Prudence Remenham. “Thought so. I can’t. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. ‘And I’d like to know what the devil—’ ‘Out of town?’ repeated Melusine, stupefied. A young lad—Roding took him for a footman, or a groom by the neat black garb—was halted some paces away from Valade, his hat in his hand as he made pretence of fanning himself. Lucy cringed, her eyes widening.
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