’ Chapter Six Creeping along the dark narrow passage, with lantern held well ahead to keep her step steady on the uneven stones—and to warn her of the advent of rats— Melusine kept her long petticoats fastidiously clear of the dirt with an efficient hand, a habit she had learned in the convent. There’s that old gentleman at the end of the table—Bullding his name is. Lady Lescelles, graceful, very fashionably but quietly dressed, leaned back and watched her with shrewd kindly eyes. “You are Mademoiselle Pellissier?” he asked, without rising to his feet. She recoiled. “You know what? You’re right. It is very possible that he will ask you to tell him before witnesses how you received your wound.
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