Her gown was minimalist compared to those concoctions of boning and lace of long ago, she reflected, but that did not stop it from getting caught on 134 brambles and twigs. A militiaman came belting down the stairs, another leapt from outside the front door, and a third, stalwart and stolid, came in through the door that led to the rooms to the front of the house. But that possibility had been anticipated. Sheppard, faintly. For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another. ‘I’m taking you to Gerald, my girl. She had worn a long skirt that morning, and a roomier sweater that was slightly easier to handle than Shari’s low cut numbers.
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