’ Hilary eyed him. ‘And why not?’ ‘Because,’ Gerald said matter of factly, ‘convent-bred jeune demoiselles do not commonly know how to handle either pistols or daggers. But still you have told me of my real mother when I thought it was Suzanne Valade. The other was helping Trodger with his operation upstairs. She doesn’t like you because she says the Beck’s are not ‘our kind of people’ which is her code for them not being rich enough. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. Lucy felt her heart splinter in her breast. A sound sleeper, she was not roused by the creaky openings and closings of drawers as Lucy packed a single duffle bag with underwear and soap that was pilfered from a multipack of Zest in the Beck’s downstairs bathroom. She struggled not to be afraid.
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