“I was sick of the make-believe. Some years ago, in 1715, just before the Rebellion, I was rash enough to league myself with the Jacobite party, and by Wild's machinations got clapped into Newgate, whence I was glad to escape with my head upon my shoulders. She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. ‘She has constituted herself leader of the émigrés here, and feels justifiably slighted by having taken the pretend Valades under her wing. . . Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. ’ ‘What?’ Hilary glanced from Gerald to Melusine, and coloured up.
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