The Talisman Ring

“Certainly,” said Shield, “but do you—does your brother realize that this is an adventure that is likely to lead us all to Newgate?”

“I do,” she replied placidly. “I doubt whether my brother realizes anything beyond the facts of a cold in the head and a well-stocked cellar. If we do reach Newgate, perhaps you will be able to get us out again.”

“You are very intrepid!” he said, with a look of amusement.

“Sir,” said Miss Thane, “during the course of the past twelve hours my life seems to have become so full of smugglers, Excisemen, and wicked cousins that I now feel I can face anything. What in the world possessed the boy to take to smuggling, by-the-by?”

“God knows! You might as well ask what possessed Eustacie to leave the Court at midnight to become a governess. They should deal extremely together if ever they can be married.” He rose. “I must go back and do what I can to avert suspicion. Somehow or other we must find this panel Ludovic speaks of before he can thrust his head into a noose.”

Miss Thane gave a discreet cough. “Do you—er—place much dependence on the panel, Sir Tristram?”

“No, very little, but I place every dependence upon Ludovic’s breaking into the Dower House in search of it,” he replied frankly. “For the moment we have him tied by the heels, but that won’t be for long, if I know him. They are tough stock, the Lavenhams.” He walked to the table and picked up his hat and riding whip. “I’ll take my leave now. I fancy we have fobbed off the riding-officer, but there may be others. If you should want me, send Clem over to the Court with a message, and I’ll come.”

She nodded. “Meanwhile, is Ludovic in danger, do you think?”

“Not at Nye’s hands, but if information were lodged against him at Bow Street by anyone suspecting his presence here, yes, in great danger.”

“And at his cousin’s hands?”

He met her questioning look thoughtfully, and after a moment said: “I may be wrong, but I believe so. There is a good deal at stake.” He tapped his riding whip against his top-boot. “It all turns on the talisman ring,” he said seriously. “Whoever has that is the man who shot Plunkett. I must cultivate a more intimate acquaintance with the Beau.”

He took his leave of her and went out, calling for his horse to be brought round. Miss Thane saw him ride away, and went slowly back to her patient.

Had it been possible to have sent for a surgeon to attend Ludovic, cupping would certainly have been prescribed. Miss Thane was a little anxious lest serious fever should set in, but both Shield and the landlord maintained that Ludovic had a strong enough constitution to weather worse things than a mere wound in his shoulder, and after a couple of days she was bound to acknowledge that they were right. The wound began to heal just as it should, and the patient announced his intention of leaving his sickbed. This perilous resolve was frustrated by Shield, who, though he visited the Red Lion every day, omitted to bring with him the raiment he had promised to procure from Ludovic’s abandoned wardrobe at the Court.

While Ludovic lay in the back bedchamber, either playing piquet with his cousin or evolving plans for the recovery of his ring, Sir Hugh Thane continued to occupy one of the front rooms. His cold really had been a great deal worse on the morning of Shield’s first visit, and once having gained a hold on the unfortunate baronet, it ran the whole gamut of sore throat, thick head, watering eyes, loss of taste, and ended up with a cough on the chest which Sarah, with unwonted solicitude, declared to be bad enough to lead (if great care were not taken) to an inflammation of the lungs.

It was not, therefore, in the least difficult to persuade Sir Hugh to keep his room. His only complaint was that he was without his valet, this indispensable person having gone to London in advance of his master with the major part of the baggage and Sarah’s abigail. It took all Sarah’s ingenuity to think out enough plausible reasons for not summoning Satchell to his master’s sickbed. Satchell had been in Sir Hugh’s employment for some years, but Miss Thane did not feel that he could be trusted with the secret of Ludovic’s presence at the Red Lion. Luckily Clem proved himself a deft attendant, and beyond remarking two or three times a day that he wished he had Satchell with him, Sir Hugh made no complaint. He accepted Sarah’s story of the heiress fleeing from a distasteful marriage. It was doubtful whether the original tale of Ludovic’s misfortunes occupied any place in his erratic memory, but he did once ask his sister whether she had not mentioned having met a smuggler. She admitted it, but said that he had left the inn.

“Oh!” said Sir Hugh. “A pity. If you should see him again, you might let me know.”