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knowing better than to touch her.
    “Well, then, my lord, I reckon you must wait,” the landlord said.
    “I reckon I must,” he replied. I could buy this whole inn with the money in my luggage, you blue-bottomed baboon, he thought, but you have checkmated me. “Very well, sir. May I suggest this? You let the lad eat now—that roast of beef is not getting any younger—and I’ll wash dishes, too.”
    “You, my lord?” the man exclaimed.
    “Yes,” he replied, hoping to match Liria’s dignity. “One never knows what skills one might need, does one? Do find me another towel. I would hate to ruin a perfectly good shirt.”
    Laughing, the landlord opened a cupboard and tossed him an apron. “I’d like another one for Miss Valencia,” Nez said. “You didn’t think to give her one.”
    “Didn’t think she used the same tailor you do, my lord,” he said, but obliged with another apron. “Do them dishes up nice-like, now. Liria will show you. Go ahead and eat, laddie.” He laughed and turned back to the public room.
    “Well, here we are,” he said, marveling at his inanity. “Allow me, Miss Valencia.” He started to undo the knot that held the dish towel around her waist.
    She moved away from him quickly, clutching the towel as it fell into her hand. “I can manage,” she said. She went to the table, and called Juan to her side. He sat down, his eyes bright, and she tied the towel around his neck. In another moment she had arranged the half-eaten meal on a plate and kissed the top of her son’s head. “Go ahead, my dear.”
    He watched them. “You could eat, too,” he said. “I’ll just carry on here at the sink.”
    “Oh, no,” she said quickly. “I can wait.”
    “You’ve been hungry before, then?”
    “I’ve been hungry before.”
    And will be hungry again; just a common drab, he reassured himself as he removed his coat, tied on the apron, popped off his cuff links, and rolled up his sleeves. Still, she was magnificent a moment ago. Of course, Spanish women are like that. I was forgetting.
    He looked over his shoulder. Juan was steadily working his way through a plate of veal that Sophie had so tearfully rejected, and wonder of wonders, Liria Valencia was seated beside him, intent on a plate, too. I suppose we all hit low tide sooner or later, he thought. I seem to be coming about, and maybe Liria will, too, in her own way. I wonder where she is heading?
    I could ask, he thought, then reconsidered. He dipped a plate in the rinse water. Where she and her boy are bound is really none of my concern. He set the plate on the drying rack. But wherever it is, Libby, I promise to pay her enough to get there without having to wash dishes in some bully’s kitchen. They deserve better than that.
    After arranging some almond cream on Juan’s plate, Liria joined him at the sink. She watched his own awkward progress for a moment, then cleared her throat. Nez laughed and handed her the scrub brush. “I’m not too good with this, am I?” he asked.
    She took it. “Let us say that I have washed more dishes in recent years than you, and the necessity here is speed, if the Empress is as uncomfortable as you say she is. You may dry.”
    She worked efficiently, intent on the dishes before her, with a glance now and then at her son. When he finished and was rubbing his eyes, she took him to a corner where there was a pile of sacking, kissed him, and left him there to sleep.
    She was scouring the last pot when Nez heard the skinny wail of a mail coach horn. Liria paused and looked at him, uncertainty on her face. “I do not have enough money for another ticket,” she told him.
    He could tell that it pained her to make such an admission. You’re a proud one, for a servant, he thought. “I meant what I said,” he replied, taking the pot from her and dipping it in the rinse water. “I will pay you for your help, and you will have enough to buy another ticket. Where are you going?” There, he had asked. It