Her stifled misery had betrayed her. You have set out to do something which is neither God's way nor man's. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. She looked more than her sixty odd years, in spite of a still lush head of black hair, streaked with a little grey, which was visible under her cap and of immediate interest to Gerald. I would be the kidnapper, of course, but we would forge ransom notes and exchange monies so that it appeared you were taken by brigands or plotters against the Iovelli family. I have tried not to tell you—tried to be simply your friend. There, that sounds frightfully involved, doesn’t it, but perhaps you can make out what I mean. Indeed I am! I would make this country a collective monarchy, and all the girls and women in it should be the Queen.
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