Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. When she finally did take her own lover, it was not with a member of the household staff. ‘Parbleu, the bullet is still inside you,’ Melusine guessed, remembering how the Mother Abbess had diagnosed Leonardo’s suffering when he had first come to the convent. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. If you can do any good with him, it's more than we can. ’ ‘But what a perfectly famous adventure. Everybody, he felt, must be listening behind their papers. ’ Gerald tutted. "A secret is too valuable a commodity to be thrown away. “Yes,” she said, “that is what we ought to do. And yet—Wait a little, you’d better have every bit of it. ” She felt humiliated. "Ah!" exclaimed Lady Trafford, exerting all her strength.
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