She fluttered it with a trembling hand, averting her eyes from his, and he could hear her uneven breath behind it. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. ‘Pig, miss?’ ‘The one who calls himself Valade, idiot,’ snapped Melusine impatiently. The affair was thick with sinister suggestions. Wood fancied he recognised. A piece of old blanket was fastened across her shoulders, and she had no other clothing except a petticoat.
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