I was just like a sort of dummy that does things as it is told—that is to say, as the strings are pulled. ‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. ‘Why?’ ‘Why take me to France? Why trouble himself with me, when so easily he could leave me to this Monsieur Remenham to keep?’ To Melusine’s instant suspicion, Martha bit her lip, drew a breath, and avoided her charge’s gaze. Heaven will not permit the continuance of such wickedness as you practise. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. Her aunt arrived about halfpast ten, in black and with an unusually thick spotted veil.
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