‘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. The thought of Capes flooded her being like long-veiled sunlight breaking again through clouds. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. Ann Veronica thought the whole affair rather jolly. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. From the white beach the palms ran in serried rows quarter of a mile inland, then began a jungle of bamboo, gum-tree, sandalwood, plantain, huge fern, and choking grasses. She was curious, and at the same time clearly resolved she must not hear it.
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