A moment before he had been a strong man, she had been in his power, a poor helpless thing. Taking the direction pointed out, he rode off. Sheppard raised her hand, and the malediction trembled upon her tongue. Martin came to the stage from his section, his own violin in hand. He drew her to him and tipped her chin towards him. ‘Well, nothing,’ uttered her betrothed crossly, before Gerald could answer. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. “Stay where you are for a moment,” she directed.
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