Michelle seemed so innocent and sweet. Nevertheless, she was still fighting. Aware of the footman hovering, and the hackney coachman’s curious eyes looking down from his box, Gerald leaned a little towards her and spoke in a lowered tone. They stopped talking, except to each other. The nuns had no regard for the sensibilities of a “lady” and expected Melusine— for it was her allotted task—to clean and tend the soldier’s wounds even when they festered. ‘Is there a resemblance?’ ‘This is Mary Remenham?’ ‘That is my late niece, yes.
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