’ She flounced back to stare out of the window again. ’ To Gerald’s relief, the entrance of the butler interrupted them, relieving him of the necessity to explain himself. “Dear husband,” she murmured. A vein of conviction mingled with his burlesque. She knew his appetite from many a homemade dinner and knew also that he had taken Bitch Vorsack’s comments to heart. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. “To my chagrin, I have. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. You made that thing?” “From a kit.
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