A boy no older than she, Gianfrancesco’s cousin, whispered what he would like to do to her when she stole into the hallways near the women’s chambers to fix herself. Committing him to the custody of the others, Blueskin, followed by a numerous band, darted in that direction. Melusine fetched her stool and plonked it down next to her great-aunt’s chair. Her aunt was a long time before she answered. ‘Jacques, you have been very much my friend. “You frighten me!” He smiled at her indulgently. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. ‘Must be still downstairs.
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