The beautifully curved lips straightened to a thin line; Prudence saw her brother’s eyes keen and anxious. “Be a little plain with me, child. You’ve sustained some hurt?”
“No more than a bruise, I think, but oh, Robin, it hurt!” Again she laughed, but there was a quiver in her voice. “Help me to come out of this coat; ’tis on my left shoulder.”
The shoulder was swiftly bared and an ugly bruise disclosed. There came a soft curse from Robin. “Who did it?”
“Now, how should I know? Charles spoke of the Mohocks.”
Robin was searching on his dressing table for ointment, and came back to her with the pot in his hand. As he smeared the stuff lightly over the bruise, he said remorsefully: “’Tis I who was at fault. I should have seen to it you had my lady’s chaise out.”
“Oh, no harm done, as it chances. But there were three of them and I was all but sped. Then Charles came running up, and there was an end of it.” She slipped her shirt up again over her shoulder. “Thanks, child. I would you had seen my sword play. I am sure it did you credit.” She paused and looked at the guttering candles. Her tone changed, and became serious. “I have a notion they were creatures of Markham’s set on to beat me.”
“Markham’s?” Robin set down the ointment.
“I know of no one else with a grudge against me. They were not common Mohocks.” She told him what she had heard.
He strode to the window and back again, frowning. “I think this is where we make our bow,” he said at last.
“Devil a bit!” was the cheerful response. “For the future I shall remember to take a chaise; that’s all there is to it.”