Well, I told aunt. ’ The fury welled. ‘Oh, peste, you make me late!’ She glared up at Roding. The open windows were above them now and, unless the intruder were to lean out, they could not possibly be seen. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. With trembling fingers she opened the post-bag. In the grate were some charred fragments of a marriage certificate. ‘Are you going to come quietly, mademoiselle?’ he demanded with grim determination. “I must read him when I come out.
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