She sat perfectly still, however. She glanced at the Frenchman, and found him struggling with the portrait that was embedded around his scalp. The bump was coarse and didn’t feel right. For a few minutes, Darrell seemed to have the advantage in the conflict. Even so much allusion as this to that family shadow, she felt, was an immense recognition of her ripening years. Stanley, whose family had been by any reckoning inconsiderable—to use the kindliest term. Darting quickly to the chest that contained the priest’s vestments, she leapt onto it and reached her arm down to scrabble behind it on the floor.
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