Mother had forced Lucy to memorize the ingredients of the stews, fairly beating them into her, spanking her backside when she rebelled. Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking—well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year. “What about blood banks? Have you ever tried them?” “I don’t just take blood, John. ‘Marry an Englishman! Which Englishman?’ Melusine shrugged. She had refused to eat human beings when she had first learned her fate. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery.
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