’ Melusine’s heart leapt, and as swiftly clattered into dead stillness as the implication of the second name hit home. Papa has sent me to be religieuse. ‘Desist, you little devil,’ he growled in her ear. William Kneebone was a woollen-draper of "credit and renown," whose place of business was held at the sign of the Angel (for, in those days, every shop had its sign), opposite Saint Clement's church in the Strand. On a pallet in one corner lay a pale emaciated female. His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe. “Touch a hair on his head and you will insure that I will never make love to you again.
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