The servant tried to dissuade him, but in vain. Mr Rensley rather pale, and uncertain yet on his legs, sallied forth and was gone all the afternoon. When he returned he was certainly very tired, but his man had to admit the exertion seemed rather to have improved his condition than to have set him back. Indeed, Mr Rensley came home with a pleasant feeling of having done his duty, and paid off a rankling debt.
What he had to say to the representatives of the Law was interesting to them, but created not much surprise. Suspicion had fallen on Mr Merriot before Rensley spoke: his disclosures only served to strengthen suspicion. The Law went carefully to work. Miss Letty was questioned again, and stood fast to her description of a brown-haired man of medium height, with the air of a gentleman. Mr Merriot now appeared in the light of a secret lover, and circumstances certainly rather damning were pieced together. The Authorities put wise heads together, and considered it time to act.
On Tuesday of next week two coaches set out on the road to Richmond. One was a smart chaise with arms on the doors, carrying Sir Anthony Fanshawe’s baggage down to Hampshire; the other was a sober vehicle, containing two sober gentlemen who held a warrant for the arrest of Mr Merriot. This equipage set off shortly before four in the afternoon; Sir Anthony’s chaise started rather later, for my lady, soft-hearted towards a lover, had begged Sir Anthony to make Richmond his first day’s halt, and to rest at her house that night. Sir Anthony had accepted this invitation, though Richmond was not precisely on the direct route. That seemed to be immaterial. His chaise set forward in good time; Sir Anthony, not a man of sedentary habits, followed later on horseback.
At White’s in St James’s my Lord Barham played at faro, and informed my Lord March genially that he hoped to give the pettifogging lawyers all the proofs they needed of his identity at the end of the week.
In the big house in Grosvenor Square Mr Rensley nursed his wound and speculated on the results of the meeting to be held in this very room, a few days hence.
At Richmond Robin drove out with my lady to drink a dish of Bohea, which he detested, that Prudence might be alone to receive Sir Anthony Fanshawe when he arrived.
She sat in the library, overlooking the river, and tried to interest herself with a book. But the book could not hold her attention; she must ever be harkening for the sound of coach wheels.
It came at last. She was woman enough to cast a glance at the big mirror hanging over the fireplace. The mirror showed a handsome young gentleman in a powdered wig. A slightly disordered neck-cloth had to be adjusted; Prudence bent her eyes once more on the book.
A lackey opened the door; she looked up and saw a scared expression on his face, not unmixed with curiosity. She kept her finger in the book; she was at once on the alert, completely mistress of herself.
“Sir — two men! ...” The lackey did not seem to know what next to say.