Mother fretted. Father said nothing. My tutors seemed vaguely pleased that I would be kept inside.
I never told Mycroft, but it was his fault.
"You can't have," he retorted, when I mentioned I had climbed the cliffs near our summmer house.
"I just did," I said, still sweating a little – I had run home to tell him of my victory.
"Do it again," he said, "and this time write your name at the top. Then I'll believe you."
I was fourteen when I broke my ankle. Mycroft looked at me derisively and said, "Well, what did you expect?"