Aurora discovered at four in the morning that freedom required considerably more effort than she had allowed for. “Your other arm first,” Elsie whispered. “That is my other arm.” “The injured one, Your Highness.” Getting dressed had become an exercise in cooperation with an unreasonable shoulder. Aurora eased her left hand through the sleeve while Elsie supported the cloth. Even so, something pulled beneath the bruise, and she stopped breathing until it passed. Elsie noticed. Elsie noticed everything. “A very promising beginning.” “It hurts when I dress for breakfast, too.” “Yes, but breakfast seldom requires an escape.” “We are using a door.” “An improvement upon your earlier methods.” Aurora submitted to the fastening of a plain brown wool dress. Its hem had been pinned above her ankles, revealing stockings and the stoutest walking shoes her wardrobe possessed. The shoes had been bought for an autumn visit to an estate where everyone had subsequently travelled by carriage.
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