It belled out from the dress model in the store window. Heavy, blood red embroidered silk cupped the dummy’s torso and the skirt swirled to pool on the display floor. “See something you like?” She startled and glanced back at James. “No. Nothing. Where are we going?” “The Stuck Pig. Just there.” He tilted his head to indicate the opposite side of the street. Following him into the tavern, she couldn’t help a last look back at the red dress. It was the same one from the painting, she was certain of it. Was the painting of her or the other Rebecca? She’d convinced James to let her come into port armed, and dressed in his clothing. She pulled down the brim of her wide hat. From a distance, she’d look like a prepubescent boy—like Willy. A wry smile tugged at her lips. She’d finally found an advantage to being short and skinny. In the time she’d been with James, she’d worked out enough that she fit into Rebecca Morrow’s clothes, but she refused to wear them. Even here, where they’d be appropriate.
