She had known that Remenham House would be deserted, for Martha—released, as she had carefully explained to her charge, by her vows to God from servitude and obedience to Nicholas Charvill, a mere mortal—had begun a correspondence with a friend of her youth, Mrs Joan Ibstock, née Pottiswick. ‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation. “Are we interrupting anything?” “No!” Martin jumped slightly. His physical body was predictably paralyzed with shyness and fear of rejection, barely soothed with a series 51 of blatantly direct requests and compliments. "We have him!" cried Jonathan, hurrying down the steps. ‘As for what to do, I wonder if young Charvill would be worth a visit.
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