Prudence thought nothing at all of it; she was rather preoccupied with her own affairs, and showed but slight interest even when Robin spoke of John’s new behaviour. Robin became aware of the frequent absences of his faithful henchman, and receiving only evasive replies to a sharp question or two, immediately suspected activity on the part of my Lord Barham. Prudence said placidly that it was very possible she thought they were like to know all soon enough.
She was right: in a short while my lord came to pay a morning visit in Arlington Street, and having rapturously kissed my Lady Lowestoft’s hands, requested the favour of some private talk with his son.
My lady opined mischief to be brewing, shook a playful finger, and went off most obligingly.
Robin turned one of the bracelets on his arm, and shot a quick look at his father. “Well, sir?”
My lord dusted his sleeve with a lace handkerchief. “I come, my Robin, at last. There is work on hand for you, my son.”
“God be praised for that! Do I come out of these petticoats, sir?”
“For a little, son, for a little only! Patience! I unfold a miracle.”
“I’m all attention, sir. Let me hear it.”
My lord sat down by the window. There was a gleam in his eyes Robin knew full well, and the smile curling his lips was one of reflective pleasure. By the signs my lady was right, and there was mischief brewing indeed. “My son, I see the end of the road. It becomes plain at last. I arrange all with wonderful subtlety. You may say that I pull a string here, and a string there, and the puppets move.”
“Lord, sir! Am I one of your puppets?”
“But, of course, my Robin!” said his lordship affectionately. “I set the stage for you to play the hero. You shall thank me.”
“Shall I, sir? It’s a part I’m not in the habit of playing, that of hero.”
“I assign to you a role the most romantic,” announced my lord. “Certainly you shall thank me.”
“Well, let me hear it, sir. You become interesting.”
“I become dangerous, Robin—dangerous as only I can be. I am Nemesis, no less! And you—you are the instrument to my hand. You shall rescue a lady, and kill the villain.”
“Out, sword!” said Robin flippantly. “You hold me entranced, sir. Who is the lady?”
My lord looked surprised. “Who but the lady of your heart, my son? Do I arrange so clumsily?”
Robin stiffened. The flippancy left him, and he spoke crisply. “What’s this?”
“I kiss my fingers to her!” My lord made a gesture very French. “She is ravishing!”
“Who?”
My lord’s eyes widened reproachfully. “Why, Letitia, of course; I should not arrange for you to rescue another. Did you—it is really possibly that you thought I did not know? My son, my son, you grieve me, positively you grieve me!”
“Accept my apologies, sir. I suppose you know everything. But what’s this talk of rescues, and who’s your villain?”
“Gently, my hothead, gently! You shall know all. You will rescue her tomorrow night; the villain is my poor blundering friend of Munich days.”
“What! Markham again! You’re mad, sir; he would never dare a second time, nor she consent.”
“You discount my influence, Robin. Remember that she and Markham too are my puppets.”
Robin got up rather quickly. “What devilry’s this? Be plain with me, if you please, sir!”
My lord put the tips of his fingers together. “She elopes with my Munich friend tomorrow evening, from Vauxhall Gardens, whither she is bound.”
“She elopes!” Robin was thunderstruck. “And you tell me you arrange it!”
“Certainly,” said my lord. “It is entirely my doing. I am to be congratulated.”
“Not by me, sir,” said Robin, and there was an edge to the words.
“Even by you, child. You shall at last appreciate me. Sit down and all shall be told you.”
Robin sank back into his seat. “Go on, sir. I suppose one of us must be mad. Why have you arranged—if indeed you have—a thing so criminal?”
My lord reflected. “It seemed the most poetic justice,” he explained. “It is really exquisitely thought of.” He swung one foot, and smiled sweetly down at the silver buckle. “Nemesis!” he sighed. “My Munich friend thought me of so small account: I don’t forgive that. He conceived that he could bend me—me, Tremaine of Barham!—to his paltry will! He dared—you shudder at such temerity—he dared to use threats to me! He sees me as a cat’s-paw. Almost I can find it in my heart to pity him. But it was an impertinence.” He shook his head severely.
“Markham knows something of you?” Robin was frowning. “That letter?”
My lord raised his eyes. “My son, you have a little of my swiftness of apprehension. He had that letter of which I told you. How he came by it I do not know. I admit it freely: I do not know. It is entirely unimportant, or I should have found out. He brought it to my rooms. He demanded money.” His lordship laughed at the thought. “He was very clever, no doubt, but he did not know that he had chosen a man of supernatural parts for adversary. He showed me my own letter; he told me he knew me for Colney, and I
