Ramage raised a hand to hail a passing carriage, realized he had no money and began striding up the steep cobbled slope of Convent Lane. With an irritation verging on petulance he reviewed his meeting with the Commissioner. It had begun with almost effusive congratulations, but the old fool ended...
‘Are you comfortable?’ he whispered to the girl in Italian. ‘Yes, thank you. Will your people come?’ ‘I hope so. We deserve some good luck.’ ‘Yes – touch iron!’ ‘Touch some wood as well.’ ‘Why?’ ‘In England we touch wood for luck, not iron.’ He saw her reach out and feel for the bottom boards on ...