The sea outside Albion Villa had been stained a dark copper by the dusk; the roar of the tide was heavy, like a huge curtain, cutting the villa off from the world outside. The lights inside the house pierced the thick curtains and were sliced into fine golden threads.
Ever since Princess Victoria had gone back to her room the afternoon before last, she had not set foot outside again.
According to the Maid's reports, she was "feeling particularly unwell" and had even stopped writing her diary, which in her habits was almost unheard of.
The Duchess of Kent sat in a corner of the drawing room, a Nose Snuff Bottle in her hand, gazing uneasily at the Clock hanging above the mantelpiece.
In front of the fireplace, Conroy, as usual, staked out the spot by the window with steady assurance, gloves pinched in his hand, a kind of impatient composure on his face, as if he meant to press this matter down, just as he had done countless times before.
