The transformation of the Crone was more remarkable than was the change to Netherton Keep. Gone was the half-starved sunken-cheeked creature, the best of food, wine and clothes made her look every inch the governess. A fine woollen shawl over a simple dress completed the picture, her grey hair clean now and tied back in a severe bun, but the eyes of the Crone could not be disguised, still protruding, and the same cold grey as her brother Learmouth.
Morgana’s shape and size had remained the same; though clean and washed regularly, she still wore clothes a size or two too small, double chinned and round faced as ever, she wore her pride and joy, an ermine stole against the winter draught. Her stubby fingers covered with rings, little rolls of fat sticking out between them. Her father, thin and mean looking as ever, wrapped in an overlarge woolen blanket.
Mirless, now approaching his sixth birthday, was rapidly becoming a graceless, overweight and very spoiled child. He’d the same angular face as his grandfather, close-set eyes and a pudding basin hair cut with the beginnings of a double chin; he was dressed in a fine woolen tunic, leather jerkin, black canvas trousers and soft leather boots.