“I want to talk to you,” he said to the girl. “There are a number of questions I have to ask.”
The girl seemed to hesitate.
Then she opened the door of a room that was very different from those the Marquis had seen so far.
The Marquis realised that it was the Matron’s sitting room. It was small and comfortable with a sofa and armchairs set in front of a blazing fire.
But much more significant was a table where there were a number of bottles and a glass that somebody had recently been drinking from.
“She will be in her bedroom packing, my Lord,” the girl said.
The Marquis stood with his back to the fire.
As if she suddenly realised how ragged and dilapidated she looked in contrast to his elegance, the girl undid the sacking apron and, folding it, set it down on a chair.
The dress sh
