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. Getting pregnant in high school ended that dream for her. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. She fluttered her eyelashes, and adopted the soulful tone that served her well at times. Is there any truth, do you suppose, in this rumoured marriage?” “I know nothing,” Courtlaw answered hurriedly. “My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. Think, ma’am.
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