She had known that Remenham House would be deserted, for Martha—released, as she had carefully explained to her charge, by her vows to God from servitude and obedience to Nicholas Charvill, a mere mortal—had begun a correspondence with a friend of her youth, Mrs Joan Ibstock, née Pottiswick. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume. “You seem to forget that my sister is—married. Last week. Explain to Sir John our feelings. ” Anna tried to look angry, but her mouth betrayed her. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. “Until a girl can go away as a son does and earn her independent income, she’s still on a string. To go to him, to console him! But she stirred not from her hiding place. The weed was all right.
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