Now that the time had come, she was not sure she could go through with it. She was not sure she could accompany Mr. Andrews, and play the charwoman, and be a thief. But she was a Blois, after all, an ancient if dishonorable house full of rogues and scoundrels. Surely she could act as one of them. Surely the spirit of her naked, forgery-posing grandmama would see her through the course she had set for herself. Not that any nakedness ought to be involved with Mr. Andrews’s plan, though she was going to have to change her clothes, after all. But he had always acted as the most gentlemanly of thieves. And he did seem to have a good, solid, unimpeachable plan. A plan that required her at that moment to take her parcel, and exit her safe, predictable home in Soho Square. In the foyer, Henri stood ready to open the front door. “Good afternoon, Mademoiselle du Blois. Going out?” “Yes, Henri.” Mignon paused, thinking perhaps she ought to say something in case—in case things didn’t go according to Mr.
