I met you here as Lady Ferringhall. The key's in the lock, on the inner side. . I suppose it depends on her own state of mind. It must be sent home this evening. She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. Better check on Remenham House, I suppose. 32 The curtains and tapestries had appeared over the windows before Marina had died, growing moldy from the dampness and the oils of lavender, clove, and clary sage soaking them. Rowland's plans were quickly formed, and as quickly executed.
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