It was a hoax, it was the only thing possible, until she heard Cathy say, “Let me hold those for you. Clarice loved babies as much as Lucia did and chattered about them day and night. At least I rather hoped I might spend my time chasing smugglers, which would have afforded some excitement. Take your half loaf with the others. It was not for a week or a month. That delightful sense of free, unembarrassed movement was gone. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent.
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