” When he brought home papers from Florence verifying that she had been declared dead having committed suicide the fateful day at the manor, she could barely believe Gianfrancesco’s signature at the bottom of the page. He was a wonderful little creature with a perfect tiny face, mottled pink cheeks, and eyes brighter than May. He used to live in a boarding-house in Russell Square. ” “You’d like to do that?” “Exactly. ” She could practically hear the self-deprecating thoughts racing across his mind, the failed hours of rehearsed lines. In mailing the tales he had not enclosed return postage or the equivalent in money. Come and see him, Lucia. He would provide the necessities of life and protect her.
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