Lucy grabbed his shirtsleeve, whispering on tiptoe. “You needn’t be worried,” she said quietly. It was her distinctive test of an emotional state, its interference with a kindly normal digestion. ‘I want a word with you, my lad. Holcroft, we may have been mistaken. ’ He had abandoned the “sir”, Gerald noted, realising that the footman’s respect for him had dropped sharply. She was the consummate mother, even when extremely tired, she missed nothing. “A silly little priestess who knew nothing of life at all until she came to you. ‘I know, Melusine.
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