’ The girl bit her lip and backed a little, while her husband shifted to stand at her side. Better they should find the so-called Valade. Clear water gave away to gray as she waded deeper, feeling her slippers on rock. Eventually her movements carried her to the little stand at the side of the bed. She had known that Remenham House would be deserted, for Martha—released, as she had carefully explained to her charge, by her vows to God from servitude and obedience to Nicholas Charvill, a mere mortal—had begun a correspondence with a friend of her youth, Mrs Joan Ibstock, née Pottiswick.
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