and began buttering it.

"What do you make of the current situation?" he asked, a large mouthful of bread causing his words to be rather indistinct.

Seaforth, momentarily bemused by the sight of the non-breakfast-eating Falcon licking jam off his thumb, was slow in responding. "Not quite sure, Falcon. It's a damnable coil, no matter how you look at it. I've got a theory, and I know that hound Holt has one too. I meet him tonight to discuss it and see whether he's made any headway. Whether or not our theories match, I cannot as yet tell. I hope to God they do not... for Anne's sake. She's been through so much already... If what I suspect is true..." he muttered the last sentence sotto voce.

Falcon had by now finished his crumpet and had directed his attention to the sideboard. Returning to the table with a full plate, he resumed his seat and considered Seaforth impartially. "Nonsense, friend. I know that uncle of hers is in with our merry band of vipers up to his unlovely neck. And no doubt that cousin of hers, Cecilia or Sissy or whatever it was..."

"Cecily."

"Thank you. No doubt she's equally involved. Probably after Theo for whatever information he had about Flora and Daventry and those confounded gems. Now, the question is, what is Miss Tillbury's part in this pretty plot?"

Seaforth leapt to his feet, his chair going over with a crash. "Now damn you, Falcon! She's as innocent as the day she was born! You'll retract that statement or I'll..." His hand flew to his side.

"De mal en pis," quoth a new voice from the doorway. "Seaforth, mon ami, not at table. It simply isn't done." Seaforth flushed bright red, turned and beheld Roland Mathieson, quizzing glass upheld.

"Mathieson!"

"J'y suis, j'y reste." Mathieson flourished a graceful bow.

Seaforth (horrified by his momentary lapse of good manners) restored his chair to the table, resumed his seat and waved toward the sideboard.

"Apologies, Falcon. Shouldn't have lost my temper like that. By all means, Mathieson, help yourself to some breakfast. Unless," he added with a challenging look at Falcon, "you chance to be one of those individuals who does not indulge?"

Falcon acknowledged this hit with a wave of his crumpet.

Anne had resisted Miss Rossiter's attempt to coax her into visiting her sister-in-law and the new small Rossiter. She could not think that a discharged governess with a traitorous uncle would be welcome company. Besides, she needed the time to decide what she should do and where she should go. She paced the width of her comfortable bed-chamber and pondered her situation. It was ineligible for her to remain as the guest of people she had no possible claim on. And she felt a great weight of responsibility to prevent her uncle from doing whatever dreadful thing he had planned next.

Perhaps she should have accepted his "invitation" to go and nurse her aunt, and tried to discover in his papers what wickedness he was up to. But why couldn't she go down to Tilbury Park anyways? In her mind she counted over her carefully hoarded coins - glad that she'd been frugal, and that Lady Brookfield had finally paid her her quarter's wages last week. She knew all the secret ways of the Park, and could be in and out without anyone being the wiser. Uncle Paul was a great taker of notes, but quite dreadful at filing them and she might be able to find anything in them. After she found the information, if she did, she would send it to Jam - to Lord Seaforth and then find a new position somewhere far from London. At least then he would know that she was not cut from the same cloth as her nearest family.

Now, how was she to escape her kind hosts without causing alarm? Ah, well, that was not possible. But how was she to leave without being followed and brought back? She could not travel directly towards Bath - these gentlemen were far too wide-awake to ignore the possibility that she was going to her uncle. She would take one post-chaise to... to Oxford, and then another from Oxford to Tilbury Minor and the Park.

She glanced over at the bed where two sleek black forms were curled together asleep. She could not take the dears with her now, but surely Miss Rossiter would take care of them and send them to her when she felt it was safe?

A knock at the door brought the little maid in again. "Yer pardon, miss, but there's a - a - The butler says she's a person, h'askin' fer ye. Says 'er name be M'randa Dickens."

Anne stared. Miranda? "Oh, yes. She helped us find Ronnie. Is there trouble? Oh, please, show her up."

Anne waited impatiently for Mary to return with the scullery maid, imagining all sorts of horrors.

"Dickens! Is Ronnie well? Oh, he hasn't been..."

"Now, missie, don' ye worry yersel' none. That devil's toy's livin' high, seein' 'ow 'e ain't got no governess-lady ta be a-watchin' him none." The maid was as brisk and bold as ever.

"Devil's toy!" Mary'd been uncertain about this low person since she'd arrived at the kitchen-door. "Now, that's no way ta be speakin' of a lord's son - and to a lady, 'ere."

"Now, now Mary-child, 'tis only a bit o' th' rhymin' slang, me meanin' 'boy' by it an' nothin' more."

"If you didn't come about Ronnie, then why..." Anne suddenly thought of other dreadful news that might come from Brookfield House, and hastened to send Mary on her way.

"Now, tell me why you've tracked me down here."

"Well now, miss, I'd about made up m'mind to find me a new sityation, this one bein' a mite on the dull 'n' quiet side these days. I'd thought, when I took it up, that that there devil's toy and is lor'ship was like to keep th' place lively-like. But 'er 'igh-and-mightyness wouldn't take me on as a nursery-maid, and 'is lor'ship ain't never home, so the kitchen weren't none to 'vigoratin' ye see."

"But why come to me?" Anne still didn't see what this extraordinary servant was about.

"Ah, well, miss, you been carried orf twict now, first-off by them villyans as shot the Marquis, and then by that right-handsome Mr. Falcon, never minding that pretty chatterbox as fainted at yer feet AND goin' orf ta rescue the devil's toy and that there jewel AND sneakin' out in th' dead o' night ta go adventurin' with the Marquis and all. So I tells m'self, Miranda Dickens, you wants a lively time, you go and ask that lady ta take ye on. And 'ere I am, ready ta turn m' hand to any bits o' work ye can find fer me."

"Oh, oh my." Anne tried to picture this bold Cockney in the elegant Mr. Falcon's household. She'd never do! But then, she wasn't planning to stay here herself. If no one knew that she had a servant with her, surely that would make it harder for anyone to follow her?

"Dickens, I don't intend to stay in London. In fact, I mean to leave immediately, in disguise if possible. I won't be able to pay you much, and you may find yourself in dreadful danger if things go wrong. And I will not have any money to pay you at all after a few months."

"Danger? Then I were right - you're livin' an adventure! Iffen I was a man, I woulda joined the Navy er gone outa the Orient an' made me a fortune. But seein's 'ow I'm jest a wee poor woman, I needs ta find adventures near at 'ome. When do we leave?"

"She's what?" Seaforth had spent the day failing to track down an old servant who might have evidence of Mr. Warburton's villainy, and was tired, hungry, and discouraged. His wound ached like the devil and now his supposed friend was standing there telling him impossible things.

"Miss Tilbury has left London." August did not look bored now, he looked like he was ready to fight a duel. "She had a visit from a servant at the Brookfields this morning, but she sent the woman away after a short interview. She told the maid that she meant to rest this afternoon, that her head was aching. When Gwen, Miss Rossiter, returned from her shopping she found this note and..."

James snatched the paper out of Falcon's hand and turned towards the candle-light. The letter thanked Miss Rossiter for her kind hospitality and said that Anne felt it would be best if she vanished. She could not be happy where her presence brought distress and disrepute with it. If she discovered anything of import she would, naturally, send it to them. She wished everyone the very best and begged that they not search for her.

"Not search for her? She cannot possibly imagine..." James found himself unable to stay still. "Where have you sent servants? When did she disappear?"

"I haven't."

"Are you certain she wasn't kidnap..." James stopped his agitated pacing and whirled to face August. "I cannot have heard you right. You - have not - sent servants out to look for her?"

August decided that he had never seen James look more like a Marquis - or more dangerous. "Right now your enemies, who are also her enemies, think she is safely tucked away here in London, under my watchful eye. If you start a frantic search for her, they will all realize that the prize is free for the taking. And, my dear James, you have so many enemies that one of them is bound to find her before we do."

August wasn't certain if James would see reason, or merely attack the bearer of bad tidings. He felt battle-readiness tense his muscles, before James turned away and sank into a chair by the fire.

"You are, as usual, correct. But I cannot allow her to roam about England alone. Does she have any money at all?"

"I did not say that we should not find her, merely that we should not send all our servants out to ask questions all over Town. Tummett has - ah, connections with persons who know how to keep secrets, or so he assures me. We will discover where your lady-love has gotten herself to."

"You don't suppose that she... the river?" James was hunched over the fire, shivering with the day's exhaustion and his new-found fears.

"Miss Tilbury? Nonsense! You are allowing yourself to wallow in melodramatic fits. She's far more likely to beard her uncle in his lair."

"Yes! That's it." The defeated man huddled by the fire was replaced by a man of action. "Not the London house, she wasn't here when she discovered... Where is Sir Paul's country residence?"

"Tilbury Park, near Bath, I believe. What are you thinking?"

"Anne has no doubt gone down to Tilbury Park to search her uncle's papers while he's here in London. You and Mathieson will have to manage without me for a few days."

August moved to intercept the man before he dashed out into the hall. "Seaforth. James!" He was forced to catch at James' injured arm before he could get the madman to stop.

"You idiot, you cannot drive yourself all that way, and the news that you've left town will draw all your enemies to Anne just as surely as the servants asking questions would."

"We'll just have to deal with..."

"Your relapse."

"...that as best... My what?"

"Your arm has become inflamed and you are suffering from a high fever. It may be a week or more before you are well enough for visitors, much less be seen about Town. Now, do I knock you down, or do you think you can lie still long enough to convince your servants that you are, indeed, ill?"

"Ill!" James shouted, exasperated. "I've never been ill a day in my life. That is the most ridiculous notion... I'll be damned if I'll lie around in bed."

"You are going to be very ill, very soon. With or without a broken jaw." August moved swiftly to block the doorway. "Look, you idiot, you want to find your lady love without anyone knowing that she is missing? Yes?"

"Yes, damn you!" James ground out.

"Well, you can't go haring around the country. And if you're lying in bed, or people think you're lying in bed, ill with a severe fever, no one will think twice about your brief disappearance." August relaxed a little as James appeared to think about the situation.

"It's a good plan, August, I'll grant you that..." James voice trailed away. "But I'm not sure that we'll be able to pull it off. The servants will know very well that I'm gone."

August blinked at the implication. "You don't believe that we can trust the servants?" It was more a statement than a fact.

"At least one person nominally in my employ is involved with the Guardians. How do I know that another one isn't? Or that my man of affairs won't have access to certain information about my whereabouts?" James turned and paced the room restlessly. "It would make more sense for me to leave town... apparently for some other reason. Then I could head after An- Miss Tilbury."

Falcon slowly sat down, his eyes closely slightly. His brillant gaze was focused on his restless companion. "I confess that I do not immediately see a reason for you to leave town. But, ah, I'm not well acquainted with all your private matters."

"There's Jacob Holt... no, of course not. That would be too obvious. Blast it! There's relations chasing one around, demanding things from you. But when you need a real emergency, they're never around!"

"Well..." Falcon bit the words off as the door opened.

A servant in livery entered the room, looking slightly scared. "Begging your pardon, sir, but a letter come for you. The messenger said it was very important."

Taking a quick glance at the frozen contenance of the marquis, Falcon held out an imperative hand. "Thank you." The servant looked uncertainly at Seaforth, but receiving no guidance from him, placed the letter reluctantly into Falcon's hand.

As soon as the door closed behind the servant, James leapt across the intervening space and snatched it out of Falcon's hand. "It is from Anne?" He looked at the scrawled direction and a puzzled expression came into his face. "It's from Jacob." Opening the letter, he quickly reviewed the contents. Falcon watched his face change from puzzlement, to astonishment, to dismay. Silently he handed it to Falcon.

Jamie--
Now the devil's in it and no mistake.
Miss Flora's gone haring off.
I questioned her about her "fiancee"
a mistake you'd probably say.
Well, it's done. My man says Theo
is drowning his sorrows in the nearest
tavern. Miss Flora took the chance
to slip away. We've traced her and
a servant, I think, but I couldn't
tell you where she has gone. She
seems to be headed to the west
country. I'm heading after
D----. He left town earlier and
is headed to T.P. What was the name
of that young woman you brought?
I think she'd be a help.
In haste
Jacob--

"Jamie?" Falcon pursued his lips. "What an enchanting nickname! And why is this Jacob asking about this young lady? He's a little busy for courting..."

"He means Anne! Don't you see? He didn't want to use names, in case it didn't get through..."

"Ah, the military mind," August murmured.

"That means T.P. is Tilbury Park! Lord help us now! They're all heading there." James ran a hand through his hair.

Falcon hesitated a moment. "James, here's your call out of town. But it could be the ruin of Miss Flora's reputation."

"Hang her reputation!" James thundered.

The village of Tilbury Minor sat at the bottom of a large hill next to a meandering stream a few miles north of Bath. On the top of the hill stood Tilbury Park in a woods that the villagers said was haunted. The manor house, built on the ruins of a Norman castle, was an imposing three storey rectangular block of grey stone. It was rumored by those in the village that there were secret byways under the house in the cellars of the castle which lead into the woods. The front of the house faced west and the rays of the setting sun lit up the many windows. Which was just as well as there were no lights lit save those in the lower corner. This was the manor's library and the view from the windows looked out over the gentle slope of the hill down towards the small stream that meandered through the village.

The eyes of the occupants of the library were not focused on the view but on the object on the desk in front of them.

"Did you have any trouble getting the gem from the brat?"

"I didn't deal with the child directly. Mr. Greene charmed it out of him. Speaking of Mr. Greene, I must protest your killing him. Really, father, couldn't you have found a less severe way to deal with him," her voice was low and rich. She pouted slightly at him, "He was one of my best men."

Laughing he said, "He was holding out for a reward, my dear. What else would you have had me do?" Reaching out he took the sapphire from the desk and held it up.

"Now that I have the Star of the Sea," said Sir Paul Tilbury, "The Guardians will have to all me to join them."

Cecily Tilbury moved away from the desk and sat in a large wingbacked chair in front of the fire. Her father joined her in the opposite chair.

"You promised me when I first returned from India that you would explain why you sent for me. So far all I've accomplished is charming poor Theo Havershaw, not quite the type of man I prefer, mind you, and kidnapping the brat. Perhaps now would be a good time to tell me about the Guardians."

"I don't know who they are but they have control over most of the skullduggery that goes on in London. Now it seems they are plotting treason. They surfaced about the same time as the rebellion was put down." He smiled, "The rebellion did much to restore the coffers, didn't it, my dear."

Cecily smiled back, and stretching somewhat like a cat, she replied, "It certainly did. You never told me how you came upon the names of so many Jacobite sympathizers."

Chuckling softly Sir Paul puffed his chest out, "I pride myself on being able to ferret out people's darkest secrets, my dear."

Cecily watched him toss the sapphire in his hand. "May, I, Father?" she said, standing and walking over to him. Taking the jewel in her slim fingers she held it up to the branch of candles on the mantle. She turned it over and studied it carefully.

"I don't see why this... bauble... is so important to the Guardians."

"They need it to keep the Prince in line once they've eliminated his 'competition.' He's the one who stole the jewels from his mother. How they came to be in Seaforth's possession, I don't know." He turned to her and smiled.

"Oh, my dear Cecily, if you only knew the power that bauble, as you call it, holds for me. With it I will control the most powerful men in England!"

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly and she smiled back at her father. Closing her hand around the jewel she thought, 'If you only knew, dear Father. The Guardians will not be as easy to control as you think.'

Out loud she said, "And the emerald?"

Sir Paul made an impatient gesture with his hand. "Daventry's little innocent was only able to find the Star of the Sea. The Star of the Earth is still in Seaforth's possession. As I believe the third gem is."

"The third gem?" So he knew of that one also, she thought.

Sir Paul turned to face his daughter. "Yes. There were three jewels in the necklace; the Star of the Sea, the Star of the Earth, and the Star of the Heavens; a perfect sapphire, a perfect emerald, and a perfect whit diamond."

"If we had all three we'd be in a better position when dealing with the Guardians." Cecily looked at him from the corner of her eye. She thought how easily he was lead.

Sir Paul looked at her sharply. "Yes, I've thought of that. Seaforth seems to be paying special attention to our dear Anne. That will be our way. If we have Anne, Seaforth will give us the jewels. And then we will have the Guardians."

Cecily pursed her lips as she thought, "Yes, Anne. Anne may be the key we need to unlock Seaforth's secrets. Anne may be just the thing."