An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. The well of tears in her eyes was dry. She followed the landlady half way up-stairs, and called up to Ann Veronica, “May I come up? It’s me! You know—Nettie Miniver!” She appeared before Ann Veronica could clearly recall who Nettie Miniver might be. She tended the twins while the Clotilde was in Sebastian’s private chambers, a place she gave a wide berth.
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