“Who killed her husband?” “Go and nurse him, missus!” “Murderess!” Anna looked from left to right. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. “It is about your sister, Lady Ferringhall. . And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and since—then—I haven’t had a minute’s peace. No one had lived here since old man Remenham had died some eighteen months ago, for the heir, so it was rumoured, was a relative with property of his own. I’ve—dreads. The whole of that relationship persisted in remaining obscure.
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