“Mr Marshall, you told us some time back that our neighbour Mr Rookwood was brother to a Papist. Know you aught of a friend of his, one Mr Winter, that is in London at times, and hath his lodging in the Strand?”
“A friend of this Mr Rookwood, your neighbour?”
“I reckon so. At least, a friend of his son.”
“Sons do at times make friends apart from their fathers,” said Mr Marshall with a smile. “I cannot say, Lady Lettice, that the name is quite unknown to me; yet cannot I, like you, lay a finger on any special thing I may have heard thereabout.”
“What were the other names, Edith? I cannot call them to mind.”
“Mr Catesby, Mother, and Mr Percy, and Mr Darcy: those, I think, were what Aubrey told us.”
“Mr Percy!—what Percy is he?”
“I know not: some kin to my Lord Northumberland.”
“Where dwells he?”
“That know I not.”