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must go to Appleby Court at once.” “I would do anything to have her back,” he had said to Coffen. The dramatic phrase was unlike Luten.
    She felt a heaviness around her heart, a sense of regret, almost of betrayal. Luten and Susan. When had this romance developed? Was it the affair with Soames that had nudged Luten into repeating his offer? Was that why she had jilted Soames? Why had they kept it a secret? Corinne thought of Susan as almost a sister, but she was beginning to realize she didn’t know her at all. Casual remarks that people dropped didn’t sound like the Susan of yore. She had “put her little foot down” when Blackmore offered for her. A good girl, “despite her little ways.” No wonder she took such scant interest in keeping Appleby Court up when she would soon be leaving it to go to her husband’s home. But then why were the carpets and window hangings on the list? Luten would not expect his bride to refurbish his elegant residences.
    And it still didn’t explain her disappearance. She obviously had not run off with any man other than her intended when she was arranging her trousseau, and her intended must be either some local lad or Luten. If not Luten, then either Blackmore or Soames. She had rejected Blackmore. Stockwell thought she had had an understanding with Soames. The carpets and window hangings might have been destined for Oakhurst. There was no way to know when they had been purchased. Soames was said to be short in the pockets. She might have been planning renovations to Oakhurst.
    There was not much else to be learned here in any case. When Corinne went below, she learned that Sir Reginald Prance had arrived.
     

Chapter Eight
     
    She found Prance alone in the saloon, staring out the window, as elegant as ever after his trip.
    “There you are!” he exclaimed when he heard her approach. “I felt as welcome as a bailiff with a lien on the furniture—no one here to greet me. What the deuce is going on, Corinne? That Friday-faced butler said Luten and Otto had gone to East Grinstead. No sign of Pattle or you. What is being done to find Susan?”
    “Luten and Marchbank are arranging the ransom money.”
    “Then a demand has been made?” he asked eagerly.
    “No, but just in case, you know. Coffen has gone to report the highwayman and —”
    “You were held up again!” Prance’s eyes opened in excitement. He clapped his white hand to his heart. “Dear girl, don’t throw these alarming statements at me. Were you hurt? Did you lose much money?”
    She gave him a brief description of the incident.
    “I warned Pattle. But there, it is beneath me to say, ‘I told you so.’ I always avoid the cliché. You were not molested, and as for the rest—well, it is only money.”
    “Did you have a safe trip?”
    “Utterly boring. I have missed all the fun!” He pouted and demanded an account of what was being done to find Susan.
    She brought him up-to-date on what they had discovered thus far, omitting, for some reason she did not quite understand, the letters to and from Luten, but told him about the trousseau hidden in the blanket chest.
    “Well, you have all been busy, I must say—and so has little Susan. Does a girl accumulate her bridal things without a groom in mind? How does she know he likes peach, par exemple? Personally I despise it on any lady over fifteen. Surely a bride ought to wear white on her wedding night, providing, of course, that she is entitled to, and one assumes Susan is.
    “There is still a deal to be done. We cannot sit on our thumbs while some wretch has his way with little Susan. Let us call on Blackmore. I don’t trust that customer above half. It is not like him to take a refusal lying down. He has been plotting his revenge all these months and provided himself an alibi while ordering one of his henchmen to abduct Susan from the orchard.”
    “He will hardly tell us if he does have her,” Corinne said.
    “I shall know by the looks of him. I am a