She remained for a few moments standing as though listening to his retreating footsteps. ’ ‘Very true. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. She fidgeted and looked away. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together. ‘For my part, I am in no hurry to end this exciting little adventure. Nobody regards Constance or Vee as a delicate trifle. “Why aren’t you in Orchestra, Lucy?” “I just. ‘That there governess didn’t like it, of course, me being the lodgekeeper’s girl, and Martha just a country wench like me.
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