For five days The Tigress chugged her way across the burnished South China, grumpily, as if she resented this meddling with her destiny. It was her distinctive test of an emotional state, its interference with a kindly normal digestion. ‘You usually do,’ he said lightly. She tended the twins while the Clotilde was in Sebastian’s private chambers, a place she gave a wide berth. But some little distance behind him, someone had come out from the shadow of the building and, seeing the Frenchman reappear, darted back again as quickly. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask.
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