She had hardly noticed the loss of her dagger, so strong had been the waves of relief that attacked her on hearing that Jack had returned from death’s door. “Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded. With Baptist Kettleby, to engage in a matter is to go through with it. ‘It was your son who left the place empty then?’ he asked. Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. “What on earth did you expect me to do, then?” he asked. ‘Least of all, one who takes advantage of another’s misfortune.
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