‘Jacques!’ Melusine dropped to her haunches beside his inert form, feeling for the wound. To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton. I won’t tolerate any foreign tongue in this house, least of all that confounded French. Gerald doubted there would be many eager suitors, even assuming the comtesse was keen to marry off her daughter to a foreign protestant. Too much, perhaps. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. The relationship seemed to have almost as much to do with blood and body as a mortgage.
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