Her glasses moved quickly as her glance travelled from face to face. It seemed as if each time her imagination reached out investingly, an invisible lash beat it back. Some years ago, in 1715, just before the Rebellion, I was rash enough to league myself with the Jacobite party, and by Wild's machinations got clapped into Newgate, whence I was glad to escape with my head upon my shoulders. But the Remenhams in the days of Charles the First, with the need for an escape route from Cromwell’s increasingly victorious forces, had cut a trapdoor through its floor into the cellars below, and thence hewn the long rough passageway that led underground right outside the boundary of the estate. This "fatal retreat for the unfortunate brave" was marked by a low wooden railing, within which stood the triple tree. It was the size of my palm. You don’t understand, Lucy, they just aren’t like that.
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