‘We’ll go to your mother’s rooms. Cherry!’ He’d seen Cherry below, in the hall, and half carried Sylvie down the stairs. ‘Cherry, I’m taking Sylvie over to Miranda in the Tudor wing. We don’t have a lot of time. Get her something to eat quickly – anything – and bring it there, would you?’ ‘Yes, sir, yes!’ said Cherry. ‘Poor little mite.’ Miranda hugged Sylvie as if she’d snap her in half. Then she held her daughter at arm’s length and surveyed her carefully. ‘I’ve been so worried about you, darling. Oh, look at the state of you! It’s even worse than Hazel told us. Is she drunk, Clip?’ He nodded, guiding the swaying girl to an armchair in the little sitting room. She sank gratefully into its depths, a pathetic huddle with white face and vague eyes. ‘He’s obviously dosing her up with mead to keep her quiet and obedient – Hazel was right. And Yul told us about the cakes. I know only too well just what they can do to you. Is that right, Sylvie?
