She stared at him and thought the words, “My husband, my husband. By rights I ought to have arrested her days ago. She found him reclined, watching television in a small guest room hidden in a back wing of the massive house. She tiptoed into the entryway where some decorator had placed a live orchid upon a glassy ebony table. “Won’t you tell me why you have come to England?” she said. But the Remenhams in the days of Charles the First, with the need for an escape route from Cromwell’s increasingly victorious forces, had cut a trapdoor through its floor into the cellars below, and thence hewn the long rough passageway that led underground right outside the boundary of the estate. Firmly built, as it was, the bridge creaked in such a manner with their contending efforts, that Abraham durst not venture beyond the door, where he stood, holding the light, a horrified spectator of the scene. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. She pulled her hand away quickly.
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