My lord looked at him seriously. “I do not know,” he said, with a revealing simplicity. “I have never yet discovered them.”
Came my Lady Lowestoft into the room in a fine bustle.
Her sharp eyes darted from one guest to the other. “ Tiens! Such a party!” She untied the strings of her mantle, and cast it from her. “Robert, I know very well you have done some wickedness! Your children of a certainty did not visit friends at Barnet last night.” She pointed an accusing finger. “It is my belief Robin killed the Markham — by your orders, Robert! It is a scandal! a madness! I gasp at it!”
“A time-thrust,” nodded my lord. “Superb!”
“What’s that? What is it, a time-thrust?” cried my lady.
“You would not understand, my dear Thérèse. It is to lunge as your opponent lunges — you may judge how ticklish! — to parry his blade as you come through, and to pass on with not the smallest check to — the heart, was it not, my son?”
“Then it is true!” said my lady. She seemed to have no interest in the brilliance of Robin’s sword play, unlike Sir Anthony, who was looking at Robin with an appraising, marvelling eye. “Good God, Robert, what shall come of this?” She pounced on Sir Anthony. “And you! Do not tell me you had a hand in this too!”
“Alack, ma’am, no.”
My lady put her hands to her temples. “The head turns on my shoulders. Of a certainty we are all mad!” She sat down weakly. “You want to end at Tyburn, all three?” she demanded.
“I’m inclined to think the honour of being executed on Tower Hill must be conferred upon the old gentleman at least,” said Prudence. “Tyburn might do for us, I suppose.”