“One might have expected it, but no. Doña Dominica took no hurt, though her father died soon after his landing. She is under the guardianship of her good aunt, Doña Beatrice de Carvalho.”
“Thank you for that information,” thought Sir Nicholas, and made a mental note of the name. Aloud he said: “But this is a wonder that you recount, señor! To escape unhurt from the clutches of so desperate a villain as this Beauvallet!” His shoulders shook ever so slightly.
A gentleman standing close to them turned his head and looked keenly. He bowed to Don Juan, and again to the Chevalier. “Your pardon, señor, but you spoke a certain name. Has that freebooter been taken at last?”
Don Juan made the introduction, but it was Beauvallet who answered. “Nay, nay, señor! Surely he bears a charmed life? I have heard men say so.”
“As to that, we shall see, señor,” said the newcomer. “You have set eyes on him, maybe?”
“I have seen him, yes,” Sir Nicholas answered. The long fingers that swung his pomander gently to and fro never quivered. “In Paris, where he sometimes visits.”
Don Juan displayed a lively curiosity. “Is it so indeed? And is he as mad as they say? They tell us, who have had dealings with him, that he is a man with black hair who laughs.”
White teeth gleamed for a moment. “Yes, he laughs, señor,” said Sir Nicholas. A chuckle came, they little knew how audacious. “I dare swear if he stood in this room surrounded by his enemies at this moment, he would still laugh. It is a habit with him.”
“One hardly credits it, señor,” the stately gentleman replied. “There would very soon be an end to his laughter.” He bowed slightly, and passed on.
Don Diaz came up at that moment, and laid his hand on Beauvallet’s arm. “I have been searching for you, Chevalier. I would present you to a countryman of yours: your ambassador, M. de Lauvinière.”
Not by the flicker of an eyelash did Beauvallet betray how unwelcome this courtesy was to him. Danger crouched before him; he went smiling towards it: Beauvallet’s way!
Don Diaz led him across the room, and spoke in a soft undertone. “It is judged best, señor, that no secret should be made of your visit to Madrid. M. de Lauvinière might then suspect. I need not warn you to be on your guard with him. There he stands, near the door.”
The Frenchman was a man with grey hair and a hook nose. His eyes were deep-set, and he looked piercingly. Upon Don Diaz’s presentation of the Chevalier he bowed, and looked with a keenness that probed deep. “A cousin of the Duc de Guise?” he said. “I do not think. …” He frowned a little, and his eyes never wavered from Beauvallet’s face. “But I claim the very slightest acquaintance with the Guises.”
Therein lay a certain safeguard, thought Beauvallet. It was not to be expected that a member of the Court party would be on terms of friendship with the great Guise family.
“I am a distant cousin of the Duc’s, monsieur,” said Sir Nicholas.
“So?” De Lauvinière looked still more searchingly. “Of what branch of the family, monsieur, if one may ask?”
It would not do to hesitate. “Of the junior branch, monsieur. The Duc is my cousin in the second degree.”
“I have heard of you, monsieur,” the ambassador said. “I had thought you a younger man. Do you make a long stay in Madrid?”
“Why no, monsieur, I believe not. I have a desire to visit Sevilla and Toledo.”
“Ah yes, you should certainly journey south,” nodded de Lauvinière.
A lady came up on the arm of her husband to claim his attention. Beauvallet drew back thankfully. Had he been vouchsafed a glimpse of a postscript added to de Lauvinière’s letter home, and despatched upon the morrow, it might have shaken his nerve.
“I should be glad,” wrote his excellency, “if you would discover what age man is the Chevalier Claude de Guise, cousin to the present Duc. Let me have what news you can hear of him, in especial of what like he is, of what height, and of what lineaments. Your assured friend, Henri de Lauvinière.”
X
In bed next morning Sir Nicholas sipped a cup of chocolate and gave ear to his servant. Joshua had the news he wanted, and imparted it after his own fashion as he laid out his master’s dress. A bottle of wine with the landlord of the Rising Sun had loosened a tongue that dealt much in gossip. Who so clever as Joshua Dimmock at finding out information? Let Sir Nicholas be at ease: the lady was found.
“In the guardianship of her aunt. I know,” Sir Nicholas said.
Joshua was put out. “Ay, so it is, and Don Manuel dead these three months. The lady inherits all—all!”
“That does not concern us,” said Beauvallet. “She cannot carry her lands to England.”
“True, master, very true. But here is somewhat you may not have heard. Her espousals are talked of.”
Sir Nicholas yawned. “They will be more talked of yet,” said he.
“Master, the tale runs that she will wed her cousin, one Diego de Carvalho.”
“So-so!” said Beauvallet. “Early days to talk of betrothals yet. Cousin, eh? That means a dispensation, or I’m much at fault.”
“You mistake me, sir: nothing is yet done. These are rumours.” He laid a finger against his nose. “This gives to think, master. I learn that the Carvalhos are as poor as may be. Nothing to gape at there, you say. True; there seem few enough nobles here with coins to rub together. Curious, curious! And yet so much pomp! We do not use that way in England. Under my breath I say it; have no fear of me. Perpend then, master. What if this aunt—her name is Beatrice, for your better information—hath made a little plot to possess herself of all this wealth?”
“Very possible,” nodded Sir
