‘And,’ interrupted his son, ‘there may be also some few will know you from Scottish days. What of them?’
‘They too are less than nothing,’ said my lord. ‘Who would dare to seek to expose me?’ He laid stress on the last word; it seemed fitting. ‘What man knows me among the Jacobites whom I do not know? Not one! I have some papers in my possession make me dangerous beyond the power of imagination.’
‘Jacobite papers?’ said Robin sharply. ‘Then burn them, sir! You are not, after all, Mr Murray of Broughton.’
My lord drew himself up. ‘You suspect me of infamy? You think that Tremaine of Barham turns informer? You insult me! You, my son!’
‘Egad, sir, let us have done with heroics. I’m to suppose you keep your papers for some purpose.’
‘You may consider them as a Sword of Damocles in case of necessity,’ said my lord. ‘There is only one thing that I fear. One little, significant scrap of paper. I shall overcome the obstacle.’
‘Paper? You’ve set your name to something? Where is it?’ demanded Robin.
‘If I knew, should I fear it?’ my lord pointed out.
‘It seems to me, sir,’ said Prudence slowly, ‘that there is a Sword of Damocles poised above your head as well.’
‘There is, my child. You perceive that I conceal nothing. But it is my fate to be victorious. I shall contrive.’
The grey eyes widened. ‘“I contrive,”’ said Prudence softly. ‘Do you know, sir, you puzzle me.’
‘It has ever been my motto,’ the old gentleman pointed out triumphantly. ‘It is the word of the Tremaines. Consider it, my daughter! Consider it well! I take my leave of you now. You will find me in lodgings at Half Moon Street – close by my loved ones. I have come, and your anxieties are at an end.’
‘It is in my mind that they are only just beginning,’ said Prudence ruefully.
My lady got up to lay a hand on his lordship’s sleeve. ‘You do not take possession of your fine town house yet, no?’ she inquired.
‘In time, Thérèse, in good time. There are legal formalities. I do not trouble myself with lawyers!’ This was once more in the grand manner. My lord beamed upon his children. ‘Farewell, mes enfants ! We meet again later.’ He kissed my lady’s hand, and was gone with a click of red heels on the wood floor, and the wave of a scented handkerchief.
Twelve
Passage of Arms Between Prudence and Sir Anthony
They were left to stare at one another. My lady showed an inclination to laugh. ‘Well, my children? Well?’ she demanded.
‘I’m glad you think so, ma’am,’ bowed Prudence.
‘Oh, what’s to be done with the man?’ Robin said impatiently.
Prudence walked to the window, and stood looking out into the sunny street. Her voice held some amusement. ‘My dear, I take it the question is rather what he will do with us.’
‘Can you make head or tail of it?’
‘Not I, faith.’
‘Ay, you preserve your placidity, don’t you?’ Robin said.
She laughed. ‘What else? If we fall, why then, we must. I see no way of preventing it. Alack, I haven’t the trick of coaxing the old gentleman into sense.’
‘There is no way. We’re treading another of his mazes, and the devil’s in it that we’ve no choice. For myself, if the old gentleman would be a little plain with us I’m willing enough to play this game out. But I would know where I stand. We ply him with questions, and what answer have we? Why, that he’s a Tremaine of Barham, forsooth! What to do with a man who can say naught but what is assuredly a lie?’
‘I think he believes it,’ Prudence remarked, twinkling.
‘Of course he believes it! He always believes in his own inventions. I’ll swear therein lies his success. Lord, it’s a wonderful old gentleman!’
My lady brushed her hand lightly across
the table’s polished surface. She looked curiously at her young friends. ‘But you – you do not believe it?’