"Caught!" shouted the head-turnkey. The Jacobite. To recreate the era, I deliberately tried to avoid creating a thinly disguised bodice ripper where an “empowered” woman mouthed off to prospective suitors in jerkins and tights, in other words, a typical romance novel. ‘Dare I suppose that to be of her making?’ Gerald flushed. ‘Merely making a useful contact. It was his purpose to complete four or five stories before he sent any away. I don't ask you to supply my place—for that is, perhaps, impossible. Still, there certainly was something in the idea of a treaty. You've your own reasons, no doubt, for bringing up her son —perhaps, I ought rather to say your son, Mr.
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