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 mals, but Jones, having left Lanice at the door, would go himself to see that the pair were rubbed down and fed and watered. A kindly woman with bobbing grey curls and robin's-egg blue eyes led the stiffened young lady to the big fire in the taproom.

'Now that's the most comfortable rocker in the house,' she volunteered. 'Get down, Toddy,' she suggested to the black cat curled on its cushions.

Lanice picked the creature up and held it purring hoarsely in her lap as she rocked and warmed herself before the fire. It looked up at her with its beautiful diabolical green eyes.

'It's a grand night for a party, Miss,' the landlady continued. 'And everything, the ducks, the wine, the puddings, and the port are just as Sir Anthony ordered.'

'A party?'

'Six guests in all, three ladies and three gentlemen. But the others, I fancy, will not arrive until later.'

Something within Lanice, perhaps a soul, a conscience, lifted its head and reported danger. Why had Anthony not told her? But it was, she believed, the last time they would ever be together, the last time...the last time.

He had divested himself of his bearskin coat and fur cap by the time he joined her before the taproom fire. The landlady brought pewter mugs of mulled cider. The barmaid frankly smirked at the sober young Englishman, who, in turn, gazed at Lanice and the fire. He leaned over and stroked the cat.

'I like them,' he said, 'because to me they always