“Instead of which,” said Robin, inspecting the lacing of one of his great cuffs, “she might be lying snug in gaol. Horrible, sir.”
“And why not?” my lord demanded. “I had an alibi for her — I should have intervened in a manner quiet, and convincing. All the dignity of my proceeding has been upset; my son is forced to escape at night, and in secrecy; a hue and cry for the Merriots must of course arise, and I — I must set all straight again! If I were not a man of infinite resource, and of resolution the most astounding, I might well cast up my hands, and abandon all. If I had not the patience of a saint I might be tempted to censure the whole of this affair as it deserves. But I say nothing. I bear all meekly. I am to set about the unravelling of a knot I had no hand in making. I have to adjust my plans to suit an entirely altered situation.” He stopped and took snuff.
My lady preserved her air of coaxing. But she felt shattered. “It is all very dreadful, Robert,” she agreed. “Give the bon papa a glass of Burgundy, Robin.”
Robin got up, and went to the table Marthe had set. He brought my lord a glass of the wine. My lord sipped it in austere silence, enjoying the bouquet. His manner underwent a sudden, bewildering change. With complete urbanity he said: “A very good Burgundy, my dear Thérèse. I felicitate you.”
Robin judged it time to speak. “You crush us, sir. Believe us all penitence. Doubtless we lack finesse. But I confess I applaud Sir Anthony’s action. It seems to me masterly.”
“Of its kind,” said my lord affably, “superb! Unworthy of me, clumsy beyond words, lacking entirely any forethought but — for any other man — worthy of applause. I applaud it. I smile to see such blundering methods, but I do not say what I think of them. Sir Anthony has my approbation.” The terrible frown was wiped from his face. He sat down beside my lady and became once more benign. “We must now consider your case, my Robin. You have my forgiveness for what is past. I say nothing about it.”
“You can scarcely expect to find a brain like yours inside my poor head, sir,” said Robin dulcetly.
“I realise it, my son. On that account alone I do condone all this folly. I even forgive John.”
John received this with a grunt not exactly expressive of gratitude. My lord looked affectionately across at him. “You did very well, my John, from what I can discover. When I consider that you lacked my guiding hand, I am bound to acknowledge that you and Sir Anthony carried the affair through very creditably. But we have now to provide for Robin.” He put his finger-tips together, and smiled upon his son. “I perceive you are in readiness to be gone. I do not entirely like the lacing of that coat, but let it pass. You will proceed at once to the coast with John. He knows the place. If Lawton — you do not know him, but I have had many dealings with him in my time — if Lawton, I say, keeps to the plans he had made when I was aboard his vessel last month, he should bring the Pride o’ Rye in for cargo at about this time. If he has been already there will be others soon enough. You will show that ring. It is enough.” He handed a ring he wore on his little finger to his son. “But John will be with you. I need have no anxieties. Once in France you will proceed to Dieppe. Your trunks are with Gaston still. You will collect them, and embark on the first packet to England — under your rightful name. Remember that! You may find me in Grosvenor Square by then. John will see you safe aboard the Pride o’ Rye, and return then to me. I have need of him.”
“Good gad, sir, I don’t need John to escort me to this mysterious place!” said Robin.