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  This produced quite a sensation. Miss Letty said with spirit: – ‘I did not care whether I fell into a highwayman’s hands so long as I was rid of that odious Abductor.’

  It was felt that there was some sound sense displayed in this, but still it was unusual for a lady to be so completely at ease with a couple of highwaymen.

  Miss Letty thought it best to adhere as closely as possible to the third man’s tale. She avowed unblushingly that the highwayman who had fought the duel was of medium height, had brown hair, and was nothing out of the ordinary in appearance. When asked if he was not, as the coachman said, a man of polished address, she seemed uncertain. She would hardly say he had polish, but she admitted he had something of the air of a gentleman. Yes, he had kissed her hand, certainly, but to her mind that was little better than an insult considering he had previously nicked her pearls from her. ‘Whoever it was,’ she announced, ‘he rescued me from a monster, and I am very grateful to him.’

  Faced with the question of abduction, the questioners shook dubious heads. That was a criminal offence, but murder on the King’s Highway –.

  Miss Letty broke in hotly with a flat disclaimer. She turned to the coachman and demanded whether it was not a fair duel. Perceiving that his late master was in danger of being convicted – if you could convict a dead man, of which ticklish point he was not certain – of abduction, the coachman bestowed some of his support on the other side. Decidedly it had been a fair fight, so far as he was able to judge.

  The affair was, in fact, a strange mystery, but the officers of the Law hoped to unravel it.

  Sir Humphrey shook his head gravely when he found himself alone with his daughter, and said only that they were not likely to hear the end of this for many a long day.

  Twenty-six

  Arrest of Mr Merriot

  My Lady Lowestoft was true to her word: she bore her guests off to the Richmond house, and gave there, lest any should think the retirement suspicious, a large ball. All London came, including my Lord Barham, who was over-poweringly resplendent in silver brocade, and wonderfully benign. Sir Anthony Fanshawe was also there. He danced several times with Miss Merriot, and Mr Molyneux was inclined to think that there was a match in that direction. Quite a number of people were of his opinion: Prudence told Robin she was growing jealous.

  She had a little tussle of wills with the large gentleman that evening: he was pledged to visit his sister, and he wanted to take Prudence with him. She would have none of it; she, too, had some strength of purpose and her nay could be very steadfast.

  She had, in fact, small desire to be presented to my Lady Enderby in her present guise. Sir Anthony guessed something of this, and drew a reassuring picture of his sister. She was, he said, a comfortable soul, with no respect for conventions. Still Prudence held to her refusal. To go down to Hampshire with Sir Anthony meant that she must marry him forthwith; she wanted to see first the issue of the old gentleman’s claim. Sir Anthony must be guarded against himself.

  It cost her something to stand out so resolutely against him; for all her calm she was troubled, and looked wistfully when Sir Anthony ceased to press her. She had seen that expression in his face once or twice before; she remembered how at the very outset she had remarked to Robin that she would not choose to cross him. Well, it was true, and he was an ill man to withstand. But one had one’s pride after all. Egad, it was a poor love that could wish to see the gentleman pulled down to marry an adventuress. That sister of his had probably some views other than he knew of on the subject of his marriage. My Lord Barham’s daughter would be well enough; an impostor’s daughter very ill indeed.

  She stood still before him, a slim figure in dove-gray velvet, one hand fingering the black riband that held her quizzing-glass, and her tranquil eyes resting on his face. Even though he was angry with her for her obstinacy he could find it in him to admire the firm set of her mouth, and the clean-cut determination of her chin. She had spirit, this girl, in the man’s clothes, and with the man’s brain. Ay, and she had courage too, and a calmness of demeanour that pleased. No hysterics there; no sentimentalism; no wavering that one could see. Bravery! He warmed to the thought of it. She made nothing of this masquerade; she had faith in herself, and for all the restfulness that characterized her, that slow speech, and the slow smile she had, the wits of her were quick, and marvellously resourceful. She would fleece the wolf at cards, flash a sword out on a party of Mohocks, and stand by with a cool head while her brother fought a grim duel. She could even contemplate a duel on her own account without outward flinching.

  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.