Sir Anthony threw away the wisp of straw. “Come then. There’s naught but my hands to make a cup for you, alack.”
But they served well enough. They came back at length to the barn, and found the horses lipping at a pile of hay in the corner. A bed was made for Prudence. “Now sleep, my dear,” Sir Anthony said. “You need it, God knows.”
She sank down on to the sweet-smelling couch. “What of yourself, sir?”
“I’m going to take the horses down to the stream. Be at ease concerning me. What, must you be worrying still?”
She lay back with her head pillowed on her folded greatcoat, and smiled up at him. “A pair of vagabonds,” she said. “Faith, what have I done to the elegant Sir Anthony Fanshawe? It’s scandalous, I protest, to set you at odds with the law.”
Sir Anthony led the horses to the door. “Oh, you must always be thinking you had the ordering of this!” he said teasingly, and went out.
When he brought the horses back her eyes were closed, and she had a hand slipped under her cheek. Sir Anthony took off his greatcoat, and went down on his knee to lay it gently over her. She did not stir. For a moment he stayed, looking down at her, then he rose, and went soft-footed to the door, and paced slowly up and down in the moonlight. Inside the barn the horses munched steadily at the armful of hay he had given them. There was silence over the fields; the world slept, but Sir Anthony Fanshawe stayed wakeful, guarding his lady’s rest.
Chapter 30
Triumph of Lord Barham
Speculation concerning the result of my Lord Barham’s coming meeting in Grosvenor Square was in abeyance. The strange flight of the Merriots formed the topic of every conversation in Polite Circles. It was a seven-days’ wonder, and society was greatly put out to think it had received this couple with open arms. It was felt that my Lady Lowestoft had been very much to blame, and quite a number of people who heard my lady’s lamentation felt a glow of superiority. They had a comfortable conviction that they would never have been so foolish as to invite such a chance-met pair to stay. One or two persons had an odd idea that they had heard my lady say she was acquainted with the Merriots’ father, but when they mentioned this my lady was positively indignant. Voyons, how could she have said anything of the sort when she had never set eyes on the elder Mr Merriot? She had been most grossly deceived; no one could imagine how great was the kindness she had shown the couple; she had had no suspicion of foul play. When she heard that Mr Merriot was taken by the law for the killing of Gregory Markham she was so shocked, so astonished, she could scarcely speak. And then, next morning, to find Kate flown, and a horse gone from her own stables — oh, she was prostrated. The affair was terrible — she believed she would never recover.