“Nothing of any consequence, my lord,” I answered carelessly.
“Ha!” he cried; “I have been too lenient hitherto. And here—here,” he continued, taking a paper from the table before him, “is an order from the Council urging more stringent measures. Should James succeed in Ireland, Louis will land an army on the coast—’tis more than likely here, in Devon. Tourville, with the French fleet, is in the channel. Parliament is distracted. Spies everywhere. Burn me!” he cried with sudden rage, “they shall not complain of my remissness, and I will begin here. I would that I had to deal with this woman!”
“In that case, my lord,” I said, “your wish may be speedily gratified, for Lady Ingram is herself in Exeter for the express purpose of waiting upon your lordship.”
“Say you so?” he replied with an ugly frown. “Then I will see her. And curse me! she shall have cause to remember it.”
“But not here,” Mistress Maddon cried suddenly. “Let her carry her complaints elsewhere—to London, if she pleases! She shall not come here!”
“Shall not?” my lord cried angrily. “She shall come here, or elsewhere, as I choose, madam! Remember, I am master of this house—and what you are!” he added brutally.
“You do well to remind me of that,” she answered bitterly; “but she does not enter whilst I am here.”
“What, jealous?” my lord cried sneeringly. “Sink me! ’tis a good jest that. The little Maddon jealous!” And he laughed coarsely.
“I have so much reason to be jealous, have I not?” the woman answered contemptuously. “Nevertheless,” she continued, “this fine madam shall not enter the house.”
I caught the sound of footsteps in the hall.