My lady shrieked, fell back, and was understood to be fainting.
"You come too late, sirrah," says Mr. Hadley. "Your foxes be gone away."
The man tapped his nose and grinned. "That won't do, sir. Set about it,
Joe," and he nudged his fellow.
"What's the charge against them?" says Mr. Hadley.
The man laughed. "Come, sir, you know better than that. I ain't here to answer questions." Mr. Hadley put his hand in his pocket. The man grinned and shook his head, and went out pushing his comrade in front of him. Mr. Hadley followed them. As soon as they were out in the corridor and the door was shut behind them, the man turned and held out his hand to Mr. Hadley, who dropped into it a couple of guineas. "Lord, now, what did you think it was?" says the messenger genially. "Treasonable correspondence—Pretender—Lewis le Grand and so forth. Quite gentleman-like, d'ye smoke me?"
"Prithee, who set you on?" says Mr. Hadley.
"Now you go too far, ecod, you do. I don't mind obliging a gentleman, but you want to lose me my place. We'll be searching the house, by your leave."
Off they went, and Mr. Hadley went back to my lady. She had been revived, and the air was heavy with scent. She fluttered her hands at the ministering Arabella and said faintly, "What is it, Charles?"
"It seems there's some talk of their having dealings with the Pretender."
"Lord bless my soul," Sir John puffed.