Chapter FiveHarriet, Marchioness of Vulcan, pushed the gilt mirror away roughly.
“Hell, but I look ugly this morning,” she fumed, “I don’t want to go on regarding myself, woman.”
Her maid moved from the bed, taking the tray on which reposed the mirror and the gold and diamond-studded brush and comb that her Ladyship had been using.
On the other side of the bed a small black boy, dressed in gorgeous silks and satins and with a turban bearing a peacock’s feather, held out a salver on which there was a cup of chocolate.
“Chocolate makes me sick,” the Marchioness said petulantly. “Fetch me some brandy, boy.”
“Your Ladyship said only yesterday that you would forswear brandy in the mornin’,” the maid remarked, turning from the dressing table.
“What else can I take, woman, when I feel half-
