The Mysterious Lord Marlowe

‘You look a little better, my lovely,’ Martha said, though Jane still had her eyes closed. ‘’Tis nothing but a bit of fever you’ve got. I’ll brew you one of Martha’s special tisanes and by morning you’ll be yourself again.’

Satisfied that the girl was not very ill, Martha left her to sleep and went down the stairs. Her one-time nurseling was at the kitchen table, eating a good part of her supper. She smiled her satisfaction, feeling pleased she had bothered to cook that evening, which was not always the case, for bread and cheese was her usual fare.

‘How is she?’ George asked, getting to his feet anxiously. ‘She will pull through?’

‘She has a little fever, but it will pass. Now sit down, finish your supper while I make a brew for her—and then you can tell me the whole story.’

‘Yes, I shall, because you too could be in danger, Martha. I brought Jane here because I wasn’t sure what to do or where to hide her—but I might have brought trouble on you.’

‘I’ve seen enough trouble in my time and I dare say I can manage, but you’d best tell me the truth, Master George, because if you lie I’ll know.’

‘I don’t want Jane to know my full name yet. She knows only that my name is George.’

‘So it is, though not the name most use for you.’ Martha frowned at him. ‘Why have you been lying to the poor lass? I hope she is not in trouble because of you?’

‘No, not exactly.’ George sighed and raked his thick dark hair back from his face. ‘I had better start at the begi

‘Ah, Verity is mixed up in this.’ Martha frowned. ‘I might have known. She was forever in a scrape when she was young and who did she ask to help her out? You’ve taken many a beating to save her, Master George.’

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