“I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. She could still smell the now familiar scent of him on the girl's body in the makeshift grave. “Not much. The baby boy was delivered in a sea of black blood, born dead and blue, and strangled by plague. “Nobody understands them, of course, but we all look as though we did. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. I'm a bit daffy about music. Jackson smiled and put on the air of a man who knows more than he cares to tell.
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