She slipped on white thin-soled tennis shoes with no socks, her ankles exposed as Shari had once suggested they be worn. ‘Softly, you say?’ she uttered, raging. 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. There was nothing left now of the selfassured, prosperous man of affairs. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. And, if I'd my own way with the Secretary of State, he never should.
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