‘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. She could tell that they too would find their legs jutting awkwardly from the petite furniture. Sir John hesitated. And if she was ever found living in the area like that, homeless, John could somehow find out. You don’t know about Mary because you live in Kent. Still, one never could tell. She has no proof—yet.
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