His instinct was in the direction of considering his daughters his absolute property, bound to obey him, his to give away or his to keep to be a comfort in his declining years just as he thought fit. He was almost frightening in silhouette, his hair uncontrollable under the best of circumstances, but that changed when you saw his face. ‘Is she the Frenchie we’ve been watching for then, sir?’ The lady’s furious features turned on this new target. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. “You’re a student, perhaps?” said the tall woman. Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance.
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