‘He arst me to find him someone who might go with you. But to England we will go. Never did I need a rescue so much. ’ Grudgingly, the sergeant shifted aside and allowed her access to the stairs, grumbling to her retreating back, ‘If I’d me way, missie, I’d send you back to France where you ought never to have come away from, if you arst me. It was easy enough to lie to anyone else. “No, no,” she cried. There he paused again, half turning his back and pretending to look for someone among the soldiers on the benches. He groaned, much to Melusine’s relief. I have a good memory, you perceive, Sir Rowland.
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