’ ‘No, perhaps not,’ Gerald agreed with a smile. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. A single glance served to show the thief-taker how matters stood. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. ’ ‘Gérard,’ she said, giving the French version with a soft “g” and not quite managing the “l”. ‘I’ve had enough of this. “I’ve brought you up some dinner, Vee,” she said. “Let me know the truth. He grunted a little with effort, and she realised the gilt frame must be heavy.
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