John stared palely. Why must her old nurse discover her precisely at this moment? ‘What are you at now, may I ask?’ Martha glared at the footman. Whatever she does is minimized. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. “It is about your sister, Lady Ferringhall. I have never spoken of these things to any human being. "Miss Thornhill's a charming girl.
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