The account of the discovery of Sir Rowland's murder filled Winifred with alarm; but when she learnt what had befallen Thames—how he had been stricken down by the thief-taker's bludgeon, and left for dead, she uttered a piercing scream, fainted, and would have fallen, if Jack had not caught her in his arms. 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. I know who hits hardest. Reverse psychology or something, it’s like she was trying to draw him nearer by pushing him away. Wood, in equal trepidation. She made a slow tour of the front of the house without success, and then started back along the rooms behind, dragging open the drapes each time to get just enough light to recognise what was on the walls. Yet there was nothing for her to do. The joke of it is that he’s married to her now, and cuts me dead.
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