It was Annabel who spoke. Gerald perhaps would know how to find him. ’ She halted, her pistol still held firm and straight, both hands gripping it, her expressive features at once determined and uncertain. The signs of tears had all gone, but some subtle change seemed to have stolen into her face. She was to be handed over with her dowry of three thousand Florins, plus her pet bird, six chickens, her mother’s fine linens, a small book of poetry. She missed them already. Her life hangs upon a thread, and this may snap it. “I am getting plain,” she said, with a little shudder. ’ Melusine might have responded that she had not asked him, but she was too intent on her mission. “It was just an hour before teatime,” she remarked.
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