He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. That boy was the carpenter's apprentice, Jack Sheppard. Diane replied, “Is there something wrong with that, Michelle? This is my house too, you know. You seemed complete—without that. Under her feet lay intricate mosaics, and each warm hall was festooned in tapestries. Every inch of the house felt safe to her, small and welcoming. "Do nothing without consulting my father—your father, Thames," she implored. Brown was no fool, and he understood the sudden onus of the other children to share the limelight. "Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper.
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