Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. She had not felt comfortable in his presence from the first, and with Leonardo’s precepts in mind, was loath to trust him. Wood entered the room, followed by Thames. There were some deepseated fears of the rot spreading to England, if the simmering discontent of the peasantry of France were to erupt any further. Ann Veronica sat back with a sigh of relief. ‘Do not speak of him.
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