The Talisman Ring

Chapter Six

This announcement produced all the effect upon the ladies which Ludovic could have desired. They gazed at him in surprise and admiration, breathlessly waiting for him to tell them more. Shield, not so easily impressed, said: “If you really know where to look for it you had better tell me, and I’ll do it for you.”

“That’s just the trouble,” replied Ludovic shamelessly. “I’m not at all sure of the place.” He saw Eustacie’s face fall, and added: “Oh, I should know it again if I saw it! The thing is that I’d be mighty hard put to it to direct anyone how to find it. I shall have to go myself.”

“Go where?” demanded Sir Tristram.

“Oh, to the Dower House!” replied Ludovic airily. “There’s a secret panel. You wouldn’t know it.”

“A secret panel?” repeated Miss Thane in an awed voice. “You mean actually a secret panel?”

Ludovic regarded her in some slight concern. “Yes, why not?”

“I thought it too good to be true,” said Miss Thane. “If there is one thing above all others I have wanted all my life to do it is to search for a secret panel! I suppose,” she added hopefully, “it would be too much to expect to find an underground passage leading from the secret panel?”

Eustacie clasped her hands ecstatically. “But yes, of course! An underground passage—”

“With bats and dead men’s bones,” shuddered Miss Thane.

French common sense asserted itself. Eustacie frowned. “Not bats, no. That is not reasonable. But certainly some bones, chained to the wall.”

“And damp—it must be damp!”

“Not damp; cobwebs,” put in Ludovic. “Huge ones, which cling to you like—”

“Ghostly fingers!” supplied Miss Thane.

“Oh, Ludovic, there is a passage?” breathed Eustacie.

He laughed. “Lord, no! It’s just a priest’s hole, that’s all.”

“How wretched!” said Miss Thane, quite disgusted. “It makes me lose all heart.”

“If there is not a passage we must do without one,” decreed Eustacie stoutly. “One must be practical. Tout même, it is a pity there is not a passage. I thought it would lead from the Court to the Dower House. It would have been magnifique! We might have found treasure!”

“That is precisely what I was thinking,” agreed Miss Thane. “An old iron chest, full of jewels.”

Sir Tristram broke in on these fancies with a somewhat withering comment. “Since we are not searching for treasure, and no passage exists save in your imaginations, this discussion is singularly unprofitable,” he said. “Where is the panel, Ludovic?”

“There you have the matter in a nutshell,” confessed Ludovic. “I know my uncle used to use it as a strong-room, and I remember Sylvester showing it to me when I was a lad, but what I can’t for the life of me recall is which room it’s in.”

“That,” said Sir Tristram, “is, to say the least of it, unfortunate, since the Dower House is panelled almost throughout.”

“I think it’s either in the library or the dining-room,” said Ludovic. “There are two tiers of pillars with a lot of fluted pilasters and carvings. I dare say I shall recognize it when I see it. You twist one of the bosses on the frieze between the tiers, and one of the square panels below slides back.”

“How do you propose to see it?” asked Shield. “The Beau is at the Dower House now, and means to stay there.”

“Well, I shall have to break in at night,” replied Ludovic.

“A very proper resolve,” approved Miss Thane, before Sir Tristram could condemn it. “But something a trifle disturbing has occurred to me: are you sure that your cousin would have kept the ring?”

“Yes, for he would not dare to sell it,” replied Ludovic at once.

“He would not perhaps have thrown it away?”

Ludovic shook his head. “Not he. He knows its worth,” he answered simply.

“Oh well, in that case, all we have to do is to find the panel!” said Miss Thane.

Sir Tristram looked at her across Ludovic’s bed. “We?” he said.

“Certainly,” replied Sarah. “Eustacie told me I might share the adventure.”

“You are surely not proposing to remain here!”

“Sir,” said Miss Thane. “I shall remain here until we have cleared Ludovic’s fair name.”

“But, of course!” said Eustacie, opening her eyes very wide. “What else?”

Sir Tristram told her in a few brief words. When it was made plain to him that both ladies meant to play important parts in Ludovic’s affair, and that neither of them would so much as listen to the notion of retiring, the one to London, the other to Bath, he said roundly that he would have nothing to do with so crazy an escapade. Eustacie at once replied with the utmost cordiality that he might retire from it with her goodwill, but Ludovic objected that since his left arm would be useless for some little time, he would need Tristram to help him with his housebreaking.

“Do you imagine that I am going to break into Basil’s house?” demanded Sir Tristram.

“Why not?” said Ludovic.

“Not only that,” said Miss Thane thoughtfully, “but we might need you if there is to be any fighting. My brother tells me you have a Right.”

“If,” said Sir Tristram forcibly, “you would all of you rid yourselves of the notion that you are living within the pages of one of Mrs Radcliffe’s romances, I should be grateful! Do you realize that tongues are already wagging up at the Court over Eustacie’s ill-judged, unnecessary, and foolish flight? I dare swear the news of it has even now reached Basil’s ears. If she remains here, what am I to tell him?”

“Let me think,” said Miss Thane.

“Don’t put yourself to that trouble!” said Sir Tristram, with asperity. “Eustacie must go to my mother in Bath.”

“I have it!” said Miss Thane, paying no heed to him. “I knew Eustacie in Paris some years ago. Finding myself in the vicinity of her home, I sent to inform her of my arrival, whereupon the dear creature, misliking the Bath scheme, formed the idea of putting herself under my protection. Unfortunately, you, Sir Tristram, knowing nothing of me, and being possessed of a tyrannical disposition—I beg your pardon?”

“I did not speak,” replied Sir Tristram, eyeing her frostily.

Miss Thane met his look with one of limpid innocence. “Oh, I quite thought you did!”

“I choked,” explained Sir Tristram. “Pray continue! You had reached my tyrannical disposition.”

“Precisely,” nodded Sarah. “You refused to accede to Eustacie’s request, thus leaving her no alternative to instant flight. But now that you have seen me, you realize that I am a respectable female, altogether a proper person to have the charge of a young lady, and you relent.”

The corners of his mouth twitched slightly. “Do I?” he said.

“Certainly. We arrange that Eustacie shall stay with me in London on a visit. All is in train for our departure when my brother, finding his cold to be no better, declares himself to be unable to risk the dangers of travel in this inclement weather. Which reminds me,” she added, rising from her chair, “that I had better go and inform Hugh that his cold is worse.”

A little while later, coming down from Sir Hugh’s bedchamber, she found Sir Tristram waiting in the coffee-room. He looked up as she rounded the bend in the stairs, and said sardonically: “I trust you were able to convince your brother, ma’am?”

“It was unnecessary,” she returned. “Nye has taken him up a bottle of Old Constantia. He thinks it would be foolhardy to brave the journey to London until he is perfectly recovered.”

“I thought he held strong views on the subject of smuggled liquor?” remarked Sir Tristram.

“He does,” replied Miss Thane, not in the least abashed. “Very strong views.” She went to the fire and seated herself on one of the high-backed settles placed on either side of it. A gesture invited Sir Tristram to occupy the other. “I think those two children will make a match of it, do not you?”

“Ludovic cannot ask any woman to be his wife as matters now stand,” he responded, frowning into the fire.

“Then we must certainly establish his innocence,” said Miss Thane.

He glanced up. “Believe me, I should be glad to do anything in my power to help the boy, but this coming into Sussex is madness!”

“Well,” said Miss Thane reasonably, “he cannot be moved until his wound is in some sort healed, so we must make the best of it. Tell me, do you think his cousin Basil is indeed the real culprit?”

He was silent for a moment. At last he said: “I may be prejudiced against him. It sounds fantastic, but I would not for the world have him know of Ludovic’s whereabouts now.” He looked at her searchingly. “What is your part in this, Miss Thane?”

She laughed. “My dear sir, my part is that of Eustacie’s chaperon, of course. To tell you the truth, I have taken a liking to your romantic cousins, and I mean to see this adventure to a close.”

“You are very good, ma’am, but—”

“But you would do very much better without any females,” nodded Miss Thane.

“Yes,” said Sir Tristram bluntly. “I should!”

“I expect you would,” said Miss Thane, quite without rancour. “But if you imagine you can induce Eustacie to leave this place now that she has found her cousin Ludovic, you have a remarkably sanguine nature. And if you are bound to have Eustacie, you may just as well have me as well.”

“Certainly,” said Shield, “but do you—does your brother realize that this is an adventure that is likely to lead us all to Newgate?”

“I do,” she replied placidly. “I doubt whether my brother realizes anything beyond the facts of a cold in the head and a well-stocked cellar. If we do reach Newgate, perhaps you will be able to get us out again.”

“You are very intrepid!” he said, with a look of amusement.

“Sir,” said Miss Thane, “during the course of the past twelve hours my life seems to have become so full of smugglers, Excisemen, and wicked cousins that I now feel I can face anything. What in the world possessed the boy to take to smuggling, by-the-by?”

“God knows! You might as well ask what possessed Eustacie to leave the Court at midnight to become a governess. They should deal extremely together if ever they can be married.” He rose. “I must go back and do what I can to avert suspicion. Somehow or other we must find this panel Ludovic speaks of before he can thrust his head into a noose.”

Miss Thane gave a discreet cough. “Do you—er—place much dependence on the panel, Sir Tristram?”

“No, very little, but I place every dependence upon Ludovic’s breaking into the Dower House in search of it,” he replied frankly. “For the moment we have him tied by the heels, but that won’t be for long, if I know him. They are tough stock, the Lavenhams.” He walked to the table and picked up his hat and riding whip. “I’ll take my leave now. I fancy we have fobbed off the riding-officer, but there may be others. If you should want me, send Clem over to the Court with a message, and I’ll come.”

She nodded. “Meanwhile, is Ludovic in danger, do you think?”

“Not at Nye’s hands, but if information were lodged against him at Bow Street by anyone suspecting his presence here, yes, in great danger.”

“And at his cousin’s hands?”

He met her questioning look thoughtfully, and after a moment said: “I may be wrong, but I believe so. There is a good deal at stake.” He tapped his riding whip against his top-boot. “It all turns on the talisman ring,” he said seriously. “Whoever has that is the man who shot Plunkett. I must cultivate a more intimate acquaintance with the Beau.”

He took his leave of her and went out, calling for his horse to be brought round. Miss Thane saw him ride away, and went slowly back to her patient.

Had it been possible to have sent for a surgeon to attend Ludovic, cupping would certainly have been prescribed. Miss Thane was a little anxious lest serious fever should set in, but both Shield and the landlord maintained that Ludovic had a strong enough constitution to weather worse things than a mere wound in his shoulder, and after a couple of days she was bound to acknowledge that they were right. The wound began to heal just as it should, and the patient announced his intention of leaving his sickbed. This perilous resolve was frustrated by Shield, who, though he visited the Red Lion every day, omitted to bring with him the raiment he had promised to procure from Ludovic’s abandoned wardrobe at the Court.

While Ludovic lay in the back bedchamber, either playing piquet with his cousin or evolving plans for the recovery of his ring, Sir Hugh Thane continued to occupy one of the front rooms. His cold really had been a great deal worse on the morning of Shield’s first visit, and once having gained a hold on the unfortunate baronet, it ran the whole gamut of sore throat, thick head, watering eyes, loss of taste, and ended up with a cough on the chest which Sarah, with unwonted solicitude, declared to be bad enough to lead (if great care were not taken) to an inflammation of the lungs.

It was not, therefore, in the least difficult to persuade Sir Hugh to keep his room. His only complaint was that he was without his valet, this indispensable person having gone to London in advance of his master with the major part of the baggage and Sarah’s abigail. It took all Sarah’s ingenuity to think out enough plausible reasons for not summoning Satchell to his master’s sickbed. Satchell had been in Sir Hugh’s employment for some years, but Miss Thane did not feel that he could be trusted with the secret of Ludovic’s presence at the Red Lion. Luckily Clem proved himself a deft attendant, and beyond remarking two or three times a day that he wished he had Satchell with him, Sir Hugh made no complaint. He accepted Sarah’s story of the heiress fleeing from a distasteful marriage. It was doubtful whether the original tale of Ludovic’s misfortunes occupied any place in his erratic memory, but he did once ask his sister whether she had not mentioned having met a smuggler. She admitted it, but said that he had left the inn.

“Oh!” said Sir Hugh. “A pity. If you should see him again, you might let me know.”

What Sir Tristram Shield told Beau Lavenham the ladies did not know, but it brought him over to Hand Cross within two days. He came in his elegant chaise, a graceful affair slung on swan-neck perches, and upholstered with squabs of pale blue. He was ushered into the parlour, where Miss Thane and Eustacie were sitting, early one afternoon, and was greeted by his cousin with a baleful stare.

He had discarded his fur-lined cloak in the coffee-room, so that all the glory of his primrose pantaloons and lilac-striped coat burst upon Miss Thane without warning. He wore the fashionable short boot, and bunches of ribbons at the ends of his pantaloons; his cravat was monstrous, his coat collar very high at the back, and he carried a tall sugarloaf hat in his hand. He paused in the doorway and lifted his ornate quizzing-glass, smiling. “So here we have the little runaway!” he said. “My dear cousin, all my felicitations! Poor, poor Tristram!”

“I do not know why you have come here,” responded Eustacie, “but I do not at all wish to see you. It is my cousin, Sarah. This is my friend, Miss Thane, Basil.”

He bowed, a hand on his heart. “Ah yes, the—er—acquaintance of Paris days, I believe. What a singularly happy chance it was that brought you to this unlikely spot, ma’am!”

“Yes, was it not?” agreed Miss Thane cordially. “Though until my brother was took ill, I had really no notion of remaining here. But the opportunity of seeing my dear Eustacie again quite reconciled me to the necessity of putting up at this inn. Pray, will you not be seated?”

He thanked her, and took the chair she indicated, carefully setting his hat down upon the table. Looking at Eustacie with an amused glint in his eyes, he said: “So you have decided not to marry Tristram after all! I liked the notion of your spirited flight to the arms of your friend. But how dark you kept her, my dear cousin! Now if only you had confided with me, I would have conveyed you to her in my carriage, and you would have been spared a singularly uncomfortable ride through the night.”

“I preferred to go myself,” said Eustacie. “It was an adventure.”

He said: “It is a pity you dislike me so much, and trust me so little, for I am very much your servant.”

To Miss Thane’s surprise Eustacie smiled quite graciously, and answered: “I do not dislike you: that is quite absurd. It is merely that I think you wear a silly hat, and, besides, I wanted to have an adventure all by myself.”

He gave his soft laugh. “I wish you did not dislike my hat, but that can be remedied. Shall I wear an old-fashioned tricorne like Tristram, or do you favour the chapeau-bras?”

“You would look very odd in a chapeau-bras,” she commented.

“Yes, I am afraid you are right. Tell me, what do you mean to do with your life, Eustacie, now that you have given Tristram his conge?”

“I am going to stay in town with Miss Thane.”

He looked thoughtfully at Miss Thane. “Yes? Have I Miss Thane’s permission to call upon her in London?”

“Oh, but certainly! She will be delighted,” said Eustacie. “Du vrai, she would like very much to call upon you at the Dower House, because it is such a very old house, and that is with her a veritable passion. But I said, No, it would not be convenable.”

Miss Thane cast her a look of considerable respect, and tried to assume the expression of an eager archaeologist.

The Beau said politely: “I should be honoured by a visit from Miss Thane, but surely the Court would be better worth her study?”

“Yes, but you must know that I will not go to the Court with her,” said Eustacie glibly. “Tristram is very angry, and I do not wish that there should be any awkwardness.”

The Beau raised his brows. “Is Tristram importuning you to marry him?” he inquired.

Not having any exact knowledge of what Tristram had told him, Eustacie thought it prudent to return an evasive answer. She spread out her hands, and said darkly: “It is that he gave his word to Grandpère, you know. I do not understand him.”

“Ah!” sighed the Beau, running his hand gently up and down the riband of his quizzing-glass. “You are, of course, an heiress.” He let that shaft sink in, and continued smoothly: “I have never been able to feel that you and Tristram were quite made for each other, but I confess your sudden flight took me by surprise. They tell me that your ride was fraught with adventure, too. Some tale of smugglers—but I dare say much exaggerated.”

“I suppose,” said Miss Thane opportunely, “that there is a great deal of smuggling done in these parts?”

“I believe so,” he responded. “I have always understood that my great-uncle encouraged the Trade.”

“Basil,” interrupted Eustacie, “is it permitted that I bring Miss Thane to the Dower House one morning, perhaps? I thought that you would be like Tristram, and try to make me go to Bath, but now I see that you are truly sympathique, and I do not at all mind coming with Sarah to call on you.”

He looked at her for a moment. “But, pray do!” he said. “Have I not said that I shall count myself honoured?”

Miss Thane, summoning up every recollection of historical houses she had visited during the course of her travels, at once engaged him in conversation. Luckily she had her foreign journeys to draw upon. This she did with great enthusiasm, and no lack of imagination. The Beau was diverted from the topic of smugglers, and although his knowledge of antiques was slight and his interest in them almost non-existent, he was too well-bred to attempt to change the subject. Miss Thane kept his attention engaged for the remaining twenty minutes of his visit, and when he got up to go, thanked him profusely for his permission to visit the Dower House, and promised herself the treat of exploring his premises on the first fine day that offered. Eustacie thoughtfully reminded her that she would like to bring her sketching-book, to which she assented, as one in honour bound.

The Beau bowed himself out, was shepherded to his chaise by the mistrustful Nye, and drove off, watched from behind the parlour blinds by his gleeful cousin.

Miss Thane sank into a chair, and said: “Eustacie, you are a wretch!”

“But no, but no!” Eustacie cried, dancing in triumph. “You did it so very well!”

“I am not at all sure that I convinced him. My dear, I know nothing of pictures, or wood panelling! If he had not taken his leave of us when he did, my tongue must have run dry. I am convinced he thought me a chattering fool.”

“It does not matter in the least. We shall go to the Dower House, and while I talk to Basil you will find the secret panel and steal the ring!”

“Oh,” said Miss Thane blinking. “Just—just find the panel and steal the ring. Yes, I see. I dare say it will be quite easy.”

“Certainly it will be easy, because I have thought of a very good plan, which is to pretend to Basil that I do not at all know what to do. I shall say to him that I have no one to advise me, and I am afraid of Tristram, and you will go away to draw a picture and you will see that he will be very glad to let you. Come, we must immediately tell Ludovic what we have done!”

Ludovic, when the scheme was breathlessly divulged to him, at first objected to it on the score that he had thought of a better plan. Once the coast was clear, he said, Abel Bundy would be bound to work his way up to the Red Lion to deliver his kegs of brandy, and to try to get news of him. If Tristram misliked the notion of breaking into the Dower House Abel, not so nice, would make a very good substitute.

“Yes, but it is altogether dangerous for you, and for us not at all,” Eustacie pointed out. “Besides, I do not see that it is fair that you should keep the whole adventure to yourself.”

“Damme, it’s my adventure, isn’t it?”

“It is not your adventure. It is mine too, and also it is Sarah’s, and she will not help us any more if you do not share it with her.”

“Oh, very well!” said Ludovic. “Not that I believe in this precious scheme of yours, mind you! Ten to one the Beau will suspect something. You can’t hunt for the catch to the panel under his very nose.”

“Entendu, but I have provided. I shall desire to speak with Basil alone, and he will like that, and permit it.”

Ludovic eyed her somewhat narrowly. “He will, will he?”

“Yes, because he has said that he would like to marry me.”

Ludovic sat up. “I won’t have you going up to the Dower House to let that fellow make love to you, so don’t think it!”

“Not that, stupid! I shall ask for his advice, and he will not make love to me, because Sarah will be there.”

“She won’t. She’ll be hunting for the panel.”

“But I could scream if he tried to make love to me!”

“Ay, so you could. You’ve a mighty shrill scream, what’s more. All the same, it’s my belief the scheme will fail. It’s a pity I can’t recall which room the curst panel is in.”

“Yes, I have been feeling that, too,” agreed Miss Thane. “I mean—it would be easier, wouldn’t it?”

“In an adventure,” said Eustacie severely, “it is not proper to have everything quite easy.”

Miss Thane was about to beg pardon when the sound of a quick, firm footstep on the stairs made them all look towards the door. It opened, but it was only Sir Tristram who came in, so that both ladies were able to relax their suddenly strained attitudes.

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” said Ludovic, withdrawing his hand from under his pillows, where it had been grasping the butt of a serviceable pistol. “Come in, and shut the door. Eustacie has thought of a plan. I don’t say it’s a good one, but it might answer.”

“Has the Beau been here?” Sir Tristram demanded.

“Yes, that’s what put this scheme of hers into Eustacie’s head. I wish I might have seen him. She tells me he has taken to wearing a lilac-striped coat.”

“I thought I could not be mistaken in his chaise. Why did he come?”

“He came to see me, and you must at once listen to me, mon cousin, because I have made a plot. I am going to take Sarah to the Dower House, because she has an envie to see it. I have told Basil that she likes old houses, and he was very content that she should see his. And when we are there I shall pretend that I wish to consult Basil, and while I am explaining to him how it is that I do not wish to marry you, Sarah will ask leave to make a drawing of the woodwork in the library. In that way she will be able to search for the secret panel, and when she has found it, she must steal the ring, and make just one little drawing to show Basil. Is it not a very good plot?”

“Yes,” said Shield, somewhat to her surprise, “it is a good plot, but if you do find the ring you must on no account remove it, Miss Thane. Make a sketch of that particular portion of the frieze so that we may easily find it again, and leave the rest to me.”

“Certainly,” said Miss Thane. “But there is just one thing—”

“Where’s the sense in leaving it there?” interrupted Ludovic. “I want my ring. I haven’t had a day’s good luck since I lost it.”

“There is just one thing,” began Miss Thane again, “which perhaps I ought to—”

“Of course, he must have the ring at once!” declared Eustacie. “Why should she leave it?”

“Because we must be able to prove that the ring is in the Beau’s possession. Steal it, and it is merely a matter of your word against his. Once we can prove that the Beau has it, Ludovic is cleared. Until then Ludovic is the last person in the world to hold the ring. If Miss Thane can find the panel, and sketch the frieze for us—”

“Yes,” said Miss Thane. “But I have been trying to tell you for quite some time now that there is a—a trifling hitch. I cannot draw.”

They stared at her in incredulity. “Can’t draw?” repeated Ludovic. “Nonsense, of course you can! All females can draw!”

“I can’t.”

“I thought,” said Sir Tristram, with a touch of scorn, “that drawing and water-colour painting were taught in every young ladies’ seminary?”

“They may be,” retorted Sarah, “but I still cannot draw.”

“Well, why the devil can’t you, if you were taught?” demanded Ludovic reasonably.

“I had no aptitude,” explained Sarah.

“But consider, Sarah!” said Eustacie. “It is most important that you should be able to make just a little drawing!”

“I know,” said Sarah. “I am very sorry, and I quite see that a person who is unable to draw is unfit to take part in any adventure.”

“It seems to me,” said Ludovic, “that girls merely waste their time at school.”

“Yes, and what is worse, I have told Basil that she will bring her sketching-book,” added Eustacie. “Now it appears that she has not got one, and we are quite undone.”

“If she can’t draw, she can’t,” said Sir Tristram. “I shall have to join your party.”

Eustacie shook her head. “No, because I have told Basil that I do not care to see you, and he would think it very odd if you were to be of my party.”

Sir Tristram gave a resigned sigh. “You had better let me know at once just what lie it is you have told the Beau. What am I now held to have done?”

Eustacie’s eyes twinkled wickedly. “Well, you see, I had to make up a reason why I could not take Sarah to the Court, so I said that you were very angry with me.”

“Oh, is that all?” Sir Tristram sounded relieved.

Miss Thane, feeling that she had something to avenge, said meditatively: “Yes, it was the Beau himself who suggested the rest. No one could really blame Eustacie.”

“The rest?”

“Oh, it was nothing to signify!” said Sarah, with an airy gesture. “Mr Lavenham just asked if you were still importuning Eustacie to marry you.”

“Why should I be doing anything of the sort?”

“On account of her being an heiress,” explained Sarah.

Sir Tristram said dryly: “Of course. I should have thought of that. I trust neither of you will hesitate to vilify my character whenever it seems expedient to you to do so.”

“No, of course we shall not,” Miss Thane assured him.

“But you do not mind, mon cousin, do you?”

“On the contrary, I am becoming quite accustomed to it. But I am afraid even your imagination must fail soon. I have been in swift succession a tyrant, a thief and a murderer, and now a fortune hunter. There is really nothing left.”

“Oh!” said Ludovic gaily, “we have acquitted you of theft and murder, you know.”

“True,” Shield retorted. “But as your acquittals are invariably accompanied by fresh and more outrageous slanders, I almost dread the moment when you acquit me of fortune hunting.”

Eustacie looked a little distressed. “But, Tristram, you do not understand! We do not really think you are a fortune hunter!”

Ludovic gave a delighted crack of laughter, and caught her hand to his lips. “I lied, I lied! I have had one day’s good luck at least, when I met my cousin Eustacie!”

“Yes, but—”

Sir Tristram said gravely: “Of course, if you do not really think it—”

“No, I do not. In fact, I am beginning quite to like you,” Eustacie assured him.

“Thank you,” said Sir Tristram, much moved.

“But I thought it would be a very good thing to pretend to Basil that you still wished to marry me, and so, you see, you cannot come to his house with us. I perceive now that it is a pity that I said it, perhaps, but one cannot always look far enough ahead.”

“On the whole,” said Shield, “I am inclined to think that you did right. I must, after all, have some excuse for visiting this inn so often. I will join your party at the Dower House, and you may counterfeit all the disgust you please.”

Miss Thane nodded approvingly. “I see! You will arrive upon some pretext, just in time to rescue Mr Lavenham from my importunities. Eustacie having signified her desire to hold private speech with him, he will hail your arrival with joy. I shall have to be a very stupid sort of a woman, and ask a great many questions. Tell me something to say about his house.”

“Comment enthusiastically upon the silver-figured oak wainscoting in the dining-room,” said Sir Tristram.

“Also the strap-and-jewel work overmantel in the drawing-room,” struck in Ludovic. “Sylvester used to say it was devilish fine; that I do remember.”

“Strap-and-jewel work,” repeated Miss Thane, committing it to memory.

“Dutch influence,” said Sir Tristram. “Detect the school of Torrigiano in the library.”

“Is it there?” inquired Ludovic, vaguely interested.

“Heaven knows. Basil won’t, at any rate. Say that it is a pity the muntins are not covered by pilasters. Talk of cartouches, and caryatids, and scratch-mouldings. Ask for the history of every picture, and discover that the staircase reminds you of one you have seen somewhere else, though you cannot immediately recall where.”

“Say no more! I see it all!” declared Miss Thane. “Heaven send he does not fob me off on to the housekeeper!”

Fortunately for the success of her plot the Beau’s manners were far too polished to permit of his resorting to this expedient. According to a carefully-laid plan, the two ladies set out upon the following morning in Sir Hugh’s chaise, and drove at a sedate pace to the Dower House, which was situated on the northern side of Lavenham Court, about five miles from Hand Cross. It was a sixteenth-century house of respectable size, approached by a short carriage-sweep. Its gardens, which were separated from the Park by a kind of ha-ha, were laid out with great propriety of taste, and some very fine clipped yews, flanking the oaken front door, at once met with Miss Thane’s approbation.

They were admitted into the house by a town-bred and somewhat supercilious butler, and led through the hall to the drawing-room. This was an elegant apartment, furnished in the first style of fashion, but Miss Thane had no time to waste in admiring what were obviously quite up-to-date chairs and tables. Her attention was fixed anxiously upon the overmantel.

The Beau joined his guests in a very few minutes. If he felt any surprise at a somewhat vague engagement having been kept with such promptness, no trace of it appeared in his countenance. He greeted both ladies with his usual grace, feared they must have been chilled during their drive in such hard weather, and begged them to draw near the fire. Eustacie, whose cheeks were rosy where a nipping east wind had caught them, promptly complied with the suggestion, but Miss Thane was unable to tear herself from the contemplation of the overmantel. She stood well back from it, assuming a devout expression, and breathed: “ Such exquisite strap-and-jewel work! You did not tell me you had anything so fine, Mr Lavenham! I declare, I do not know how to take my eyes from it!”

“I believe it is considered to be a very good example, ma’am,” the Beau acknowledged. “The late Lord Lavenham was used to say it was finer than the one up at the Court, but I am afraid I am not a judge of such things.”

But this Miss Thane would not allow to be true. No protestations that he ‘could make succeeded in shaking her belief that it was his modesty which spoke. She launched forth into a sea of talk, in which Dutch influence, the style of the Renaissance, the inferiority of Flemish craftsmanship, and the singular beauty of the Gothic jostled one another like rudderless boats adrift in a whirlpool. From the overmantel she passed with scarcely a check to the pictures on the walls. She detected a De Hooge with unerring judgment, and was at once reminded of a few weeks spent in the Netherlands some years ago. Her reminiscences, recounted with a vivacious artlessness which made Eustacie stare at her in rapt admiration, were only put an end to by the Beau’s seizing the opportunity afforded by her pausing to take breath to propose that they should step into the dining-parlour for some refreshment.

The Beau opened the door for the ladies to pass out into the hall. Miss Thane went first, still chattering, leaving Eustacie to hang back for a moment, and to say in an urgent undertone to her cousin: “We came today because I have suddenly thought that perhaps you, who are very much of the world, could advise me. Only, you understand, I do not like to say anything before Sarah, because although she is extremely amiable, she is not, after all, of my family.”

He bowed. “I am always at your service, my dear cousin, even though I may be—surprised.”

“Surprised?” said Eustacie, with a look of childlike innocence.

“Well,” said the Beau softly, “you have not been precisely in the habit of seeking either my company or my advice, have you, ma chère?”

“Oh!” said Eustacie, brushing that aside with a flutter of her expressive little hands, “quant a ça, when Grandpapa was alive I did not wish for anyone’s advice but his. But I find myself now in a situation of the most awkward.”

He looked at her with narrowed eyes, as though appraising her. “Yes, your situation is awkward,” he said. “I could show you how to end that.”

Miss Thane’s voice, requesting him to tell her whether the staircase was original, put an end to all private conversation. He followed Eustacie out into the hall, saying that he believed it was quite original.

Wine and sandwiches had been set out on the table in the dining parlour. While she ate, and sipped her glass of ratafia, Miss Thane took the opportunity of scrutinizing the wainscoting as closely as she dared. It was in two tiers, as Ludovic had described, the upper being composed of circular cartouches, carved with heads and devices, and separated from the lower by a broad frieze. The lower tier was divided vertically at every third panel by fluted pilasters with carved capitals. The whole was extremely beautiful, but the predominant thought in Miss Thane’s mind was that to find one particular boss, or carved fruit, amongst the wealth on the wall would be an arduous labour.

Her meaningless prattle flowed on; she could not help being diverted by her own idiocies; nor, though she did not like him, could she fail to give the Beau credit for unwearied civility. By the time she had exhibited her commonplace book (in which Sir Tristram had had the forethought to sketch a few rough pictures of totally imaginary houses), and hoped that her host would grant her the indulgence of drawing just a tiny corner of his lovely panelled dining parlour, her tongue was beginning to cleave to the roof of her mouth, and she heard with feelings of profound relief the ringing of a bell. It was at this moment that the Beau proposed escorting her to the library, in which room the wainscoting, though similar to that in the dining parlour, was generally held, he believed, to be superior. They passed out into the hall, just as the butler opened the front door to admit Sir Tristram. The first sound that met his ears as he stepped over the threshold was Miss Thane’s voice extolling the style of Torrigiano. A quiver of emotion for an instant disturbed the severity of his expression, but he controlled it immediately, and taking a hasty step forward, addressed Eustacie in outraged tones. “I have been to the Red Lion, and was told I should find you here! I do not understand what your purpose can have been in coming, for I particularly requested the favour of an interview with you this morning!”

Eustacie drew back with a gesture conveying both alarm and repugnance. “I told you I would not have any interview with you. I do not see why you must follow me, for it is not at all your affair that I choose to bring mademoiselle on a visit to my own cousin!”

“It is very much my affair, since I am held responsible for you!” he retorted.

The Beau intervened in his sweetest voice. “My dear Tristram, do pray come in! You are the very man of all others we need. I believe you are acquainted with Miss Thane?”

Sir Tristram bowed stiffly. “Miss Thane and I have met, but—”

“Nothing could be better! “ declared the Beau. “Miss Thane has done me the honour of coming to see my house, and, alas, you know how lamentably ignorant I am on questions of antiquity! But you, my dear fellow, know so much—”

“Oh!” exclaimed Miss Thane, clasping her hands together. “If it would not be troubling Sir Tristram—!”

Sir Tristram assumed the expression of a man forced against his will to be complaisant, and said somewhat ungraciously that he would, of course, be pleased to tell Miss Thane anything in his power. The Beau at once reminded him that the wainscoting in the library was held to be worthy of close study, and begged him to take Miss Thane there. He added that if she cared to make a sketch of the room, he was sure his cousin’s taste and knowledge would be of assistance to her.

“Eustacie and I will wait for you in the drawing-room,” he said.

It seemed as though Sir Tristram would have demurred, but Miss Thane frustrated this by breaking into profuse expressions of gratitude. He made the best of it, and the instant the library door was closed on them, said: “Have you been talking like that all the time?”

Miss Thane sank into a chair in an exhausted attitude. “But without pause!” she said faintly. “My dear sir, I have been inspired! The mantle of my own cousin fell upon my shoulders, and I spoke like her, tittered like her, even thought like her! She is the silliest woman I know. It worked like a charm! He was itching to be rid of me!”

“I should imagine he might well!” said Sir Tristram. “The wonder is that he did not strangle you.”

She chuckled. “He is too well-bred. Did I sound really feather-headed? I tried to.”

“Yes,” he said. He looked at her with a hint of a smile. “You are an extremely accomplished woman, Miss Thane.”

“I have a natural talent for acting,” she replied modestly. “But your own efforts were by no means contemptible, I assure you.” She got up. “We have no time to waste if we are to find this panel. Do you take this side of the room and I will take that.”

“Oh—the panel!” said Sir Tristram. “Yes, of course.”