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"We must get you back into bed," she said. "You shouldn't be-"

"I'm fine," I told her. My voice was crisper than I had intended it to be.

"Perhaps-perhaps it's all right. The doctor said you should build your strength."

"Is this your nightgown?"

She nodded. "I'm smaller than you, not so tall, but the nightgowns are cut very full in Russia."

"You're Russian?"

"I'm Lucie Orlov. My uncle is Count Gregory Orlov."

"I'm Marietta Danver," I said.

" 'Marietta--it is a beautiful name. It suits you."

"Why-thank you."

"Do you remember the conversation we had a few days ago, Miss Danver?"

"I-I vaguely remember you telling me about the-the accident. Ogilvy was killed and I was thrown clear and-"

I paused, the horror sweeping over me again.

"You were very fortunate," Lucie said. "The coach was demolished. You could have been killed yourself. We were very concerned about you. I'm so relieved to see you feeling better. I imagine you would like something to eat."

"I would also like a bath and some proper clothes."

"Your trunks are downstairs," she told me. "My uncle sent two of the men back for them after we brought you here to the inn. I'll have them brought up. Would you like to eat before or after your bath?"

"I'll eat after."

The girl nodded again and left the room. A few minutes later the door was opened and two strapping men came in carrying my trunks. Both wore high black boots and oddlooking blue velvet livery with thick silver braid at shoulders and chest, and both were well over six feet tall, the towering black fur hats atop their heads making them seem even taller. Faces broad-boned and sullen, muscles bulging beneath the velvet, they set the trunks down beneath the window and left the room without so much as glancing at me. I put another log on the fire and jabbed at it with the poker, still weak but feeling more clear-headed by the minute.

The two men returned a short while later carrying a large white porcelain tub adorned with strangely shaped orange and blue flowers. The colors were extremely vivid, each petal outlined in gold. The tub obviously did not belong to the innkeeper, I thought, watching them set it down behind the shabby blue silk screen. Three more men, identically attired, as powerfully built and sullen, came with towels, soap, sponge and pails of water. None of them looked at me as the tub was filled, as towels, soap and sponge were arranged on the table. One ofthem said something in a rumbling, guttural voice, speaking in Russian, and then they all trooped out, the last one shutting the door.

Count Orlov must be extremely wealthy to have so many servants, I mused as I removed' the yellow satin nightgown. The gold outlining the brilliant blue and orange flowers on the tub was genuine, I noted, and as I stepped into the water I was amazed to find that the inside of the tub was completely covered with the same gold gilt.

The water was hot, steaming lightly as I sank down into it.

The pale lilac soap was scented with an elusive fragrance vaguely suggestive of faded violets, and the lather it made was thick and creamy, like liquid silk caressing my skin. I reveled in the luxury of it, washing myself thoroughly, washing my hair as well, relaxing as the warmth and wetness soothed my body.

There were bruises on my arms and thighs, a rather bad bruise on my right ankle, but they had all begun to fade, pale tannish mauve, barely visible. I was fortunate indeed to have survived the accident without sustaining any major injuries, even more fortunate to have been discovered so soon by Orlov and his niece. Who were they? The name
Orlou
seemed curiously familiar. I felt certain that I had heard it before. I frowned, thinking hard. Orlov?

Orlov? It seemed to be linked in memory with some terrible act of political violence. A revolution? An assassination?

It was all extremely vague. I might well be mistaken.

Running my fingers through my hair, creating a rich, silky crown of lather, I concentrated on the present. I had been here a week and three days when I first awakened and talked with Lucie Orlov, and I had no way of telling how many days had passed since. Jeremy had planned to remain in London for only a week, and then he was leaving for America. I faced that fact as calmly as possible. Something might have come up, of course. He might not have been able to book passage so soon. He might still be at The White Hart, but if he wasn't, if he had already departed, I would follow him on the next boat. There was no need to panic. All my money had been deposited in the Bank of England,

Jeremy had gone to Threadneedle Street himself to open the account, and I was a wealthy woman. I would book passage and perhaps ... perhaps I would even get to America before he did.

The sound of the door opening interrupted my thoughts.

I was startled to see three of the Orlov servants entering, two of them carrying more water, the third with an embroidered blue silk robe over his arm. I cried out in protest as they came around the screen, great muscular giants, faces expressionless as they surrounded the tub. Arms folded over my bosom, I ordered them to leave in a trembling voice. They paid no attention. One ofthem took hold of my wrist and pulled me to my feet. I tried to pull free, terrified now, but the brute held me firmly as I slipped and splashed and almost fell back into the water. He had dark blond hair and sullen brown eyes and broad, flat cheekbones, and his wide mouth curled savagely as he spoke harshly in Russian, squeezing my wrist even tighter.

I cried out as the other two men doused me with the buckets of warm water, rinsing me thoroughly, and then the blond brute hauled me out of the tub and set me on my feet. Shivering, shaken, I stood there in horror as he took.

up one of the enormous towels and began to dry me off. His eyes were flat and expressionless as he massaged my back and buttocks with the fluffy cloth, moving around to dry my shoulders, bosom, and stomach. Kneeling, he dried my thighs and calves, lifting first one foot, then the other, bunching the towel up around my toes. Finished, he stood up and moved away as his companion handed me the gorgeous blue silk robe. I pulled it on, my hands trembling as I tied the sash around my waist.

The blond bellowed something in Russian. The other two men nodded and picked up the tub, one at each end.

Filled as it was with water, it had to be tremendously heavy, but they showed no signs of strain, carrying it from the room without spilling a single drop. The blond gave me a surly look, picked up the damp towel and followed the others into the hall. I slammed the door behind him and locked it, outraged now, fuming as I found another towel and rubbed my hair briskly. I was still furious when, twenty minutes later, I unlocked the door to let Lucie in.

My hair was dry, brushed to a gleaming coppery sheen, and I was wearing a bronze-and-cream-striped linen frock I had taken from one of the trunks, the full skirt belling over half a dozen thin cream linen underskirts. When she saw the expression on my face, the girl's eyes clouded with apprehension.

"You-your cheeks are terribly pink.
Is
something wrong?"

"Something certainly is! I was in the middle of my bath when three of your servants came barging in here. They jerked me out of the tub and poured water all over me and then-then one of them dried me om"

Lucie saw no reason whatsoever for my alarm. "The job wasn't done satisfactorily?" she inquired.

"Satisfactorily!"

"Vladimir doesn't know his own strength. Sometimes he rubs too hard when he's using the towel. I've scolded him about it time and again. I fear my uncle will have to discipline him."

"You mean-" I was momentarily speechless. "You mean they-they attend you in the bath, too?"

"But of course," she replied, puzzled by my dismay, and then understanding dawned. "Oh, I see, your English customs are perhaps different. You are peculiarly-what is the word?-modest, I believe."

"You might say that!" I snapped.

"But there is no need to be," she explained. "They are merely servants."

That seemed to explain everything as far as she was concerned.

These Russians were certainly different, I reflected, trying my best to see the humor of the situation.

Lucie smiled a shy smile and stepped back to gaze admiringly at my frock, taking in the long, tight sleeves, the plunging neckline and form-fitting bodice and swelling skirt.

"It's lovely," she remarked. "So simple and yet so elegant.

The clothes I have are so-so Russian."

"Your frock is beautiful."

"It is-how you say?-old-fashioned? I hope to buy a complete new wardrobe before I return to Russia. Perhaps you will help me select it."

"I'd be delighted to, ifthere's time."

"Please do not be embarrassed, but I must tell you-you are perhaps the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

She extended the compliment hesitantly, eyes lowered demurely,

but I could tell it was completely sincere. "Your hair is like copper fire, so rich and lustrous, your features are those of a grand English lady without-without the haughty coldness, and your eyes are so blue, like sapphires."

"You're very kind, Lucie."

"I would so like to be beautiful myself," she confessed.

"But you are!" I protested.

Lucie shook her head sadly. "I have the features of my Mongolian ancestors who invaded Russia centuries ago, the slanted eyes, the too-high cheekbones. In Russia this is a sign of low caste. My father was a grand aristocrat, but my mother-"

She cut herself short and smiled another shy smile that begged me to forgive her for being so personal. At that moment the door opened and the blond giant entered, standing aside as four other servants trooped in bearing an ebony table inlaid with gold and mother-of-pearl, two chairs, a silvertray, linen cloth and napkins. I watched in some dismay as the table was set with gorgeous white porcelain china banded with rich royal blue and etched with gold, as silver tableware was placed and heavy silver lids removed to reveal a dazzling display of food. When the task was completed, the four men stood at attention and the blond, Vladimir, inspected their work with a savage expression. Satisfied, he growled an order in Russian and all five men marched out.

I stared at the plate of fluffy yellow eggs, the kippered herring and thick slices of juicy ham, the steamed mushrooms and crisp curls of bacon. There was a plate of scones, a rack of thin toast, jars of thick, clotted cream, strawberry preserves and rnarmelade, the
piece de resistance
a mound of glistening pearl gray caviar surrounded by finely chopped onion and minced boiled egg. Lucie looked at the array with barely concealed disgust.

"Our chef prepared this meal for you," she explained.

"He travels with us, of course. The English food is abominable, no?"

"Usually," I agreed.

"The innkeeper explained eggs and herring and that barbarous ham would be appropriate for an English lady.

You really consume such fare?"

"I intend to eat every bite."

"I will have a bit of caviar to keep you company.

Vladimir will bring the coffee in a short while."

We sat down at the table and Lucie sighed as I heaped my plate with eggs and bacon and ham. She watched me eat with disbelief, as though I were committing an act of defilement, but that didn't deter me. I had rarely been so hungry, and as Lucie indifferently nibbled a piece of toast spread with caviar, I ate heartily. Vladimir appeared with an ornate silver pot and filled two delicate cups with dark, aromatic coffee. I piled clotted cream and strawberry preserves on a scone as he left the room.

"How many servants do you
have?"
I asked.

"Only twenty with us," she confessed. "My uncle believes one should travel in simple style. There are just four coaches besides our carriage, carrying the barest minimum of necessities."

"Like the bath tub and this table and china," I said.

"And rugs and linens and such. When one travels one must expect-what is it my uncle says?-Spartan conditions.

Are you feeling better, Miss Danver?"

"I'm feeling much better."

"Your color is good. You were so pale and drawn."

"You've been so terribly kind to-me," I said. "I'm afraid I don't know how to thank you."

"It was my pleasure," Lucie replied. "It was so nice tohow you say?-to have an excuse to break our journey for a while. For months and months we travel, travel, travel. It is very wearying."

"Is your uncle on some sort of diplomatic mission?" I

-asked.

She shook her head, a faraway look in her eyes. "No, he travels to forget."

I longed to ask her what she meant by that, but instinct told me the question would not be welcomed. I took a sip of coffee. Lucie gazed into her cup as though it might contain the answer to some ever-elusive mystery.

"My uncle is a-a very restless man," she said. "We travel and travel and always he is eager to move on to the next place. We will stay in London a month, and then, at last, we will return to Russia. He feels it is time."

"You've been away long?"

"Two years," she said. "I was fifteen when we left."

"You must miss your country a great deal."

"I do not miss the old life," she said, lowering her eyes.

"Sometimes I think of it, and-and I know it was a fortunate day indeed when my uncle took notice of me and decided to allow me to travel with him."

"He must love you very much."

"Yes," she said.

The word seemed to contain a multitude of meanings. As I finished my coffee, Lucie informed me that Count Orlov had departed for London three days ago in order to attend to some business and rent a fine mansion for them to occupy.

He would be returning in two days' time.

"He-he was worried about leaving me behind, but I insisted he go on without me. I didn't want to leave you, you see. I couldn't leave and-and never know if you were really all right. I told my uncle I would be quite safe with Vladimir and the others to watch after me. He finally agreed, but he-he does not like to have me out of his sight."