It pained Lucy to see Mike eating so sparely. “Here goes,” he said. It was now a quarter past twelve. ‘Mademoiselle,’ he had greeted her, entering the little private parlour where, Martha being at prayer in their room, she sat alone, reading over and over the letter Mother Abbess had given her and revolving plans in her head. "I shall want a bottle or two of sack, and a flask of usquebaugh. I wish to prevent a repetition of any such errand as I presume you have come here upon this evening. To recreate the era, I deliberately tried to avoid creating a thinly disguised bodice ripper where an “empowered” woman mouthed off to prospective suitors in jerkins and tights, in other words, a typical romance novel.
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