Prudence thought nothing at all of it; she was rather preoccupied with her own affairs, and showed but slight interest even when Robin spoke of John’s new behaviour. Robin became aware of the frequent absences of his faithful henchman, and receiving only evasive replies to a sharp question or two, immediately suspected activity on the part of my Lord Barham. Prudence said placidly that it was very possible she thought they were like to know all soon enough.
She was right: in a short while my lord came to pay a morning visit in Arlington Street, and having rapturously kissed my Lady Lowestoft’s hands, requested the favour of some private talk with his son.
My lady opined mischief to be brewing, shook a playful finger, and went off most obligingly.
Robin turned one of the bracelets on his arm, and shot a quick look at his father. “Well, sir?”
My lord dusted his sleeve with a lace handkerchief. “I come, my Robin, at last. There is work on hand for you, my son.”
“God be praised for that! Do I come out of these petticoats, sir?”
“For a little, son, for a little only! Patience! I unfold a miracle.”
“I’m all attention, sir. Let me hear it.”
My lord sat down by the window. There was a gleam in his eyes Robin knew full well, and the smile curling his lips was one of reflective pleasure. By the signs my lady was right, and there was mischief brewing indeed. “My son, I see the end of the road. It becomes plain at last. I arrange all with wonderful subtlety. You may say that I pull a string here, and a string there, and the puppets move.”
“Lord, sir! Am I one of your puppets?”
“But, of course, my Robin!” said his lordship affectionately. “I set the stage for you to play the hero. You shall thank me.”
“Shall I, sir? It’s a part I’m not in the habit of playing, that of hero.”
“I assign to you a role the most romantic,” announced my lord. “Certainly you shall thank me.”
“Well, let me hear it, sir. You become interesting.”
“I become dangerous, Robin — dangerous as only I can be. I am Nemesis, no less! And you — you are the instrument to my hand. You shall rescue a lady, and kill the villain.”
“Out, sword!” said Robin flippantly. “You hold me entranced, sir. Who is the lady?”
My lord looked surprised. “Who but the lady of your heart, my son? Do I arrange so clumsily?”
Robin stiffened. The flippancy left him, and he spoke crisply. “What’s this?”
“I kiss my fingers to her!” My lord made a gesture very French. “She is ravishing!”
“Who?”
My lord’s eyes widened reproachfully. “Why, Letitia, of course; I should not arrange for you to rescue another. Did you — it is really possibly that you thought I did not know? My son, my son, you grieve me, positively you grieve me!”
“Accept my apologies, sir. I suppose you know everything. But what’s this talk of rescues, and who’s your villain?”
“Gently, my hothead, gently! You shall know all. You will rescue her tomorrow night; the villain is my poor blundering friend of Munich days.”
“What! Markham again! You’re mad, sir; he would never dare a second time, nor she consent.”
“You discount my influence, Robin. Remember that she and Markham too are my puppets.”
Robin got up rather quickly. “What devilry’s this? Be plain with me, if you please, sir!”
My lord put the tips of his fingers together. “She elopes with my Munich friend tomorrow evening, from Vauxhall Gardens, whither she is bound.”
“She elopes!” Robin was thunderstruck. “And you tell me you arrange it!”
“Certainly,” said my lord. “It is entirely my doing. I am to be congratulated.”
“Not by me, sir,” said Robin, and there was an edge to the words.
“Even by you, child. You shall at last appreciate me. Sit down and all shall be told you.”
Robin sank back into his seat. “Go on, sir. I suppose one of us must be mad. Why have you arranged — if indeed you have — a thing so criminal?”
My lord reflected. “It seemed the most poetic justice,” he explained. “It is really exquisitely thought of.” He swung one foot, and smiled sweetly down at the silver buckle. “Nemesis!” he sighed. “My Munich friend thought me of so small account: I don’t forgive that. He conceived that he could bend me — me, Tremaine of Barham! — to his paltry will! He dared — you shudder at such temerity — he dared to use threats to me! He sees me as a cat’s-paw. Almost I can find it in my heart to pity him. But it was an impertinence.” He shook his head severely.
“Markham knows something of you?” Robin was frowning. “That letter?”
My lord raised his eyes. “My son, you have a little of my swiftness of apprehension. He had that letter of which I told you. How he came by it I do not know. I admit it freely: I do not know. It is entirely unimportant, or I should have found out. He brought it to my rooms. He demanded money.” His lordship laughed at the thought. “He was very clever, no doubt, but he did not know that he had chosen a man of supernatural parts for adversary. He showed me my own letter; he told me he knew me for Colney, and I am sure he expected to see me in a palsy of fear.”
A smile flitted across Robin’s face. There was a light in his eyes which made his resemblance to his father very strong. “I dare swear he was disappointed, sir.”
“I fear so, I fear so, my Robin. And was I afraid? Was there fear beneath my sangfroid? No, my son! There was a relief quite enormous. At last I knew where my letter was to be found. I do not fear the danger I can see. My Munich friend — his manners appal me; I am aghast at such a lack of polish! — had delivered himself into my hands.”
“Lord, the man’s a fool!” said Robin. “But, troth, he doesn’t know you, sir!”
“No one knows me,” said my lord austerely. “But might he not have descried that in my bearing which speaks greatness? No, he was absorbed in the admiration of his own poor wits. I descended to crush one infinitely inferior to me, and he could not even appreciate the manner in which it was done. I could wish him worthier of my enmity. Observe, my son, the deficiencies in his intelligence! He thought to obtain a promise in writing from me to pay him untold gold on the day when I am acknowledged to be Tremaine of Barham!”
“H’m!” said Robin. “An optimistic gentleman. And you said?”
“I had to open his eyes. I dispelled the illusion. A plan so subtle that almost it took my breath away formed itself in my brain. You remember, my son, those papers I told you I held?”
“Good God!” said Robin. His father began seriously to alarm him. “I remember.”
“There was one written by — you would never guess — that foolish Humphrey Grayson. A trifle: half promises which he never fulfilled. But enough for my purpose.”
“Thunder an’ turf! Was Grayson in the Rebellion?” cried Robin.
“You may say he once toyed with the notion. It came to naught. He is one of those who waits to see which way the weather-vane points. That silly letter I gave to Mr Markham in exchange for my own, which I have since burned. Do you begin to appreciate the subtlety of my plan, Robin?”
“I’m very far from appreciating it, sir. Be a little plainer! Am I to understand that you gave Markham this paper so he might force Letty into marrying him?”
My lord nodded. “You have it pat, my son.”
Robin’s brow was black. “Do you ask my appreciation of this, sir? You think I shall admire so dastardly a plot? Good God, was there no other way of getting your letter back?”