Never mind. 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. Winifred's reception was kind, but more distant, and after the slight ceremonial she resumed her occupation. ‘No sense in snooping about down here,’ Gerald whispered. Tomorrow you will feel like a freed woman. It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock.
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