A sophisticated woman would have translated the tone as a caress. You go to your room and ring for your maid. She found him reclined, watching television in a small guest room hidden in a back wing of the massive house. He kissed her cheek. She had known that Remenham House would be deserted, for Martha—released, as she had carefully explained to her charge, by her vows to God from servitude and obedience to Nicholas Charvill, a mere mortal—had begun a correspondence with a friend of her youth, Mrs Joan Ibstock, née Pottiswick. You know—if you want freedom. Chapter XXIV A CASE FOR THE POLICE After that first horrible moment it was perhaps Anna who was the more selfpossessed.
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