Edmund considered her. Apparently he remembered her with kindness, for his severity relaxed, and he politely held out his hand. “You are the lady which knows Keighley. I will let you take me home. An’ p’raps if you tell me some more about your pony I won’t feel sick,” he added.

“Very bad traveller,” said Sir Nugent in an audible aside. “Seems to turn queasy every time he goes in a chaise. Dashed unfortunate, because it fidgets her la’ship. Pity we couldn’t have brought his nurse, but her la’ship said no. No use trying to bribe her: had to bamboozle her instead. Meant he should travel with her la’ship’s maid, but at the last moment we were queered upon that suit too. Maggoty female couldn’t be brought up to the scratch! Said she was scared to go on a ship. “ What would have happened if Nelson had been scared to go on a ship?” I said. She said she didn’t know. “The Frogs would have landed,” I said. “ No one to stop’em,” I said. No use. Said she couldn’t stop ’em even if she did go to sea. Bit of a doubler, that, because I don’t suppose she could. So there we were, floored at all points.”

“Who is this gentleman?” suddenly demanded Edmund.

“That is Mr. Orde, Edmund. Sir Nugent, will you—”

“I’m glad he asked that,” said Sir Nugent. “Didn’t quite like to do it myself. Happy to make your acquaintance, sir! Daresay her la’ship would say the same, but she’s rather fagged. Gone to lie down in her cabin. Allow me to escort you, ma’am!”

“I’ll wait for you here, Phoebe,” Tom said. “Come on, Master Poll Parrot, you may bear me company!”

Sir Nugent, handing Phoebe down the short companion-way, told her that Ianthe found her quarters rather constricted but was bearing every inconvenience with the fortitude of an angel. He then opened one of the two doors at the bottom of the companionway and announced: “A visitor, my love!”

Ianthe had been lying on one of the two berths in what seemed to Phoebe quite a spacious cabin, but upon hearing these words she uttered a shriek, and sat up, her hands clasped at her bosom. But as soon as she saw who it was who had entered, her fright vanished, and she exclaimed: “Miss Marlow! Good God, how comes this about? Oh, my dear Miss Marlow, how glad I am to see you! To think that you should be the first to felicitate me! For you must know that Nugent and I were married by special licence yesterday! We fled immediately from the church door, in the travelling chariot Nugent has had built for me. Was it not particularly touching of him? It is lined with blue, to match my eyes! Nugent, do go and tell them to make less noise! I shall be driven distracted by it! Shouting, and tramping, and clanking, and creaking till I could scream! You must tell the sailors that I have the headache, and cannot endure such a racket. Dear Miss Marlow, I thought you had gone to Paris a week ago!”

“We have been delayed. Lady Ianthe, I wish you very happy, but—excuse me—!—that was not my purpose in coming aboard. I saw Edmund, and realized what must be the reason for his being here. You will think me impertinent, but you must not steal him out of England! Indeed, indeed you must not!”

“Not steal him out of England? Why, how can you say so when it was you who showed me what I must do?”

“Oh, don’t say so!” Phoebe cried sharply.

Ianthe laughed. “But of course it was you! As soon as I read how Florian and Matilda smuggled Maximilian on to that boat—”

“I implore you, stop!” begged Phoebe. “You cannot think that I meant that nonsense to be taken seriously! Lady Henry, you must let me take Edmund back to London! When I wrote that Ugolino couldn’t pursue Maximilian out of his own country it was make-believe! But this is real life, and I assure you Salford can pursue you—perhaps even have you punished by the law!”

“He won’t know where we are,” replied Ianthe confidently. “Besides, Sylvester hates scandal. I am persuaded he would endure anything rather than let the world know the least one of the family secrets!”

“Then how could you serve him such a trick?” demanded Phoebe hotly. “The Duchess too! You cannot have considered what distress you will cause her if you hold by this scheme!”

Ianthe began to pout. “She is not Edmund’s mama! I think you are being very unjust! You don’t care for my distress! You cannot, enter into the feelings of a mother, I daresay, but I should have thought you must have known I could never abandon my child to Sylvester. And don’t tell me you didn’t mean Maximilian for Edmund, because everyone knows you did!”

“Yes!” flashed Phoebe. “Because you told everyone so! Oh, haven’t you harmed me enough? You promised me you wouldn’t repeat what passed between us—”

“I didn’t repeat it! The only person I told was Sally Derwent, and I particularly warned her not to mention it to a soul!” interrupted Ianthe, much aggrieved. “How can you be so unkind to me? As though my nerves were not worn down enough! I have had to bring Edmund without Button, and I am obliged to do everything for him, because he is so cross and naughty with poor Nugent, and I scarcely closed my eyes all night, because we were travelling, and I had to hold Edmund in my lap, and he kept waking up and crying, and saying he wanted to be sick, till I was fagged to death! If I told him one fairy-tale I told him fifty, but he would do nothing but say he wished to go home, till I could have slapped him! And that odious abigail refusing at the last minute to go with me, and now you reproaching me—oh, it is too bad! I don’t know how I shall manage, for I am feeling very unwell already! Why can’t those horrid sailors keep the boat still? Why does it rock up and down when it isn’t even moving yet? I know I shall be prostrate the instant we set sail, and then who is to take care of Edmund?”

This impassioned speech ended in a burst of tears, but when Phoebe, seizing on the final woe, represented to the injured beauty how imprudent it would be to embark with Edmund upon a rough sea passage without providing him with an attendant, Ianthe declared herself ready to sacrifice her health, comfort, and even her sanity rather than give up her child; adding however, with a slight lapse from nobility: “People would say I cared more for riches than Edmund!”

Since this seemed more than likely Phoebe found it difficult to reassure her; but before she had uttered more than a dozen words Ianthe was struck by a brilliant notion, and started up from her berth, her face transfigured. “Oh, Miss Marlow, I have hit on the very thing! We will take you with us! Just as far as to Paris, I mean. There can be no objection: you mean to go there, and I am sure there is no occasion for you to travel with Lady Ingham if you don’t choose to do so! She may join you in Paris—you can stay at the Embassy until she comes: that may easily be arranged!—and she must surely be able to undertake the journey without you. She has her abigail to go with her, remember! I am persuaded she would be the first to say I ought not to be obliged to travel without a female to support me. Oh, Miss Marlow, do, pray, say you will stay with me!”

Miss Marlow was still saying that she would do no such thing when Sir Nugent once more begged his bride’s permission to come in.

He was followed by Tom, whom he at once presented, with great punctilio. Tom said that he begged her ladyship’s pardon for intruding upon her, but had come to tell Phoebe it was time to be going ashore again. A speaking look directed at his childhood’s friend conveyed to her the information that his attempts to bring Sir Nugent to a sense of his wrongdoing had met with failure.

Beyond bestowing a mechanical smile upon him, Ianthe paid him little heed, addressing herself instead to Sir Nugent, and eagerly explaining to him her brilliant notion. In him she found her only supporter: not only did he think it a stroke of genius, but he called upon Phoebe and Tom to applaud it. He won no response. Politely at first, and later with distressing frankness, Tom explained to him why he thought it rather the hall-mark of folly. He said that he would neither accompany the party to France nor remain behind to tell Lady Ingham why her granddaughter had abandoned her, and from this standpoint nothing would move him.

He had entered the cabin with the intention only of taking Phoebe ashore. In his view, there was nothing more to be done, and she might wash her hands of the affair with a clear conscience. But as Ianthe reiterated her former arguments, several times asserting that it was absurd of Phoebe to have scruples now, when everyone knew she had instigated the plot, his sentiments soon underwent a change. He saw all the force of what Phoebe had previously urged, and ranged himself on her side, even going so far as to talk of laying information with the nearest magistrate.

“Very ungentlemanly thing to do,” said Sir Nugent, shaking his head. “Don’t think you should. Besides, there’s no sense in it: you go to the magistrate, we set sail, and then where are you?”

Tom, who was becoming heated, retorted: “Not if I don’t go ashore till you’ve lost the tide! What’s more I’ll take the boy with me, because I’ve a strong notion it would be perfectly lawful to do so, and if you try to stop me it will very likely be a felony!”

“You rude, odious—Nugent! Where is Edmund?” cried Ianthe. “How could you leave him alone? Good God, he may have fallen overboard! Bring him to me this instant, unless you want me to run mad with anxiety!”

“No, no, don’t do that, my love! Plenty of sailors to fish him out again, you know,” Sir Nugent assured her. “Not but what I’ll fetch him to you, if you want him!”

“He won’t fall overboard,” said Tom, as Sir Nugent departed on his errand.