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provide a handkerchief. "The lavender," Meriel said, her eyes tearing. "Such flower scents do make it happen."
    "Then I wonder that your ladyship loves this scent above all others," Agnes said in perfect seriousness. Too perfect.
    Meriel nodded. So Agnes was part of the game, whatever it was. Well, Meriel would play it out, until she could escape back to ... where? In the palace she would be mistaken for Lady Felice again and again. In the city, she had no money.
    She sneezed mightily and walked quickly to the window, leaning between the bars for fresh air, but she had not long to breathe it. The door lock clicked and two Tower guards with wicked-looking double-bladed pikes appeared, one standing aside for her to proceed him.
    "I will wait here for your ladyship," Agnes said with a low curtsy.
    "Very well," Meriel said, her head high, since she knew right well what angle highborn ladies held their chins.
    "Where are you taking me?" she asked the guard, wondering why she was so richly dressed if she were to be placed in a dungeon, raped, racked or even executed. Are these the sporting games of idle lords and spymasters? And perhaps especially for this spymaster, who might enjoy dressing me as a noblewoman who is unattainable to him? There was no gag in her mouth now, and she would call Chiffinch what she had not been able to call him aloud before. She practiced the oaths silently as she descended, rolling them about on her tongue with some little satisfaction.
    They wound down the stone steps and along an echoing hall, out across the green sward, Sirius the Dog Star already faintly visible in the evening sky. They entered the side door of a chapel. Meriel lifted her head and squared her shoulders as she stepped into the candlelit, rich tapestry-hung room. If they wanted to play at her being a countess, then she would be a...
    She dropped to her knees, half from fright, half from duty.
    There was no mistaking the straight, dark figure standing before her. Though his suit was unadorned, it was of a very rich tabby cloth with crested buttons of polished silver; his great hat sat firmly on his long black curling wig. Even had she not seen him on his throne in his glittering Presence Chamber, she would know him from the face on the coins she took to market each week.
    King Charles II advanced a step and held out his beringed hand, a slight smile spreading his lips and lifting his mustache. Meriel didn't know whether she was supposed to kiss the hand or take it, so she used her energy to keep herself from shrinking away. The king bent and lifted her by her elbow.
    "Don't be afraid of us," he said in a pleasant, light voice. "Yes, Chiffinch, the likeness is quite remarkable. Speak, girl, let us hear you."
    Meriel stifled a sneeze, trying to remember the elegant tone she had practiced often enough since a girl. "Your Majesty, I dare only say that my heart o'erflows to greet your most sacred person at last."
    The king laughed, and she could see that he found her answer most enjoyable. "Well spoken, lass." The king turned to Chiffinch. "Her voice is far more resonant and pitched lower than Lady Felice's, but since that lady brays like an ass e'en when not using hers"—the king smiled broadly at his shocking turn of phrase—"it is vastly more pleasing to our ears."
    Chiffinch bowed, smiling widely. A king never smiles alone, Meriel thought, storing the knowledge, as she did all things newly observed.
    The king stepped away, speaking to the spymaster, who followed. "The earl is no fool and neither are the Dutch. It will take more, we think, than a face and courage, which you do assure us this lass has in abundance. Where is her carriage? Her manner? Her knowledge of our court? Even for you, William, this may be too great a task to accomplish in so short a time."
    Chiffinch bowed, his hand on his heart. "In one week, Your Majesty, this girl will be Lady Felice, only better for our purposes. She has a brain and is very quick, I vow, which