Involuntarily Sir Anthony’s face softened. “My dear, I hate to leave you here,” he said.
The smile crept back into the grey eyes. “I was afraid you were angry with me, Tony.”
“I was,” he answered. “But you disarm anger. Will you not come with me?”
He was not to know how that shook her resolve. She shook her head. “Don’t ask me. I must stand by my word. If my father’s claim succeeds—”
There was a momentary tightening of the mouth. “If that tiresome old gentleman were not your father, Prue—”
Came the deep twinkle. “Oh, I know, sir! You would say to the devil with him. We often do.”
He laughed. “You’re a disrespectful couple. I believe I’ll postpone my visit to Hampshire.”
“If you would please me, Tony, you will go as you planned.”
“So that you may disappear while I am away?”
“Can you trust my word?” He nodded. “I won’t disappear. But I would rather that you went.”
“For a week I will, since you ask it of me. I wonder why you wish it?”
She had few feminine evasions at her command, few subtleties. “To say truth, sir, you shake my resolution.”
There was an eager look, dispelling sleepiness. “Give me back my promise!”
She shook her head, and smiled a little. “I hold you to it.”
There was no more to be said. He bowed. “I obey you—now. Take a lesson from me.”
She felt herself weakening. Lord, she desired nothing better than to do his bidding. It would not be wise to let him see that. She said lightly: “Oh, if you marry me in the end, sir, I promise you a dutiful wife.” Her eyes fell before the look in his. “As for your fears for me, you need have none, Tony. I’m not like to come to any harm.”
She did not know how exactly Miss Letty, all unconsciously, had described her to the gentlemen of the Law.
Nor did she suspect the hand of an enemy to be turned against her. She had forgotten Mr. Rensley, newly arisen from his bed of sickness.
Mr. Rensley, permitted to sit up in his room, heard the news of Markham’s death rather late in the day from his chatty surgeon. He was quite shocked, even a little put out. There had been a sudden coolness between himself and Markham, but this news was upsetting. He evinced a lively interest; the surgeon liked to talk; Mr. Rensley soon had all the circumstances from him. He was particularly anxious to know how the Merriots came to chance along the road at such a late and opportune hour. To one who knew of enmity existing between Mr. Merriot and Markham, the thing had a significance. When the surgeon had departed Rensley spent some time in earnest thought. Young Merriot had hung about the heiress quite noticeably; it was possible, nay, probable, that the original quarrel had sprung up out of some rivalry.
At the end of an hour’s cogitation Mr. Rensley told his aghast servant to order a chair, for he intended to go out.
The servant tried to dissuade him, but in vain. Mr. Rensley rather pale, and uncertain yet on his legs, sallied forth and was gone all the afternoon. When he returned he was certainly very tired, but his man had to admit the exertion seemed rather to have improved his condition than to have set him back. Indeed, Mr. Rensley came home with a pleasant feeling of having done his duty, and paid off a rankling debt.
What he had to say to the representatives of the Law was interesting to them, but created not much surprise. Suspicion had fallen on Mr. Merriot before Rensley spoke: his disclosures only served to strengthen suspicion. The Law went carefully to work. Miss Letty was questioned again, and stood fast to her description of a brown-haired man of medium height, with the air of a gentleman. Mr. Merriot now appeared in the light of a secret lover, and circumstances certainly rather damning were pieced together. The Authorities put wise heads together, and considered it time to act.
On Tuesday of next week two coaches set out on the road to Richmond. One was a smart chaise with arms on the doors, carrying Sir Anthony Fanshawe’s baggage down to Hampshire; the other was a sober vehicle, containing two sober gentlemen who held a warrant for the arrest of Mr. Merriot. This equipage set off shortly before four in the afternoon; Sir Anthony’s chaise started rather later, for my lady, softhearted towards a lover, had begged Sir Anthony to make Richmond his first day’s halt, and to rest at her house that night. Sir Anthony had accepted this invitation, though Richmond was not precisely on the direct route. That seemed to be immaterial. His chaise set forward in good time; Sir Anthony, not a man of sedentary habits, followed later on horseback.
At White’s in St. James’s my Lord Barham played at faro, and informed my Lord March genially that he hoped to give the pettifogging lawyers all the proofs they needed of
