‘You put that thing away now, missie. What was the name on those marriage lines you showed me?’ ‘M—Melusine,’ stammered the woman, her countenance yet registering shock. “But, my dear!” said Ann Veronica’s aunt. Gold-handled, too. But it was clear she was in no mood for Teddys. Over the gateway towards Snow Hill, were two strong wards, called the Castle and the Red Room. 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.
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