‘Jarvis Remenham was your mother’s father. ‘Jacques? You have done it? He is alive?’ ‘Oh, he’s alive, all right,’ confirmed the sergeant, putting the petrified Pottiswick—stockstill and staring in horror at the dagger—firmly out of his way and taking his place before Melusine. ‘We was of an age, you see, miss. “Is it your maid?” he asked. He was full of fabulous stories, not just tales of his own past in Rome but wonderful fables from the mysterious Orient and the ancient Greeks, old jokes and yarns that only he remembered. ” He was bereft of words for a moment, and in that moment she escaped, having passed him on deftly to one of the later arrivals. He glanced up.
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