"More art," said his lordship. "A coach is a seeable, trackable thing,
and it will throw everybody off the scent. I'm glad the ruffian's dead. He
was overmuch wise in my affairs."
As we rode on into the interminable wastes, he rallied me gleefully, but
soon tired of my moroseness.
"His arrival will make an affecting picture," he said mockingly to his
men. He was feverishly excited, and must boast to some one. "No pliant
damsel to rush into his longing arms! He is to be embraced though, my
masters, if need be."
What this obscure threat might portend, I could not see, but it chimed in
with the delirious cruelty of the dead sergeant. Threats for the future
mattered not, the present being so unendurable. A man in Brocton's
position must be hard put to it to turn traitor in this strange fashion.
He had "rescued" me with his own men, and, lord or no lord, he would hang
for it were it once known to a lover of the gibbet like the Duke's Grace
of Cumberland. What on earth was the letter about? Master Freake had
definitely said lands, and therefore lands it must be, though nothing less
than the whole Ridgeley estates could be in question.
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