‘To see Charvill. ” She glared at Sebastian over the drawing table where she was sketching in chalk, then over at the fifteen year old boy who was asleep in a disheveled pile of rushes in the corner. The meat was coarse and disagreeably served. ‘I do not wish to be like him, but it is entirely reasonable that it should be so. She had just this moment past told him that Monsieur Valade came to her after the tragedy, to the convent, from where he married her and brought her to England. ‘Home?’ ‘To your family. Stanley pointed to the letter with a pipe he had drawn from his jacket pocket.
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