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she’s not fallen ill or something.”
    “It’s possible. I hear the plague took nearly as many lives in Paris as it did here.”
    The mere suggestion that Julia might have met the same dismal fate as Sander sent a shudder of dread through me.
    “I’m sorry, Widge,” Sam murmured. “I wasn’t thinking.”
    I forced a smile. “It’s all right. I’m sure there’s naught amiss wi’ her. Most likely she’s busy, that’s all.” I was down to my underclothing and about to slip into the gown when the door to the tiring-room swung inward and a face appeared in the opening. To my surprise and dismay it was not one of the men from the company. It was, in fact, not a man at all, but a very attractive young woman.
    I quickly covered myself with the gown, my face hot with embarrassment. The intruder, however, was apparently neither very embarrassed nor very apologetic. More than anything else, she seemed amused. Her eyes, which were strikingly blue in contrast to her milk-white skin, gave my gown an appraising glance, as though I had held it up for her approval. “Very fetching,” she said. “But the hem is several inches too short.”
    “There, I told you!” crowed Sam. “You owe me a penny!”
    I was having some difficulty finding my voice. When I finally did, it betrayed me by breaking dramatically. “What—” I cleared my throat, and blushed even more deeply. “What did you want then, mistress?”
    Her only difficulty seemed to lie in keeping a laugh from escaping her. She succeeded by biting her lower lip—which, I could not help noticing, despite my discomposure, was red as a rose petal. “I was looking for my father, actually.”
    “Oh.” It was all I seemed able to come up with.
    Luckily, Sam was not so tongue-tied. “If you tell us
who
he is, perhaps we may tell you
where
he is.”
    “Mr. Shakespeare.”
    “Which one? Ned or Will?”
    She laughed a very charming laugh. “Does it seem likely to you that Ned Shakespeare would have a daughter of seventeen?”
    Sam shrugged. “He may have gotten an early start.”
    “I’m sure he did. But not
that
early.”
    The tiring-room had no heat save what little crept in from adjacent rooms, and in my scantily clad state I had begun to shiver. “An you gi’ me a moment,” I said pointedly, “I’ll be happy to take you to your father.”
    “All right.” She added mischievously, “I suppose you’d like me to wait outside.”
    “Aye.”
    She had started to leave, but this brought her back. “
Aye?
You’re not from London, are you?”
    “Nay. No. Yorkshire.”
    “Really? How did you happen to come to London?”
    My teeth were fairly chattering now. “Do you mind an we discuss this another time?”
    “
An
you insist.” She closed the door at last. I scrambled into my breeches, shirt, and doublet.
    “I never knew Mr. Shakespeare had a daughter,” Sam said. “He so seldom speaks about his family. She’s a lot better looking than he is, don’t you think?”
    “I can’t say that I noticed,” I lied.
    Sam laughed. “Much! That’s why you were gaping at her so dumbly, as though she were some Gorgon whose gaze turns men to stone.”
    “I was embarrassed, that’s all.” I sat on the trunk and put my hand to my chest.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “I—I don’t ken, exactly. Me heart’s pounding and I’m—I’m all out of breath, as though I’d been dancing the Spanish panic. And just feel me forehead.” Despite the chill in the room, my face felt like a live coal.
    Sam’s face grew grave. “I’ve seen these same symptoms before, Widge. They’re unmistakable.”
    I tried to swallow a rising sense of fear, but my throat was dry and tight. “What do you wis it is, then? It can’t be—it can’t be the plague, surely. I’ve shown none of th’ other signs.”
    “I’m afraid it’s even worse than that. Unless I’m sorely mistaken, you’ve a bad case of lovesickness.”
    For a moment I stared incredulously into his face, which now