“I’ve got nothing in the world to pack with except a toy size portmanteau. " The knight staggered as if struck by a mortal wound. It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s own. To find the true father at the expense of the beautiful fairy tale Ruth had woven around the woman in the locket was an intolerable thought. She had known that Remenham House would be deserted, for Martha—released, as she had carefully explained to her charge, by her vows to God from servitude and obedience to Nicholas Charvill, a mere mortal—had begun a correspondence with a friend of her youth, Mrs Joan Ibstock, née Pottiswick.
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