She tried to say more, but the blood from her broken body had suddenly filled her mouth and choked her. Her eyes closed and Ventura knew that she was dead.
“Go to Madrid.”
Why had she said that? There had never been any talk of her visiting Madrid. And what letters had she meant?
Ventura had searched the room they had shared together from floor to ceiling. She had looked in the books, under the mattress, in her mother’s clothing and in every drawer, but there had been no sign of any letters.
What could her mother have meant? Only one thing was clear. She was to go to Madrid.
It had seemed an impossible aspiration a week ago, yet now she was on her way. Nothing and nobody must prevent her getting there.
It was late before they finished dinner and yawning, Lord Lynke announced that he
