Chapter Thirty-One

Miriam heard steady footsteps on the uneven flagstones and tried to pretend she was invisible. If she didn’t move, nobody could see her. It was an old game she had played with her mother and sister. Poor Daphne. She hadn’t stood much of a chance, had she?

Curiosity overcame her, especially as the tell-tale creak indicated he had probably seated himself in the wooden chair beside the door. Miriam risked a peek, seeing a cap of blond hair in the style worn by page boys at the palace and a concealing black cloak covered in red fleurs-de-lys. The man did not look out of place in something which reminded her of an instrument of torture, though the long, arched backrest, now largely obscured, resembled the window in a church.

It confused her. Though the potion she had taken had helped to calm some of her nerves, it didn’t stop her mind from wandering – and remembering. She must stop that.

What was he doing, was he waiting for somebody else? Another man, perhaps. Miriam shivered.

She must