“Both go into the cupboard!” suggested his lordship imploringly.
“Certainly not! You will protect Miss Plymstock,” said Hugh.
Rather to Kitty’s surprise, these stern words appeared to inspire Dolphinton with courage. He gulped, but he made no further attempt to reach his refuge. The sound of the knocker on the front-door did indeed make him jump, and shudder, but he said resolutely: “Protect Hannah!” and stood his ground.
Mr. Westruther drew his snuff-box from his pocket, and flicked it open. “If someone would have the goodness to inform me whether I am assisting at a tragedy or a farce I should be grateful,” he said sardonically.
The housekeeper’s unmistakeable tread was heard, followed by the sound of a lifting latch. Lord Dolphinton acquired a firm hold on Miss Plymstock’s hand, and swallowed convulsively.
“Affording protection, or seeking it?” drawled Mr. Westruther, taking a pinch of snuff from his box, and expertly shaking all but a grain or two from between his finger and thumb.
The door into the parlour was opened. “Mr. Standen, sir,” announced Mrs. Armathwaite placidly.
Surprise held the company silent for perhaps thirty seconds. Mr. Standen, not a hair out of place, walked into the room, found that five pairs of eyes were staring at him in astonishment, and said apologetically: “Thought you might be needing me! No wish to intrude!”
Kitty found her voice. “Freddy!” she cried thankfully, hurrying towards him. “Oh, how glad I am to see you! We are in such a dreadful fix, and I don’t know what to do!”
“Thought very likely you would be,” said Freddy. “Not sure, mind you, but I’d a strong notion you’d forgot to buy the special licence.”