Anna was more difficult. “Yes. Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. Manning central in her mind. ‘No one would credit that you are three years older than I. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. He seemed to have shrunken in his seat. "May I ask whether you made any further inquiries into the mysterious affair about which we were speaking just now?" observed Jackson, turning to the carpenter. For a moment she thought of saying yes, and then filled with shame. Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean. The wine was sweetened with cinnamon and cloves and rare edible flowers, which her father had instructed her not to drink excessively of. "Don't ask me about it now.
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