She had known that Remenham House would be deserted, for Martha—released, as she had carefully explained to her charge, by her vows to God from servitude and obedience to Nicholas Charvill, a mere mortal—had begun a correspondence with a friend of her youth, Mrs Joan Ibstock, née Pottiswick. The great ordeal—that which she had most dreaded—had proved to be no ordeal at all. ‘You think I am like that Valade? No, a thousand times. In this way, Jack was brought back to Newgate, and again chained down in the Middle Ward. He beamed a little as she disappeared into the orchestra room, a cacophony of tuning instruments.
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