“You know of no one likely to have had a grudge against this man?” he asked. The Mother Abbess, while thankful, could not be brought to consent to allow the girl out of her charge alone with unknown servants, and Martha was delegated to accompany her erstwhile nurseling to the homeland she had thought never to see again. Just so had his subordinates shown their apprehension. “A lady, Dunster. Once before—but that had been different. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. It was your sister who married Sir John Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t it?” Anna nodded. So, while she watched, distressed and bewildered by her tumbling thoughts, the packet, Canton bound, ruffled the placid waters of the Pearl River. It’s a sort of home-leaving instinct.
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