“Not I.” Kate jerked a shoulder as though to shake something off. “We went into it — egad, why did we go into it?”
“Ask the old gentleman,” said Mr Merriot, the slow smile creeping up again. “He had a loyal fervour, belike.”
Kate drew down the corners of her mouth. “It’s a pleasing image. He meant it for a beau geste, I dare swear. And we? Well, I suppose we went willy-nilly into the net.”
“I don’t regret it. The old gentleman meddled in Saxe’s affairs, but we came out of that net.”
“That was in the nature of adventuring. This — ” Kate paused. “Bah, I hate lost causes! It was different.”
“For you?” Mr Merriot lifted an eyebrow. “Did you want the Prince, child?”
“We fought for him while it lasted. He had the right. But now it’s over, and the Butcher’s made a shambles of the North, and there are those who have died on Tower Hill, while we — we try our fortunes, and the old gentleman weaves us a fresh net. I believe I’ll turn respectable.”
“Alack, we were made for sobriety!” said Mr Merriot.
Came the landlord, and a serving maid with dinner. Covers were laid, and a cork drawn. Miss Merriot and her brother sat down to fat capons and a generous pasty. They were left presently toying with sweetmeats and their wine. The maid bore off all that remained of the capons through the door that led into the passage. The door was left ajar and allowed a glimpse of another door, across the passageway. From behind it came the sound of a lady’s voice raised in protest.
“I won’t, I tell you!” it said. “I won’t!”