“You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up. You are different, Lucia, undamaged even after what you have been through, still pure of heart. She would then hear his feet pounding up the steps and he would burst into whatever room she was sitting in and say, “There she is! My wife! Hiding her beauty from the world!” He would then run to her, grab her book or embroidery and unceremoniously toss them to the floor. He was not in love with her en désespoir which, he said, was necessary if a man would marry without getting a dowry from his wife. Martha had been careful to make no mention of Melusine, and did not reply to Mrs Ibstock’s enquiry about the fate of the little babe.
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