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" "Are you ready?" said Trenchard, striding towards the door. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. Sheila had dropped glaring hints that she knew, which Chuck tacitly acknowledged with a lowered gaze. The twins weren’t far behind, they got put into the psych ward too. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that the divine fire was hers. She had always had a wonderful ear for phrasing, even back in the days of the viol.

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