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. ’ ‘That’s just it,’ said Joan Ibstock shamefacedly. Funny how all but the most cunning and promiscuous teenage girls never caught on, not in 1400, certainly not now. “I fail to see the joke,” Sir John said. Hidden menace; a prescience of something dreadful about to happen. He knew that he could translate literally. “If you say so, Lucy. McClintock. I’m sorry. ‘If you had told him that I would rather die than see him, he would not have come.
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