ust be more than a simple
blow struck at one man, Mr. Thomas FitzHerbert: Topcliffe would not
have come down from London at all unless it were a larger quarry than
Mr. Thomas that was aimed at. Thirdly, and in conclusion, it would not
be easy therefore to get Mr. Thomas released again. There remained a
number of questions which she had as yet no means of answering. Was it
because Mr. Thomas was heir to the enormous FitzHerbert estates in this
county and elsewhere, that he was struck at? Or was it the beginning,
merely, of a general assault on Derbyshire, such as had taken place
before she was born? Or was it that Mr. Thomas' apparent coolness
towards the Faith (for that was evident by his not having heard mass for
so long, and by his refusal to entertain priests just at present)--was
it that lack of zeal on his part, which would, of course, be known to
the army of informers scattered now throughout England, which had marked
him out as the bird to be flown at? It would be, indeed, a blow to the
Catholic gentry of the county, if any of the FitzHerberts should fall!

She stood up presently, grave with her thoughts. Mistress Alice glanced
up.

"I am going out for a little," said Marjorie.

"But--"

"May two of your men follow me at a little distance? But I shall be safe
enough. I am going to a friend's house."

* * * * *

Marjorie knew Derby well enough from the old days when she rode in
sometimes with her father and slept at Mr. Biddell's; and, above all,
she knew all that Derby had once been. In one place, outside the town,
was St. Mary-in-Pratis, where the Benedictine nuns had lived; St.
Leonard's had had a hospital for lepers; St. Helen's had had the
Augustinian hospital for poor brothers and sisters; St. Alkmund's had
held a relic of its patron saint; all this she knew by heart; and it was
bitter now to be here on such business. But she went briskly out from
the hall; and ten minutes later she was knocking at the door of a little
attorney, the old partner of her father's, whose house faced the
Guildhall across the little market-square. It was opened by an old woman
who smiled at the sight of her.

"Eh! come in, mistress. The master saw you ride into town. He is in the
upstairs parlour, with Mr. Bassett."

The girl nodded to her bodyguard, and followed the old woman in. She
bowed as she passed the lawyer's confidential clerk and servant, Mr.
George Beaton, in the passage--a big m