She knew she was pregnant when she missed her period in the first weeks of August that year. Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. Little more’n a week. I could see his little animal brain churning away, inventing plans for me, formulating his revenge. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried.
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