There would be cards at Fanshawe’s house, Prudence guessed; a fair number of young bucks might be counted on to be present; and her frustrated duel with Rensley must be sure of receiving notice.
She chose, at random, a coat of peach satin from her wardrobe, and found a fine waistcoat embroidered in silver to wear with it. Robin came to dredge powder on to her brown locks, and was busy with hot irons for a while. Coaxing a rolling curl into place, Robin said: – ‘Leave early, and have no private talk with Fanshawe. It’s my belief it’s a Quixotic gentleman with no other mind than to step between a callow youth and death. But it’s as well to have a care.’
Prudence agreed to the first part of this speech, but held her peace for the rest. No use in alarming Robin, but she felt there might be more in the large gentleman’s mind than her brother guessed. She waited patiently for Robin to finish tying the black riband in her neck, and rose afterwards to be helped into her coat. Her glance strayed to the mirror, and showed satisfaction. Faith, she made a neat young gentleman. Who should think more? She slipped a ring on to her finger, and her snuff-box into one of the great pockets of her coat. Her stockings seemed to her to be rolled too loosely above the knee; she bent to rectify the fault; gave a final pat to the ruffles about her throat, and sallied forth to the waiting chair.
The house in Clarges Street was strangely quiet. As she gave her hat and cloak into the servant’s care she listened for sound of voices, but none came. The lackey went before her to the door of Sir Anthony’s library, flung it wide, and sonorously called her name.
Sir Anthony was standing alone before the fireplace, where a small wood fire burned. There was no one else in the room. He came forward to greet Prudence, took her hand a moment, and asked a jovial question. She answered in kind, and realized with his next words that she was to be his only guest.
‘I’ve positively no entertainment to offer you, excepting a hand at picquet after dinner,’ smiled Fanshawe. ‘I feel I invite you under false pretences, but you’ll forgive me.’
‘Why, I’m pleased to have it so, sir!’ There was not much truth in that, but one must say something of the sort, she supposed. She paused. A word must be said also of his strange behaviour of yesterday, since it concerned her so nearly. There was not a tremor in her voice as she spoke: nothing but a mixture of amusement and some reproof. ‘I have a quarrel with you, Sir Anthony. You must be aware of it.’
He pulled forward a chair for her, and himself stood leaning with his broad shoulders against the mantelshelf. ‘Faith, not I,’ he answered. ‘Have I offended you?’
One of her long fingers played with the fob of her snuff-box. She looked up tranquilly into the gentleman’s inscrutable, good-humoured countenance. ‘Well, sir, Mr Devereux is of the opinion I might call you out,’ she said, and the twinkle was in her grave eyes.
‘God forbid, little man! What have I done to incur this wrath?’
‘You must know, sir, that I had an engagement this morning to meet Mr Rensley out at Grey’s Inn Fields. In this I’m baulked by Sir Anthony Fanshawe. I can’t pretend to be pleased.’
She had the feeling she was being watched all the time. He smiled a little, and made a slight bow. ‘Oh, I cry your pardon, Mr Fire-Eater. But your complaints were better addressed to Rensley than to me.’
Prudence said coolly: – ‘You may be very sure Mr Rensley will hear from me just so soon as he leaves the surgeon’s care.’ It seemed to her that the straight brows rose in momentary surprise. She went on. ‘Charles is of the opinion I can’t meet the man, but for myself I conceive that so far from considering myself debarred from fighting him after this insult I have the more reason. If Charles won’t act for me – faith, his sense of propriety in these matters is prodigious! – may I call on you, sir?’ This was something of a bold move, to be sure, but by the time Mr Rensley was recovered there would be no Mr Merriot in town, she believed.
‘I’m of Belfort’s opinion, little man,’ Sir Anthony said slowly. ‘You are exempt from the obligation of meeting Rensley.’
‘By your leave, sir. I think the choice rests with me.’ She looked up with an assumption of displeasure. ‘Next time I trust there will be nothing to hinder our meeting,’ she said.
‘Myself, for instance?’ Sir Anthony put up his glass. ‘I believe I don’t repeat myself.’
She bowed and let it go at that. A servant came to announce dinner, and Sir Anthony led the way into the dining-room at the back of the house.
There were wax candles in wrought holders on the table, and silver winking in the golden light. Two chairs were set, and two places laid, with wine in cut-glass decanters, shining covers, and fine white napery.
They sat down, Sir Anthony at the head of the small table, and Prudence on his left. Dishes were presented to her; she made a fair meal, and the talk ran merrily. Sir Anthony spoke of a visit to Newmarket, and begged Prudence’s company. When she paused before making reply he said provocatively: – ‘You daren’t say me nay this time, Peter. Remember my displeasure on another such occasion.’
She suspected him of teasing her and looked up smilingly. ‘What, am I supposed to fear that, sir?’
Sir Anthony was busy with the carving of a chicken, but he found time to meet the challenge in the grey eyes with a look quizzical and humorous. ‘Don’t you, little man?’
Well, if the truth be told, one did fear it. But what was the gentleman’s drift? ‘I take that to be a reflection on my courage,’ she said gaily. ‘I believe I’ve no cause to fear you.’
‘You never can tell,’ Sir Anthony answered. ‘I might lose patience with so fugitive and reserved a youth. Then have you naught to fear?’
Was this a threat, perchance? No, for the large gentleman was smiling with the same good-humour. ‘Oh, am I to be called out?’ she wondered.
‘Acquit me of child murder. But I might refuse to scare away the wolf – a second time.’
She sipped the Burgundy in her glass, and frowned a little, ‘Ah!’ She set down the half-empty glass, and her host filled it again. It was the second time. ‘You lead me to suppose, sir, that what you did yesterday was in the nature of wolf-scaring?’
‘Would you call it that?’ Sir Anthony filled his own glass very leisurely. ‘I had thought it more in the nature of disabling the wolf.’
‘If you like. Then what I suspected was truth indeed?’ She looked steadily at him, with some dignity in her glance.
‘That depends, young man, on what your suspicions were.’
‘I thought, sir, that you had intervened – quite incomprehensibly – on my behalf.’