” She pulled a small blue box out of the pocket of her hoodie. You tonic my liver and you tonic my soul. Ennison?” Sir John hesitated. A sound sleeper, she was not roused by the creaky openings and closings of drawers as Lucy packed a single duffle bag with underwear and soap that was pilfered from a multipack of Zest in the Beck’s downstairs bathroom. Too much, perhaps. Brendon’s had an awful stroke of luck. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. “You must answer me, Annabel,” she continued. ” “You all seem to be trying to pull my leg,” Sir John remarked quietly. ” “Mr. ’ ‘But, Hilary—’ ‘Don’t you begin, Lucilla, for I won’t stand for it.
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