Sheppard, which she gratefully declined. The stench was cheese-like and unbearable and Lucy dry-heaved. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. “It isn’t anything to do with our times particularly. “What has he to do with it?” “He was your sister’s master—her friend.
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