Her scream shook the windows of the sedan. Both husband and wife affected an unnatural ease of manner for the benefit of the efficient parlor-maid, who was putting the finishing touches to the sideboard arrangements. Once a thriving town before the Pestilence, most of the buildings and the piers had been destroyed or burned. He was nearly wincing. ‘Because,’ said Lady Bicknacre in the confidential manner of all matrons when passing on a tidbit of scandal, ‘Nicholas married against his father’s wishes and ran away. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned. ‘Is there a resemblance?’ ‘This is Mary Remenham?’ ‘That is my late niece, yes. The stranger with a bow returned to his table.
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