Chapter Twenty-Two
It was a crisp, bright, early January day when I next stood on the quayside at Southampton, absorbing the bustle and clamour around me. Despite all that had happened so recently, I was surprised to find that I felt a little pang at the thought of leaving England again. I had no idea how long I should be gone—perhaps months or even years, and I could not help but regret the thought of abandoning so quickly what I had intended should be my new life back in the Old Country.
The past few weeks had been difficult ones. The news could not be suppressed and the whole of England had been abuzz with talk of the sensational events at Sissingham Hall. Perhaps only once in a century were the newspapers lucky enough to get hold of such a story—the murder of a titled man by his youn
