’ ‘He did, you know,’ grinned Gerald. "I don't know how it is," he added in a low voice to Thames, as they were left alone, "but I've a strange foreboding of ill. Nevertheless, she was still fighting. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice. Teenagers buzzed about her newly discovered talent for the violin in the same sentences as they gossiped about her torrid police scandal and a lost mother who remained in the deep shadows of murder mystery. ‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted.
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