Twenty-one, twenty-two. The Mother Abbess, while thankful, could not be brought to consent to allow the girl out of her charge alone with unknown servants, and Martha was delegated to accompany her erstwhile nurseling to the homeland she had thought never to see again. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. I am very, very sorry, but you must listen to me. ‘But what in the world was she doing at Remenham House?’ ‘Your quickness is astounding, Lucy,’ Gerald told her admiringly.
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