“Certainly gentlemen,” agreed Prudence. She turned to the waiting lackey. “Fetch my hat and coat, Stephen. And apprise my lady and Miss Merriot upon their return of this ridiculous mistake. You will tell Miss Merriot to be in no anxiety on my account. I shall be back again almost at once, of course.”
The lackey went out; the apologetic gentleman whispered diffidently the word “Sword!” The spokesman nodded. “Not wishing to offend, your honour, but it won’t do to wear a sword.”
“I am not wearing it, gentlemen.”
They perceived that this was so. “Thank you, sir. And of course, pistols ...”
Prudence got up. “Pray search me. It’s not my habit to carry pistols on my person.”
She was assured again that no offence was intended; a perfunctory hand felt her pockets; the gentlemen professed themselves satisfied, and the hoarse member begged pardon, and resumed his study of the ceiling.
Prudence remained standing by her chair, awaiting her hat and cloak. The officers of the Law stayed by the door, sentinel-fashion. Prudence looked meditatively out of the window that gave on to the garden and the river.
Her eyes were indifferent, and returned to the contemplation of her captors. But there was hope in her breast, for she had seen John.
The lackey came back with her hat and cloak, and beribboned cane. Out of the corner of her eye Prudence saw that John had disappeared. Unhurriedly she repeated her message to Robin, and laid the coat over her arm. She shook out her ruffles, put on her point-edged tricorne, and professed herself in readiness to start. She was conducted into the hall, past peeping servants, and out to the waiting coach. She entered it, and seated herself in the far corner, perfectly at ease. The two officers got in after her, and sat down, one beside her, and one opposite. The two steps were drawn up, the door shut. The coach moved ponderously forward. God send Robin did nothing foolhardy.
In my lady’s stables, in desperate haste, John was buckling the saddle-girths of a fine chestnut mare. She was saddled and bridled in a space of time that would have made my lady’s coachmen gasp, and led out into the yard. A groom coming out of the harness-room, with a straw between his teeth, stared, and wondered where John might be off to. John said curtly he had a message to deliver, and was off before the groom could utter another word. That stolid person was left gaping. One moment John was there, in the yard, with a mettlesome mare under him; the next, he simply was not. He had vanished out of the gate before one was aware of him moving at all. The groom thought that he must be in a hurry, and continued to chew, ruminatively, his straw.