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’d do the same. “Won’t you give me your address?” She shook her head. She had to resist an impulse of sheer terror, to run out after them and give in. But I have two hundred thousand pounds. ‘You see, it’s difficult to do a service for someone when you don’t know who they are, or what they’re up to. “What you have done.
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