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He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. Lord knew why he had any interest in an impertinent girl who would certainly have spit him with that dagger! He reached into his pocket and brought it out, examining it in the increasing light as he slowly made his way back up the terrace. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book. Something to tell you. And he who opposes me in it shall feel the weight of my hand.
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