Anne sat waiting for the officer, silently growing angrier by the moment. What absolute amateurs the Whitby police were. Not only had that idiot walked in on her when she was half-dressed. He also clearly didn't know what to do and it all took ages. She had wanted them to go down to the manor to question her husband, or even arrest him. But by this time the boar might have sobered enough to be clever about it and come across and sane and decent - rather than the drunk ogre he really was.

Damn them. If Anne were a man, she'd go into local government and reform the police department top to bottom. Of course, she wasn't a man, and if her husband was anything to go by, the influential men in town could hardly wipe their own arses, let alone improve the world around them. She hated all of them. She hated depending on them even more. Yet she would play the game and cherish what little power she could obtain by it. And so she was ready to put her handkerchief back to her mouth and look distraught the moment she heard someone approach.