“Hey,” he said, his eyes slowly adjusting to the soft blackness. It had ceased raining, but the atmosphere was moist and chill, and the ground deluged by the recent showers. ‘Imbecile. Try something. Manning. ‘That there governess didn’t like it, of course, me being the lodgekeeper’s girl, and Martha just a country wench like me. If I had known that you had meant to talk like this I wouldn’t have come here. The key is in my trousers. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. "Choose, Jack.
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