There was only one prisoner in the ward. . ’ ‘I do not tell you why,’ the lady uttered flatly. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. ‘When you’re my age, you’ll be just as hardheaded. A stiff, formally-cut coat of cinnamon-coloured cloth, with rows of plate buttons, each of the size of a crown piece, on the sleeves, pockets, and skirts, reached the middle of his legs; and his costume was completed by the silver-hilted sword at his side, and the laced hat under his left arm. I’m making a mess of my life— unless you come in and take it. She drew a long breath. “Oh, Lucy.
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