“Alice—Alice gone dotty, and all over kids. It's two hundred pounds. ’ Abruptly, the niggling doubt that had been plaguing Lord Charvill came sweeping to the surface. 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. Only I wish that it did not remind one so much of a second-hand clothes shop. With Jack so badly injured, how would she get him home? How get herself home, now that Trodger had arrested her.
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