“Yes, sir. I am sure you do your duty admirably.” Smith bowed and withdrew, aware he was trembling with hatred.
As Smith stood in the hallway of the house, with busy servants bustling around, he sensed, rather than heard, the patter of light footsteps on the stairs leading upstairs. Instinct forced him to turn.
She was on the landing at the turn of the stairs, with one hand on the varnished balustrade and the other holding an ivory fan. Five feet seven in height, with blonde curls framing her oval face, her eyes were wide and blue, as they had always been. She stopped when she recognised Smith.
“Oh!” The woman lifted her fan to cover her mouth.
“My dear,” Sir Francis had emerged from his study. “There is no need for alarm. I know this man appears rather rough, but he is in my employ.”
