“I don’t know how to prove myself to you, John. ‘I’m not going to arrest you, young Jack—yet. ToC London, at the period of this history, boasted only a single bridge. Bah! She does not know me very well, and you—not at all. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side.
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