” She gestured to an abandoned farmhouse down a long stretch of icy dirt road. The guests congregated within the night-cellar were, in fact, little better than thieves; but thieves who confined their depredations almost exclusively to the vessels lying in the pool and docks of the river. We made sure it was just like Gwen. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. ‘Why did he make me French, Marthe? Why did he give me this name of Melusine, and say I am born of Suzanne Valade?’ Martha looked at her, but her lips remained firmly closed.
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