Something softened in Melusine’s chest. ‘He lacked moral fibre, did Nicholas. She never forced the issue, it was their father’s job. It was. There was barely room for one, let alone two, in the passage, and Melusine ended up backwards, supporting Jack as best she could as he stumbled along, grasping the rough walls on either side with both hands. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. Her knees were trembling, her whole frame was shaken with sobs. He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. “Mary!” He whispered loudly.
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