‘Oh, you may come to me on any mission you like,’ uttered Mrs Sindlesham roguishly. She’s naïve, and yet uncannily shrewd at times, and you daren’t rely on anything she says. But how close? She glanced about at the shrouded furnishings for possible cover. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. ‘It were that there major, miss.
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