"Shir Rowland Trenchard's affair— eh?" "That's it," rejoined Jonathan; "I expect him here every minute. His apparel was sumptuous in the extreme, and such as was only worn by persons of the highest distinction. 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. Purney, the present ordinary of Newgate. "Leave the room instantly, sirrah!" rejoined the lady, bouncing up, and giving him a slap on the cheek that made his eyes flash fire. "You can render no further service to your poor mother. He looked about for his hat, and put it on. I haven't touched the other.
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