“I beg your pardon, sir,” Prudence bowed. “Say then only that Sir Anthony knows the truth concerning us.”
“I deplore the indiscretion,” said my lord. He became reproachful. “Never divulge more than is necessary, my Prudence. Surely I taught you that lesson many years ago!”
“To be frank, sir, the gentleman had already guessed it.”
Robin arose from his seat by the window. “No matter. The whole scheme was complicated beyond your imagination, Sir Anthony.”
“Subtle,” amended his lordship.
“Tortuous, sir. You’re to know, Fanshawe, that my father was unwise enough to set his name to a certain treasonable letter.”
“An indiscretion,” said my lord. “I admit it. But it was not my own name, Robin. Do not forget that.”
Sir Anthony was surprised. “I had not thought that of you, my lord. It seems unlike you.”
My lord was at once benevolent. “You are blessed with a good understanding, my dear sir. I have admitted an indiscretion. One is sometimes carried away by one’s enthusiasms. You see that even I can make mistakes. A lesson may be learned from that.”
“Give me leave, sir,” interrupted Robin. “This letter, Sir Anthony, came into the hands of the late Mr. Markham, who thought to sell it to my father at a fabulous price. You take me?”
Sir Anthony nodded. “There’s a ray of daylight,” he said.
“There shall be more. My father held in his possession a letter writ by Sir Humphrey Grayson, containing half-promises to help the Prince’s cause. It does not surprise you?”
“Only that your father should have the letter. The rest I knew.”
“Then there is nothing in the world to surprise you. When you know my father better you will know that he would of course hold the letter.”
“Don’t cry God forfend, sir!” Prudence said on a chuckle. “Spare our filial feelings!”
My lord held up his hand. “My daughter, Sir Anthony must surely realise that it is a privilege to know me.”
Sir Anthony’s mouth twitched at the corners. “I wonder if Markham thought so?” he said. “Proceed, Robin. I begin to understand.”
“My father, sir, exchanged letters, and that is all there is to it. He assures me that there were at least a dozen other ways of getting Markham’s paper from him, but this one appeared to him to be the neatest.”
“Of course,” said his lordship. “It needs no explanation. I was able thus to rid myself forever of my Munich friend, and to present my son to Miss Grayson in the role of a hero. I surpassed myself.” He became aware of Sir Anthony’s wondering gaze upon him, and waved his handkerchief gracefully. “You are spellbound. I expected it. You can never before have seen my like.”
“Never, upon my honour!” said Sir Anthony emphatically.
“And you never will again, my son,” said his lordship with a touch of vicarious regret.
“Thank God fasting,” advised Robin.
Sir Anthony laughed suddenly. “No, it is a privilege,” he said. “I would not forgo your acquaintance, sir, for the worlds. My horizon broadens every hour.”
My lord smiled graciously. “That was inevitable,” he said. “It could not be otherwise.”
Sir Anthony walked to the window and back again, struggling with varied emotions. At last he turned, and made a gesture of despair. “Sir, you demoralize me. Until the privilege of knowing you was conferred upon me I protest I led a sober life, and my opinions were all respectable. I find myself walking now in your train, sir, caught up in I know not what lawless schemes, and I perceive with horror that the day approaches when I shall be lost to all sense of propriety and order.”
My lord acknowledged a compliment. “I had once some acquaintance with a Jesuit father,” he said reminiscently. “That was in the days of my youth. I profited by it. Yes, I learned some few things.”
“More than the Jesuit father taught you, I’ll lay my life,” said Robin.
“Yes,” admitted his lordship. “But then, my son, his brain had its limits.”
“Have you limitations, my lord?” asked Sir Anthony.
My lord looked at him seriously. “I do not know,” he said, with a revealing simplicity. “I have never yet discovered them.”
Came my Lady Lowestoft into the room in a fine bustle. Her sharp eyes darted from one guest to the other. “Tiens! Such a party!” She untied the strings of her mantle, and cast it from her. “Robert, I know very well you have done some wickedness! Your children of a certainty did not visit friends at Barnet last night.” She pointed an accusing finger. “It is my belief Robin killed the Markham—by your orders, Robert! It is a scandal! a madness! I gasp at it!”
“A time-thrust,” nodded my lord. “Superb!”
“What’s that? What is it, a time-thrust?” cried my lady.
“You would not understand, my dear Thérèse. It is to lunge as your opponent lunges—you may judge how ticklish!—to parry his blade as you come through, and to pass on with not the smallest check to—the heart, was it not, my son?”
“Then it is true!” said my lady. She seemed to have no interest in the brilliance of Robin’s swordplay, unlike Sir. Anthony, who was looking at Robin with an appraising, marvelling eye. “Good God, Robert, what shall come of this?” She pounced on Sir Anthony. “And you! Do not tell me you had a hand in this too!”
“Alack, ma’am, no.”
My lady put her hands to her temples. “The head turns on my shoulders. Of a certainty we are all mad!” She sat down weakly. “You want to end at Tyburn, all three?” she demanded.
“I’m inclined to think the honour of being executed on Tower Hill must be conferred upon the old gentleman at least,” said Prudence. “Tyburn might do for us, I suppose.”
“You are ridiculous, Thérèse.” My lord was severe. “What have the Merriots to do with duels and masked men?”
“I may be ridiculous,” said my lady, “but this I say! the sooner you end this masquerade the better now. Mark me well! We will retire to Richmond, my children. Then if the wind of suspicion should blow your way—eh, but
