Free 06.The Penniless Peer (The Eternal Collection) by Cartland Barbara Page B

between several large estates whose owners were of local importance and most likely to be entertaining.
    “Someone will be giving a dinner-party,” he said confidently, “and the ladies should be wearing tiaras, necklaces and rings worth a fortune.”
    “Have you thought how you will dispose of them?” Fenella asked.
    “Doubtless someone will be able to give us the required information,” he answered. “If not, we can always ask our friend Isaac Goldstein.”
    Fenella knew that he was teasing her, but at the same time she could not help exclaiming,
     “Really, Periquine, you have no sense of propriety!”
     “That is a fault I usually find in you!” he retorted.
    Then when she was trying to think of an answer, he said,
     “There is a coach coming!”
    They could see for nearly a mile down the road. It was bordered only by low hedges, green with spring buds.
    Fenella perceived a coach moving towards them at what she judged was a quite respectable pace.
     There were no outriders, but there were two men on the box, a coachman who as he grew nearer she saw was an old man, and a footman who appeared young and slim but certainly not athletic.
    They were both dressed in a dark blue livery with polished buttons and three-cornered hats.
    As the coach drew nearer, they could see it was slightly old-fashioned, but obviously it had been expensive and its owner’s crest was emblazoned on the panels of the door.
    Lord Corbury had watched its approach in silence. Now he glanced at Fenella and said with a note of excitement in his voice,
     “Here goes! Keep close behind me.”
    They spurred their horses down to the road-side, and as the coach drew level with them Lord Corbury pulled the black handkerchief over his chin and levelled his pistol.
    “Stand and deliver!” he cried in what Fenella knew was intended to be a ferocious voice.
    It certainly had an effect. The old coachman with an audible gasp pulled his horses to a standstill, while the young footman with a shrill scream put both hands high above his head.
    “Lawks a mercy, don’t shoot! Don’t shoot Oi, Sir,” he cried.
    “Nobody is going to shoot you if you stay quiet as you are,” Lord Corbury replied.
    He glanced at Fenella who had come up beside him and was keeping her pistol trained on the two men on the box. He then dismounted from his horse and handed her the bridle before he pulled open the door of the carriage, still with his pistol in his hand.
    This, Fenella knew, was the dangerous moment. The delay had given the gentleman, if there was one inside, time to draw and if necessary load a pistol.
    Lord Corbury looked inside the carriage. In the far corner there was a very old man. His hair was dead white, his eyes were closed, and it was obvious he was asleep.
    Sitting beside him was a Lady. Extremely pretty, she could not have been much more than thirty years of age. Her hair was dark and elegantly arranged high on her head. In it sparkled a large tiara of emeralds and diamonds.
    Round her neck there was an emerald necklace, and bracelets to match were clasped round her thin wrists.
     Lord Corbury stared at her for a moment. Then still in his assumed voice he said gruffly,
     “Hand over your valuables and quickly.”
    The Lady turned towards the sleeping man and touched him on the arm.
    “Your purse, George!” she said softly. “Give me your purse, dear.”
    The old Gentleman woke up with a start.
    “Purse? purse? You want me to pay? Where are we? At the toll gate?”
    “No dear, this — er — Gentleman requires your money.”
    “Of course, of course, it is here somewhere.”
    He fumbled uncertainly in the inside of his evening-coat and finally drew a long purse from the pocket of his satin knee-breeches.
    The Lady took it from him and handed it to Lord Corbury. As she did so the old Gentleman closed his eyes and composed himself once again for slumber.
    “My husband does not see very well,” she said as if she felt an explanation was