.. And you profess a knowledge of herbs beyond
the ordinary?"
"Mr. Bourgoign is good enough to say so."
"And you are after her Grace of Scotland, as they call her, like all the
rest of them, eh?"
"I shall be happy to put what art I possess at her Grace of Scotland's
service."
"Traitors say as much as that, sir."
"In the cause of treachery, no doubt, sir."
Sir Amyas barked a kind of laugh.
"_Vous avez raisong_," he said with a deplorable accent. "As her Grace
would say. And you come purely by chance to Chartley, no doubt!"
The sneer was unmistakable. Robin met it full.
"Not for one moment, sir. I was on my way to Derby. I could have saved a
few miles if I had struck north long ago. But Chartley is interesting in
these days."
(He saw Mr. Bourgoign's eyes gleam with satisfaction.)
"That is honest at least, sir. And why is Chartley interesting?"
"Because her Grace is here," answered Robin with sublime simplicity.
Sir Amyas barked again. It seemed he liked this way of talk. For a
moment or two his eyes searched Robin--hard, narrow eyes like a dog's;
he looked him up and down.
"Where are your drugs, sir?"
Robin smiled.
"A herbalist does not need to carry drugs," he said. "They grow in every
hedgerow if a man has eyes to see what God has given him."
"That is true enough. I would we had more talk about God His Majesty in
this household, and less of Popish trinkets and fiddle-faddle.... Well,
sir; do you think you can cure her ladyship?"
"I have no opinion on the point at all, sir.
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