Chapter Twelve
‘Tell me of my brother.’
The hour was far advanced, and with the ball to prepare for, Bessie had begun to think some time since that she would like to seek her bed. But the fetch had summoned her to the library after dinner, and had not yet permitted her to leave.
This would suit Bess’s purposes admirably, if only the fetch would consent to entertain her invited guest with conversation. But she appeared to be in a brooding humour and sat in near silence, staring at the large fire that she had ordered lit.
And now, it seemed, it was to be Bessie who must talk. But the question intrigued her, and told her a little in itself. The fetch’s ostensible requirements for Bess had been satisfied; her knowledge of Lincolnshire, its environs and its families had been exhausted. That
