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door and back in her bedroom.
    She slid to the floor in limp relief, offering earnest prayers of thanks to the deity who watched over foolish virgins.
    Which made her think of lamps.
    Which made her realize a terrible thing.
    She’d left the candlestick!
    At that moment, Anna Featherstone nearly fainted.
    She wanted to huddle under her covers and pretend none of the recent events had happened but if she didn’t retrieve the candlestick, it would be obvious she’d been there. Quite apart from the fact that she would be short a candlestick, it was probably identifiable as from this house.
    What on earth would happen to her? What if she’d done some terrible injury to the earl? What if he was lying on his library floor breathing his last?
    Would they hang her?
    At least, said a voice, if he’s dead he can’t identify his assailant.
    But the candlestick could.
    There was only one thing to do.
    Anna’s legs felt weak as wet paper, but she forced herself to her feet. Still shaking and struggling not to sob, she opened the secret door again to re-enter the Earl of Carne’s cursed house.
    She staggered out onto the landing, listening carefully for any hint of what was happening. She heard a voice. It was the earl, apparently calling for a servant.
    Anna almost collapsed with relief again. He didn’t sound at all dead. But in that case, how was she to retrieve the evidence?
    Then she realized that he was heading for the lower floor, shouting for his servants. She leaned over the stair rail and saw him, holding a white cloth to his head, disappear in that direction.
    It almost demanded too much courage, but Anna forced herself. She ran down the stairs, tracking that distant voice all the time, dashed into the library, grabbed the candlestick, and raced back to her own room.
    Once there, she flung herself into bed, pulled the covers over her head, and swore that she would never, ever, give in to curiosity again!
    “Miss Anna! Miss Anna! Wake up.”
    Anna stirred, resisting the call to wake. She’d been sleepless half the night worrying over the consequences of her actions.
    “Miss Anna! Are you all right?”
    Anna forced her eyes open. “Yes, Martha. Of course I’m all right.”
    Martha frowned at her in grave concern. “I’ve never known you to be a slugabed. Are you sure you’re not sickening or something?
    Anna struggled up, trying to appear her usual cheery self. “Of course I’m not! I must have just stayed up reading longer than I intended.”
    “The state of the candle tells that story, miss,” said Martha with a glance at the candlestick.
    Full memory rushed back and Anna winced at the thought of the story that candlestick could tell. Along with memory came anxiety. What would Lord Carne have done when he couldn’t find Maggie? Had he called in the Bow Street Runners?
    One thing was certain, Anna must make sure the man never set eyes on her. She leaned back against her pillows. “Perhaps I might be catching a cold,” she said in a suffering tone. “My head aches a little …”
    Martha came back to the bed and studied her. “You don’t look yourself, Miss Anna, and that’s the truth. Why, you’ve even taken off your ribbon and got your hair in a tangle. You must have been fevered in the night.” She shook her head. “You’d best stay in bed for now. I’ll bring you breakfast here and tell Lady Featherstone.”
    Martha left and Anna groaned. Her hair ribbon. She’d left evidence after all!
    It wasn’t a disaster, though. A candlestick was one thing, but a plain white hair ribbon could belong to anyone. It fretted her, though, so she was in danger of becoming truly ill through anxiety.
    She took refuge in planning. The first thing was to stay out of sight for as long as possible, and being sick was an excellent excuse. It would be tedious, but far better than bumping into Lord Carne on the doorstep!
    What was she going to do, though, if he intended more than a brief visit to his London house?
    She