Her aunt returned before the packing was done, and Ann Veronica lunched with an uneasy sense of bag and hold-all packed up-stairs and inadequately hidden from chance intruders by the valance of the bed. At the back of her mind, Melusine noted an odd look in the boy’s face, but there was no time to explore it. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. She was the first to recover herself.
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