She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. “Good-looking rascal she met at Worthing. I didn’t believe him and I said so. I think he got sick of us and he disappeared not one week later. ’ He saw that Mrs Sindlesham, for all her vaunted freedom of speech, was honestly shocked by this revelation. Keep a sharp look out, Austin, and see that we lose no one else. Would it be Thérèse?’ She shook her head.
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