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’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering. 55 <7> THE MANOR, 1349 They moved to the country manor in the autumn of 1349, when plague was still raging through the city. It forbids—all sorts of things. Perhaps that sealed letter was a form of confession, and thus relieved him on that score. The worst was over now. ’ ‘But Marthe, this is idiot. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance.
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