Others pulled hats over their noses, cowered in their seats, and feigned that all was right with the world. Having accomplished his intent, Gerald let the lad go and had himself driven back to Stratton Street. What was the fellow doing in this part of the town? Had not Lady Bicknacre said he was living at Paddington? The Frenchman, booted and neat in buckskin breeches and a plain frockcoat, a flat-brimmed hat on his head, paused a moment at an intersection with one of the roads leading north, apparently seeking a street sign. ‘The sisters here will not save you. . Melusine recognised the burly form of Captain Roding’s sergeant.
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