They arrived at the Beaulier country estate in the late afternoon of their third day of travel since leaving Palisade. The constant bumping rhythm of the hackney carriage they had rented (with stolen money, of course) had given Harpswell, who was not used to this mode of transportation, an almost constant headache. "These people had better be bloody rich," he had been heard moaning repeatedly to his partner in crime, "and bloody stupid." If he had to suffer nearly three days in a carriage just to get to this job, Harpswell reckoned he had better come away with his pockets bulging.

As if having to play the part of Lawrence's valet wasn't bad enough. But Harpswell knew his mannerisms could never pass for one of the nobility among a family as old and fancy as the illustrious Beauliers, so he kept his mouth shut on that account. But still. They had better come away from this weekend with more money than they knew what to do with.