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A hollow plunge, echoed and re-echoed by the walls, marked his descent into the water. ‘Yes, don’t interrupt me,’ said Captain Roding severely. “I remember you now,” he said. It made her hungry. And she had not dressed herself in this habit of a blue so much like the sky just for his sake, no matter that Lucy had said how much this colour suited with her eyes. I can keep you. I got a rusty bolt cutter. Something in his tone pinched her heart. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent.

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