‘I do not remember the name,’ Melusine said, turning to Mrs Ibstock. There was a concerted gasp of shock from both the black-garbed lad and the coachman. Miching Mallecho. And I've made up my mind that a husband ought to believe only half that he hears, and nothing that he sees. 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. ‘Was this when Nicholas commended you to this Abbess?’ ‘But, yes. Her complexion had resisted the snow-glare wonderfully; her skin had only deepened its natural warmth a little under the Alpine sun. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense.
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