"Tighter, I think." Jacques the dressmaker gestured at my already constricted waistline and ribcage with his pince-nez. The polished glass lenses caught the light and made my head hurt. The girl behind me, a rather beefy child with more freckles than was good for her, winked at me and yanked on the ribbons.

I groaned, swaying from the pressure while Georgina and Kate giggled and applauded.

Traitors, both of them.

Jacques sniffed as though the very air offended ...