She had leisure to repent her action when Mr Markham made his startling disclosure. He allowed her but a glimpse of her father’s incriminating letter, and sat back in his chair watching her with a satisfied smile.
Her big eyes grew round in horrified wonder. “B-but my papa is not a Jacobite!” she exclaimed.
“Do you suppose anyone will believe that if I show this letter?” Mr Markham inquired.
“But you won’t, sir! You won’t, will you?”
Mr Markham leaned forward. “Not if you will marry me, Letty,” he said softly.
She recoiled instinctively. “No, no!”
“What, you had rather see your father’s head adorning London Bridge?”
Letty’s cheeks grew pale at that, and she shuddered. It was impossible not to feel sick horror at the thought. All who lived in London had seen those ghastly sights in the past months. The picture conjured up was terribly real to her. “You would not! You would not do such a cruel, wicked thing!”
“I would do anything to win you, Letty!” Mr Markham said, with fine lover-like ardour.
“Papa will never let me marry you!” cried Letty, cowering away.