Charlotte could listen no more in silence. For several minutes now a young man at the teahouse counter had been abusing a waiter with language that pierced her soul. She had tried to behave as the other customers and look away-after all, who did not understand the pain of being disappointed in one's hopes for a warm currant scone? But finally her patience broke, and she simply had to speak by such means as were within her reach-namely, a volume of Dickens she had been reading over tea and sandwiches.

Rising from her chair, she cast Great Expectations at the young man's head and then settled down once more to her luncheon.

The young man roared. Clutching his head, eyes blazing, he glared around the cafeteria. "Who did that?!"

Charlotte raised one delicate, lace-gloved hand.

"He did," she said, pointing to a dark-haired gentleman at a nearby table.

Several ladies gasped. Her chosen scapegoat, however, gave no reaction. Charlotte was unsurprised. She had seen him enter the teahouse earlier and noted at a glance how everything about him was rich, from his long black overcoat to his gold-handled briefcase. She could not imagine him paying attention to anyone he might consider lesser than himself. Indeed, he read his newspaper and drank his coffee as if she had not even spoken.

The angry young man had heard her well enough, however. He stormed across to snatch the gentleman's newspaper and fling it dramatically to the ground. The moment was rather spoiled by paper sheets fluttering about, one covering his face and thereby muting his tirade, but he pulled it away, scrunching it within a fist.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, brandishing his knuckles along with the rumpled paper.

The gentleman blinked composedly. "I beg your pardon?"

"You threw a book at me! Stand up, mister, and face justice!"

"Don't be ridiculous," the gentleman replied, unmoved. Charlotte noted that his voice was rich too, with a slight accent woven through like gold thread. "Compensate me for my newspaper then return to whatever gutter from which you crawled. You are disturbing the peace."

"I'll give you disturbing!" The young man grasped the coat lapels of the older and hauled him from his chair.

"Goodness me," Charlotte murmured, leaning back as the men stumbled against her table. Screams arose from the other patrons, but Charlotte did not indulge in shock. Her teacup was rattling in its saucer. Her sandwiches almost leaped off their plate. If she sat around gasping, luncheon would be entirely spoiled.

With a sigh, she stood, laying her napkin on the table. She took a last sip of tea while the men knocked over chairs with their furious wrestling. She wrapped her sandwiches in the napkin, rescued her purse from the table moments before the men crashed onto it, then left the teahouse, picking up the gentleman's briefcase as she went.

A tiny bell tinkled as she opened the door and stepped out. A breeze plucked at her strawberry blonde coiffure but was unable to disrupt it. Charlotte paused, squinting against the lambent afternoon light, and considered her route ahead.

St. James's Street was busy as usual with a bright drift of ladies going about their regular business, shopping and sightseeing and generally making a promenade of themselves. A woman dressed simply in gray, with only one feather on her hat and the smallest bustle possible without being indecent, would stand out most regrettably amongst them....