She was a tall woman with an air of distant unconcern about her, hands and dress usually smeared with paint. She barely spoke at meals and was almost never to be seen round the house; Rufus had chalked her up as one step above the family ghost. Given the unexpected intervention, he might need to revise that. Matilda was glaring at her daughter. “Hold your tongue.” “Tell that to Father and you might get somewhere. You’ve both shouted over him every time he opened his mouth. If I were Oxney, I’d want to know why you were bullying his staff. As I’m not, I’ll merely ask why I have to sit and watch
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