“How’d you know it was me?” He looked conspiratorially into the room for hidden informants. Better come another morning. He remembered also, all at once, the very first words he had heard her speak: “I was not born to this. ” Anna’s demeanour was still imperturbable, her marble pallor untinged by the slightest flush of colour. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. Then Sheila noticed the stains. The man looked as though he would have liked to deny it, but could not. A native of Manchester, he was the son of Kenelm Kneebone, a staunch Catholic, and a sergeant of dragoons, who lost his legs and his life while fighting for James the Second at the battle of the Boyne, and who had little to bequeath his son except his laurels and his loyalty to the house of Stuart.
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