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me."
    The words and gesture told Diana all she needed to know about the disease. "Why did your sister not want you?"
    Madeline paused, and Diana wondered if she would refuse to answer, or would lie. Doubt and regret were reflected in the thin face before her expression became resolute. When she replied, Diana knew the truth had won out.
    Instead of answering directly, the visitor said, "You must have found the pouch I wore under my dress." When Diana nodded, Madeline continued, "Did you open it?"
    "No. Shall I get it for you?" At Madeline's nod, Diana crossed to the oak chest and took out the small, heavy leather pouch Madeline had carried. Diana and Edith had discussed opening it, but decided not to do so unless their visitor succumbed to the lung fever.
    "You can look now."
    Diana untied the leather thong and opened the pouch to find a number of irregularly shaped objects wrapped in velvet. Diana unwrapped the package on top, then gasped as a magnificent necklace spilling out of her hand, the interlaced gold chains set with huge rubies that flared blood-red in the sunshine.
    The next velvet packet revealed brilliant sapphire earrings with blue fire in the depths. Her eyes wide and startled, Diana continued unwrapping until her lap blazed with barbaric splendor, with diamonds and emeralds and opals and other gems she could not name, all in superbly wrought settings. They were jewels a queen might wear. She lifted her gaze to her visitor.
    Madeline smiled without humor. "They weren't stolen. Whatever my other sins, I'm not a thief."
    "I didn't think you were," Diana said.
    Madeline's gaze focused on a splash of sunlight on the wall as she said in a voice empty of expression, "I earned those the only way a woman can, though most would say it isn't honest work. My sister didn't want me corrupting her household."
    It took Diana a long moment to understand what Madeline meant. Even then, she could not connect what she knew of prostitution with this frail woman whose slim hands knotted on the quilt, who waited bleakly to be condemned.
    The idea of selling one's body was alien and repugnant, yet Madeline herself was neither of those things. Diana held silence until she was sure her voice would be composed. "Who is your sister?"
    "Isabel Wolfe."
    "Really?" Diana knew the name, though they had never met; the Widow Wolfe would cross the street if she saw Diana coming, as if proximity would contaminate her virtuous self. Studying Madeline's face, Diana shook her head. "I see little resemblance. Is she much older than you?"
    Madeline stared at her, surprised by the mundane question. "Only three years older." She sighed. "It's hard to imagine now, but she was pretty once. She was always rather... righteous, though not so bad as she is now. But I can't blame her for not wanting a whore in her house."
    Though the words were said in a matter-of-fact voice, Diana could see the tension in Madeline's body.
    Did the older woman think her hostess had not comprehended the earlier oblique reference and was making sure there was no misunderstanding? It was an act of courage and honesty, and Diana warmed to both qualities. She sensed no wickedness in Madeline, no matter what her past. Actually, Diana was fascinated to meet someone who had lived in such an unimaginable way.
    Diana would have asked more questions, but her guest's face was gray with fatigue. Rewrapping the jewels in their velvet, Diana said dryly, "Perhaps you can't blame her, but I can. For a woman who prides herself on her virtue, your sister failed the test for Christian charity rather badly. Someone should remind her of Jesus and Mary Magdalene."
    The tension went out of Madeline's face. "You are very kind not to condemn me." She released her breath in a slow sigh. "I will leave as soon as the roads clear."
    Diana frowned. Madeline Gainford was in no condition to travel. Beyond that, Diana was powerfully drawn to the older woman and wanted to learn more about her and the mysterious