I have told you. Almost light-heartedly. A boy no older than she, Gianfrancesco’s cousin, whispered what he would like to do to her when she stole into the hallways near the women’s chambers to fix herself. But there was, it insisted, no mobility in his face, no movement, nothing about him that warmed. The ruse succeeded almost beyond his expectation. ‘Yes, do,’ approved Lucilla. Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. He embraced her small body in his arms, kissing her forehead over and over.
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