“How can any action of mine jeopardize Lady Frances Wentworth?”
“If the King knew this girl was within his jurisdiction, she would be instantly arrested, tried, and condemned. She entered Whitehall the day her father was executed, for the sole purpose of murdering Charles. I prevented the carrying out of that purpose, and these scars on my face are the results of my interference with a maddened woman.”
“Again, you lie, yet if she had killed you both she would have accomplished but the justice of God.”
“As to the truth or falsity of my statements, regarding which you make comments of unseemly terseness, you may ask the King when you see him, or you may ask the lady herself when you get her out of Oxford. If you precipitate a turmoil here, you are like to tumble her pretty head in the basket. When this war is done with, I will go far to teach you the correct method of addressing a gentleman.”
Armstrong’s sword dropped into scabbard again, and he drew a breath that was a sigh. The poison was already at work. He remembered the distress of the girl on the road, and her wail, “I am not worthy the love of any honest man.”
“I shall never question her or any other, but will believe her lightest word against the world when she condescends to tell me. Meanwhile I shall get her out of this thieves’ den as soon as may be, and by God when I meet you——”
De Courcy had risen, and now bowed slightly to his perturbed guest.
“Sir, you shall meet me at twelve, and it will be my privilege to conduct you to his Majesty. Good morning.”
He stood by the window overlooking the quadrangle and watched his late visitor cross it, staggering once as if he had partaken freely of the wine which remained untasted on the table. As the Scot disappeared under the archway De Courcy laughed.
“My fine, strutting cockerel,” he muttered, “I’ll lay you by the heels before two days are past. Cromwell’s at Broughton, curse his tattling tongue. How many more has he told of me? Never mind. He’s the coming man. The King’s game is up, and I shake the dust of Oxford from my feet to-night. Saint Denis, if she had only known! Every man in Oxford distrusts me except the King.”