Jack was a comical scoundrel, and made a little too free with his grace's best burgundy, as well as his grace's favourite housekeeper. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. He found himself thinking up all the psychology which he had ever read. Kneebone. Teenagers buzzed about her newly discovered talent for the violin in the same sentences as they gossiped about her torrid police scandal and a lost mother who remained in the deep shadows of murder mystery. "My horses, Charcam," he said, as a servant appeared. “I don’t want you to do it, to go on talking to me.
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