A door slammed. Following him, and acting out of instinct rather than intent, Melusine took a firm grasp of the gilt frame with both hands, lifted it high in the air and, with a shrieking curse, brought it down hard. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. He grunted a little with effort, and she realised the gilt frame must be heavy. The owner of this dress had a broad weather-beaten face, small twinkling eyes, and a bushy, grizzled beard. “What you have said is a ridiculous falsehood,” she declared scornfully. “Mind my smoking?” said Roddy. ’ Melusine’s arm crept up around his neck.
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