’ *** Everett, General Lord Charvill, master of a barony stretching over a wide estate that encroached on the hundreds of Witham, Thurstable and Dengy, stood before his own fireplace, glaring at his visitors from under bushy white brows from a head held necessarily low above a back painfully bent by rheumatism. “I see the pointer,” she said. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares. ‘Who’d believe me? And I’d have to tell my part in it all, too.
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