But he was not a father one could make much of. The family always managed to make it home for supper, even though it was a dying custom. ’ ‘Lady Bicknacre too,’ said Lucilla, a delight in her voice that grated on Melusine. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. She softened her tone and scrambled for the right words. What sort of a standard of life yours may be I do not know, yet in your heart you know very well that every word you have spoken to me has been a veiled insult, every time you have come into my presence has been an outrage. Gerald did not know who she was, but he knew who she was not.
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