‘Do not speak any more for you give yourself pain,’ said Melusine fearfully.
‘I must. Something to tell you.’
‘And do not say you made a mull. I find you were excessively brave, mon pauvre.’ Then she frowned. ‘You wish to tell me something? Parbleu, I have nearly forgot once more. Me, I have a question for you first. The sword, Jacques.’
Jack blinked at her. ‘Just what I was going to tell you, miss. It’s on the horse.’
‘The horse?’ echoed Melusine. ‘But it is not on the horse at all, Jacques. That is why I ask you. I have forgot all about the sword until the capitaine has come. But I have remembered the horse and have asked this sergeant that a soldier fetch him. I told the soldier how he must go by the passage, and he found it and brought it here. But he did not find the sword of monsieur le major, for this sergeant would have recognised it and told me that I am arrested again.’ She stopped, for Jack was feebly laughing. ‘But what is it that amuses you, Jacques?’
Kimble’s grin spread wider. ‘I’ll wager that militiaman never rode the animal, then.’
‘I do not think so,’ Melusine agreed, still puzzled.
‘If he had, he’d have found the sword, see. Or felt it. It’s well hidden, miss. Wasn’t easy, I can tell you. But I wrapped it in that nun’s gear you give me. Then I tucked it nice and snug under the saddle-bag. Couldn’t fit it inside, but the horse’s blanket lay over it, and, like I said, as long as no one rides him and don’t remove the blanket, I think it’ll stay hid.’
‘But you are excessively clever, Jacques,’ cried Melusine, relief flooding her. ‘Certainly no one will find it. I must have this beast brought to London with me, that is seen. He must be tied behind the carriage.’
She put in her request for this requirement immediately on returning to the little parlour downstairs, and instantly fell foul of Captain Roding again.
‘Tie a horse behind the carriage?’ he echoed incredulously. ‘What the devil for? I’ll have one of the men ride the creature up tomorrow.’
‘But, no,’ cried Melusine anxiously. ‘It is excessively important that the horse comes with us.’
She saw suspicion darken his gaze. ‘Why?’
Melusine eyed him dubiously. ‘Pray you, do me this one little service, and do not ask me why.’
‘Are you off your head? Think I don’t know you’re up to some mischief or other?’
Melusine feigned innocence. ‘What mischief?’
‘I don’t know, but I’ll go bail you’re at something. I’m not Gerald, remember.’
‘It is well seen you are not Gérard,’ Melusine said, but thankful now that he was not. Gerald would certainly have demanded back his sword. Captain Roding either did not know, or did not remember that she had it. She turned to Lucilla, a plea in her face. ‘Pray you, mademoiselle, can you not—’
‘No use trying to enlist Lucilla’s aid,’ snapped Roding. ‘Either you tell me why you want the wretched animal, or it stays here.’
‘But, Hilary—’
‘Don’t you begin, Lucilla, for I won’t stand for it.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily.
‘Do not beg his pardon,’ intervened Melusine quickly, coming between them. ‘Eh bien, I will tell you. You see, the horse it does not belong to me, nor to the nuns. It is the horse of the priest, you understand, and—and he does not know that I have borrowed it.’
Captain Roding stared at her, his jaw dropping, while Lucilla hastily turned away, although Melusine caught the laughter in her face.
‘Do you mean to tell me,’ enquired the captain at length, ‘that you have had the infernal audacity, the—the gall, the—the— Gad, it’s an outrage! You’ve stolen a horse from a priest?’
‘I did not steal it,’ protested Melusine hotly. ‘I have only borrowed it.’
‘Without permission.’
‘Oui, mais—’
‘You are, without exception, the most unprincipled, the most unscrupulous, the most shameless, immoral, devious—’
‘Pardon me, sir,’ burst in Mrs Ibstock suddenly, her tone belligerent, bringing the captain’s tirade to an abrupt halt as he turned to glare at her. ‘Ain’t my place, I know that. But stand by and hear such things said about my late mistress’s daughter, I won’t.’
‘Bravo,’ applauded Lucilla, clapping her hands.
‘Merci, Joan,’ cried Melusine, moving to her and seizing her hand which she clasped between both her own for a moment, as she turned to the others. ‘Now you see why it is I no longer require the proof of which I have spoken.’
‘What is all this about your proof?’ demanded Roding, diverted.
‘This was a picture of Mary Remenham that I have found today. I thought it was a mirror at the first, for it was so very like myself.’
‘So that was it. Couldn’t make head nor tail of that note of yours. Barring that the Valade fellow had sneaked back. And I’ll have that story off you as we journey back to town. How the devil did you break a picture?’
‘Don’t be obtuse, Hilary. She hit the villain with it. She said that in the note.’
‘It’s no use you being superior,’ said Roding severely. ‘You didn’t understand it any better than I.’
‘Well, I do now,’ Lucilla said firmly, and turned back to Melusine. ‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer. Was it ruined?’
‘But yes, it was entirely ruined. And I think also that Gosse—I mean that one who calls himself Valade—stole it. Only now it does not matter at all because Joan has come and has seen me.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Lucilla excitedly, ‘and she has been telling us how much of a friend she was to your mother. How fortunate that she recognises the resemblance.’
