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she could remain safe in comfortable obscurity until hard labor and near starvation took their toll.
    Unfortunately, as she fell asleep, her dreams swirled into the familiar nightmare of flames, smoke, and the terrified screams of death. She moaned and twitched, crying in her sleep, unable to wake up and save anyone, including herself.

Chapter Four
    When Sam got up at half past five, she was disgusted to find her belly growling hollowly. She rubbed it, trying not to think about Mr. Trenchard’s twinkling eyes or his excellent larder. She got dressed quickly, listening to the sounds of fellow boarders beginning to stir in the cool, pre-dawn darkness.
    She opened the door. “Shush,” she warned her belly when it rumbled. “I suppose now that you’ve had a taste of beef, you’ll want it every day. It was a treat, last night, and one you’re not likely to get again. And you can just stop mooning over that Trenchard fellow like any silly schoolgirl, too. You’re a working lad, and there’s an end to it. He’d die laughing if he knew you’d gone all soft-headed over his lazy good looks.” She thrust her misshapen hat on her head and started down the stairs, eager to be out of the house.
    Halfway down, she paused, caught in the glow of an old carriage lamp lighting the hallway below.
    “Mr. Sanderson!” Mrs. Pochard called up to Sam. “Good morning, sir.”
    “Good morning, Mrs. Pochard” Sam replied, tramping down the last few steps. “How are you today?”
    “As right as can be expected when half my lodgers seem to believe they own the right to come and go as they please without a shilling of their rent paid.” She held the light up, frowning at Sam.
    Sam smiled and attempted to circle around the plump lady.
    Mrs. Pochard’s dress had a few stains on the bosom and the faint odor of cabbage still clung to her. Either she had slept in her clothing or hadn’t noticed they were not as fresh as they might have been. “Not so fast, Mr. Sanderson. You’ve rent to pay.”
    “Indeed, I do,” Sam said, doffing her hat, trying not to think about how much Mrs. Pochard’s rather square nose and her heavy jowls resting on her massive chest gave her the appearance of a pig on a platter. All she needed was an apple in her mouth and a wreath of parsley around her stout neck.
    Mrs. Pochard’s jowls wobbled in the wavering light. She thrust out a damp palm. “Then I’d be obliged if you’d pay it, sir .”
    The emphasis on the word ‘sir’ did not escape Sam’s notice. She stilled for a moment. Had her landlady had seen through her disguise, or was she merely impugning Sam’s ability to pay on time?
    Mrs. Pochard certainly ought to know better. Sam had been renting her room for two months now and had never failed to pay. Eventually.
    Sam reseated her hat on her head and ruthlessly circled her landlady. “I’m paid today. You know that almost as well as I do. You’ll have your money by supper. Tonight.”
    “See that I do. I’ve a list of fine young men— gentlemen of breeding —wanting that room. I’ve no mind to let it go for a few sweet words and promises.”
    “Understandable, my dear lady. And who could blame a gentleman for desiring rooms with such a lovely landlady?”
    Mrs. Pochard’s plump hand fluttered over her breast. “Indeed, sir, you flatter me.”
    With a swagger and a wink, Sam managed to get around Mrs. Pochard and escape into the street. She raced around the corner, pulling sixpence out of her pocket as she went. Every morning, a young lass strolled down the next street over with a tray of fresh, warm rolls from the baker. For a single, silver coin, Sam could grab one to eat before collecting the cart and Mr. Hawkins.
    “Betsy!” Sam called, running when she recognized the red-striped dress of the baker’s daughter swaying through the misty blue shadows.
    Betsy swirled around with a smile. “Mr. Sanderson, late again?”
    “Not this time.” Sam tossed her coin into the girl’s