He looked from the sword to the dagger with which he had brought her down here, and grimaced. I’ve had it, Sheila. I am dreadfully sad. It was the bitterest moment of her life. ‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely. Thankfully, he seemed pleased the moment he saw her face, which her mother had made her wash for weeks with the pulp of apples, orange water, and 21 extract of borage among other things. He could not know about the Remenham connection, could he? No one knew but her father and Martha. My concept of the reluctant vampire sprung from a rabid obsession with medieval history, especially the pre-Renaissance era of the Black Plague.
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