‘Ain’t no call for you to go a-blaming of yourself. I suspect she knew something, for she came home to Remenham House when she was increasing, and report has it that she was very unhappy. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem.
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