She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. Even that he was an interfering person, if he walked through that door this moment, she would fling herself at him and weep all over his chest. ‘But what in the world was she doing at Remenham House?’ ‘Your quickness is astounding, Lucy,’ Gerald told her admiringly. Sheppard despairingly. Who says that I am not Meysey Hill? I was trying to scare you. I won’t tolerate any foreign tongue in this house, least of all that confounded French.
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