She was her mother’s child, fair of face, doted upon and spoiled by her attentions. Melusine ripped strips off her under-petticoats and fashioned a pad, which she bandaged as tightly as she could over the wound, working swiftly, unperturbed by the gore. The lace was family lace, easily recognizable. ‘Am I right in supposing you to have been a sister to the late Mr Jarvis Remenham?’ ‘Quite right. I'm glad to recognise you. “What has he to do with it?” “He was your sister’s master—her friend. " "I'm a queer girl," she replied with a smile. " "I'll see where these footsteps lead to," said Blueskin, holding the light to the floor.
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