‘What’s wrong, miss? Ain’t I done right?’ Melusine’s mind was reeling, but she reached out and seized his wrist. There were no mourners. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. The pavement had been hastily picked up, and heaped across the end of the street, upon which planks, barrels, and other barricades, were laid. She turned to Martha as the lad exited by the back door, but her nurse forestalled anything she might have said. Is this a reason?’ ‘Not good enough? Now I had every hope that it would appeal to you.
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