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piercing accents from wall to ceiling to floor. "I'll have you thrown into the streets if you don't come back this instant! I'll have you thrown into gaol!"
    Everyone had their breaking point, Papa always used to say about losing at cards, and she'd reached her breaking point today with the Tothams. She didn't care anymore about anything except escap e — l ike her father when he'd taken his life after the gambling had finally ruined him completely.
    She moved up the stairs, her mind remarkably cool and collected, considering she was literally out in the streets. And she began planning a hastily arranged voyage to Italy. It would have been preferable to have all her funds in hand but surely she could find work in Florence to supplement the few months' pay she was short. Governesses would be needed there too and since Mama had been Italian, she was fluent in the language. There. All settled. Neither uncertainty nor dilemma prevailed in her current resolve.
    Now to pack, she purposefully decided . . . and suddenly she felt borne by a wave of stirring elation. She'd book passage here in London; the sailing schedules were as familiar to her as her name, since she'd pored over them for months. The nearest stage to Dover left from the King's Arms Inn on Knightsbridge Road; if she hurried, she'd be on the afternoon coach.
    After locking the door to her room, she quickly tossed her f e w possessions into her two satchels. She mustn't tarry; if Mrs. Totha m pressed charges against her, she'd be thrown i nto prison. Rushing to quit her room, within minutes she was packed, her worldly possessions minimal, only her paints and brushes of any value. She had nothing left of her l i fe as Lady Serena Blythe after her father's creditors had stripped everything of value from their house and property, all her assets contained now in two small satchels. But she had her freedom, she noted thankfully, and picking up her valises she walked from the room.
    Standing in the hallway for a brief moment, she listened t or any untoward sounds from below, fearful someone might be on their way to apprehend her. But the floor was silent and moving quietly through the corridor and then down the servants' stairs, she exited the house through a little-used door to the kitchen garden.
    It was a rare, sunny afternoon in February and walking briskly through the mews behind the fine houses on Russell Square, she found herself smiling as she made for the shipping line office to purchase her ticket. Even the weather was cooperating as if in propitious portent of good fortune.
    By twilight she was in Dover; a deep purple sky bordered by ominous thunderclouds promised rain. Obtaining directions from the coachman, she hurried to the shipping office near the docks and caught the clerk just as he was locking up. But he assured her her luggage would be stowed away on the Betty Lee later that evening and at daybreak tomorrow, she'd be allowed on board.
    "Is there an inn nearby?" she inquired, not sure she could afford the added expense, but equally aware she'd need refuge from the coming storm.
    "The Pelican over there." He waved in the direction of a small stuccoed building set under a craggy cliff wall. "Tell Fanny I sent you."
    Encouraged by his introduction and, moments later, pleased to find Fanny not only the proprietress but warmly welcoming, Serena found the courage to ask if she could sit in the parlor for the night.
    "A bit short of the bob are you?" Fanny asked, her smile understanding.
    "I hadn't planned on spending a night in an inn." Serena blushed in embarrassment at having to ask for charity.
    "Well now, dearie, don't you worry none. There's plenty of room in the parlor what with only four others there. But those London nabobs and their dollies could get a mite noisy." She nodded in the direction of a small group of well-dressed patrons. "You might want to stay clear of them. They've drunk up half a case of my best French Champagne and it seems likely