’ ‘A pox on the creature,’ swore Mrs Sindlesham, clenching and unclenching her stiff fingers. She kissed him on the bridge of his nose. Mary Remenham had passed on her every feature to the daughter whose advent had taken her from this world. Only a son’s another story. She had looked up from her seat at the small round table in the centre of the parlour which, together with the wooden armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a sideboard next the single casement, was all the furniture the place afforded. The eyes left him, searching beside the chair for her cane. She came with such force that she feared he might be pushed out from 193 the contractions, which did not happen. ‘Because he knows you for an imposter,’ Melusine flashed. He called here on his way back, after he had been to Bedlam to visit poor Mrs.
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