She was, as Capes had said, a hard young woman. Like the Castle, which it resembled in all respects except that it was destitute even of a barrack-bedstead, the Red Room was reserved for state-prisoners, and had not been occupied since the year 1716, when the jail, as has before been mentioned, was crowded by the Preston rebels. It was a look that accorded very well with the hayloft setting that had come to mind. Lady Palsworthy was the widow of a knight who had won his spurs in the wholesale coal trade, she was of good seventeenth-century attorney blood, a county family, and distantly related to Aunt Mollie’s deceased curate. He was snoring stupidly. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband. She thought of how tired she was, how exhausted, how hungry.
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