So he snatched up her hand. “Come on, Scurry girl.”
Patrick pulled me through the courtyard, around the groups of children resorting to schoolyard games in their boredom. I went without protest.
It was hot. I was tired and hungry and sick of waiting. I was fizzling with an anticipation I couldn’t bury. It was a relief to move.
I realized too late where he was leading me. His fingers curled tightly into the back of my hand and pulled me down the side of the building where several children sought shade and the servants of the National House smoked. There was nothing here but more sandstone perimeter, more ivy climbing the limescale walls, more dust and dirt underfoot. The lane was filled with horses and carts and wagons of all sizes. Drivers bellowed at one another to make way as they cam
