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Spurlock's vision was oddly of the past. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. ‘Your niece, ma’am. But he dismissed that because then she would ask her lover and not him all these things. While this was effected, intelligence was brought that a formidable mob was pouring down Field Lane, the end of which was barricaded. Did he intend to kill her now, this instant? Or had she a moment or two to try to save herself? Recalling Leonardo’s dictum, she did not struggle, for that would only tighten the trap about her, and perhaps even spring it. ‘So it is that you have made Jacques betray me.
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