The Talisman Ring

The circumstance of the Beau’s butler and valet having seen part at least of the search for the secret panel Sir Tristram found disturbing. That the Beau was already suspicious of Eustacie’s supposed groom was apparent; Sir Tristram believed that if he got wind of his cousin’s odd behaviour in his library he would be quite capable of putting two and two together and not only connecting Ludovic with the episode but realizing that he himself had at last fallen under suspicion. And if the Beau suspected that Ludovic, who knew the position of the priest’s hole, had come into Sussex to find his ring he would surely be very unlikely to leave it where it would certainly be looked for.

Some part of these forebodings Shield confided to Miss Thane, enjoining her to do all that lay in her power to keep Ludovic hidden from all eyes but their own.

“Well, I will do my best,” replied Sarah, “but it is not an easy task, Sir Tristram.”

“I know it is not an easy task,” he said impatiently, “but it is the only way in which you can assist us—which I understand you to be desirous of doing.”

She could not forbear giving him a look of reproach. “You must be forgetting what assistance I rendered you at the Dower House,” she said.

“No,” replied Sir Tristram, at his dryest. “I was not forgetting that.”

Miss Thane rested her chin in her hand, pensively surveying him. “Will you tell me something, Sir Tristram?”

“Perhaps. What is it?”

“What induced you ever to contemplate marriage with your cousin?”

He looked startled, and not too well pleased. “I can hardly suppose, ma’am, that my private affairs can be of interest to you,” he said.

“Some people,” remarked Miss Thane wisely, “would take that for a set-down.”

Their eyes met; Sir Tristram smiled reluctantly. “You do not seem to be of their number, ma’am.”

“I am very thick-skinned,” explained Sarah. “You see, I have not had the benefit of a correct upbringing.”

“Have you always lived with your brother?” he inquired.

“Since I left school, sir.”

“I suppose that accounts for it,” he said, half to himself.

“Accounts for what?” asked Miss Thane suspiciously.

“Your—unusual quality, ma’am.”

“I hope that is a compliment,” said Miss Thane, not without misgiving.

“I am not very apt at compliments!” he retorted.

Her eyes twinkled appreciatively. “Yes, I deserved that. Very well, Sir Tristram, but you have not answered my question. Why did you take it into your head to marry your cousin?”

“You have been misinformed, ma’am. The idea was taken into my great-uncle’s head, not mine.”

She raised her brows. “Had you no voice in the matter then? Now, from what I have seen of you, I find that very hard to believe.”

“Do you imagine that I wanted to marry Eustacie for the sake of her money?” he demanded.

“No,” replied Miss Thane calmly. “I do not imagine anything of the kind.”

His momentary flash of anger died down; he said, less harshly: “Being the last of my name, ma’am, I conceive it to be my duty to marry. The alliance proposed to me by my great-uncle was one of convenience, and as such agreeable to me. Owing to the precarious circumstances to which the upheaval in France has reduced her paternal relatives, her grandfather’s death leaves Eustacie alone in the world, a contingency he sought to provide against by this match. I promised Sylvester upon his deathbed that I would marry Eustacie. That is all the story.”

“How do you propose to salve your conscience?” asked Miss Thane.

“My conscience is not likely to trouble me in this instance,” he answered. “Eustacie does not wish to marry me, and it would take more than a promise made to Sylvester to make me pursue a suit which she has declared to be distasteful to her. Moreover, had events turned out otherwise, Sylvester would have given her to Ludovic, not to me.”

“Oh, that is famous!” said Miss Thane. “We can now promote her betrothal to him with clear consciences. But it is vexing for you to be obliged to look about you for another lady eligible for the post you require her to fill. Are you set on marrying a young female?”

“I am not set on marrying anyone, and I beg that you—”

“Well, that should make it easier,” said Miss Thane. “Very young ladies are apt to be romantic, and that would never do.”

“I certainly do not look for romance in marriage, but pray do not let my affairs—”

“It must be someone past the age of being hopeful of getting a husband,” pursued Miss Thane, sinking her chin in her hand again.

“Thank you!” said Sir Tristram.

“Not handsome—I do not think we can expect her to be more than passable,” decided Miss Thane. “Good birth would of course be an essential?”

“Really, Miss Thane, this conversation—”