At first, he could not make out what was being said, only that it seemed to be two men in quiet conversation. A moment or two later, as they came closer, the dialogue became more clear.

“… and with Catherine gone, my way at last shall be made clear with Blanche, so that with fortune’s blessing, I shall ere long succeed in securing the old man’s consent.”

“Aye, the one impediment shall have been removed, perhaps, but the other yet remains. However shall you circumvent the matter of your more than modest means?”

The first speaker, Smythe surmised, was fairly young, perhaps of an age with him, if not a little older. He spoke with the firm, brash confidence of youth and if it could be said that one could have a cocksure swagger in his voice, then this man had that very quality. The second man sounded somewhat older, with a voice that had something of an aspect of consideration and reflection, though in tone, he seemed to defer to his companion.

“Rest assured that I have thought of that, as well. You did not think I would venture into this without taking all into account? I do not play at being fortune’s child, old sod, I work at it.”

“Aye, that you do, beyond a doubt, and I have seen your efforts bear fruit on more than one occasion. Yet at the same time, I have seen that fruit consumed without your taking any care to plant some of its seed so that still more could sprout.”

“Well, that, my friend, is because I am not a common ploughman. I would much sooner seek to find an orchard ready planted, so that I could make my choice of only the ripest fruit, rather than squander all my time and effort ploughing furrows and planting seed, not all of which may sprout, and of that which sprouts and flourishes, not all of which may bear rich fruit. ‘Tis entirely too much labor for not enough reward.”

They sounded close enough by now that Smythe was surprised that he could not yet see them, even in the darkness. Yet a moment later, he realized why he could not. They were almost exactly abreast with him, strolling at a leisurely pace, but on the opposite side of the hedgerow, and though he was aware of their presence because he could hear them speaking, they seemed completely unaware of his.

Indeed, Smythe thought, there was no reason for them to assume that at this late hour, in the darkness, there might be anyone within the maze except themselves, and yet, apparently unbeknownst to them, there were at least three others-himself, Elizabeth, and the still unknown individual with whom she came to rendezvous. Unless, of course, that very unknown individual happened to be one of these two men.

Curious to find out, Smythe fell in step with them, pacing them on his side of the hedge. The moist grass underfoot and the chirping of the crickets masked any sounds his footsteps might have made, although he still walked softly so as not to give himself away.

“I have a plan,” the first man continued, “that by its very boldness should succeed and leave no room for suspicion.”

“But in time, the truth will out,” the second man replied. “What then?”

“Why, by that time, it shall no longer matter,” the younger man said, with a chuckle. “For by the time the truth can be discovered, I shall be long gone with Blanche, and with her dowry. The old man can raise a hue and cry, for all the good that it shall do him, for by then I shall be well beyond his reach or the reach of any authority that he might try to bring to bear against me.”

“And what of the girl?”

“What of her?”

“Well, what should she think when she learns the truth?”

“What matters that to me? Faith, by the time she learns the truth of things, she shall be my wife. As such, she is my goods, my chattels, and my house, my household stuff, my field, my barn, my horse, my ox, my ass, my anything. What should she think of the truth? Why, sink me, only what I tell her she should think and there’s an end to it!”

Now there’s a charming fellow, Smythe thought, with a grimace of distaste. And something of a scoundrel, from the sound of things. But whoever he was, at least he had answered one of Smythe’s unspoken questions. It seemed clear that he had not come here to meet Elizabeth after all, for it was somebody named Blanche on whom he had apparently set his sights. And from what Smythe had overheard, this Blanche was in some way a relative of Catherine’s, perhaps a sister or a cousin, but undoubtedly the reference was to the very same Catherine Middleton whose wedding they had all come to attend. And the next exchange he overheard confirmed it.

“Well, you seem confident enough of bringing her to heel,” the second man replied, “but afore that can be done, you must first bring her to the altar, and I daresay you will have a deal of competition there. Blanche Middleton is as well known for all the suitors trailing after her as she is for her beauty. How will you be able to assure that above all those who clamor for her hand ‘twill be yourself who shall find her father’s favor and win out?”

“As I have told you, I do not leave such things to chance,” the first man answered him. “I have a plan. Now whom do you suppose a rich merchant with aspirations to improve himself would favor most as a suitor for his youngest daughter’s hand, some young, ambitious roaring boy looking for a leg up on his station as well as on the wench, or some corpulent, newly wealthy tradesman with a grossness of class exceeded only by the grossness of his girth or, perhaps, the dashingly handsome and courtly mannered son of an aristocrat?”

“What,you?“

“I and none other.”

“But, Odd’s blood, your father, rest his soul, was no aristocrat! He was a ruffler and a cozener who was drawn and quartered and had his head displayed on London Bridge!”

“I know not of whom you speak. My father stands before me.”

“Merciful God preserve us! Where?”

The reply was mocking laughter. “Cast not about in search of ghostly spirits, my friend. ‘Twas you I meant.”

“Me!”

“Aye, my father stands before me in your person.”

“Good God! Have you taken leave of your senses?”

“On the contrary, what I propose is emminently sensible. If one is going to brew up a bit of cozenage, then there is little to be served in making it small beer. A fine and heady ale is called for. What I intend to do is – “

The statement never was completed, because Smythe had grown so fascinated in listening to the intriguing conversation that he had neglected to observe what, in the darkness, he might easily have missed in any case… some clippings from the hedge, dead branches taken off earlier that afternoon and raked together into a small pile on the path preparatory to being gathered in a wheelbarrow and removed. Whether by chance or by design, they had been left there, and as Smythe kept pace with the two men on his side of the hedge, he stepped straight into the clippings, and the dry branches underfoot made a sharp, crackling sound that was easily audible over the chirping of the crickets.

For a moment, there was utter silence. Even the crickets had seemed startled by the sound. And then, as Smythe glanced down and stepped back quickly, there came an angry oath from the other side of the hedge and, almost at the same time, a blade came plunging through. That single step back was what had saved him. Smythe felt the sharp steel of the rapier graze his stomach, close enough to slice through his leather doublet and draw a little blood.

As quickly as it came stabbing through, the blade was drawn back again through the hedge and Smythe danced back out of the way as another lunge came at him through the shrubbery. The thickness of the hedge impeded the assault, but it was no less deadly if the blade happened to strike a vital spot. Unarmed save for the dagger that he always carried with him, Smythe was under no illusions as to its efficacy against a sword, much less a pair of swords, for it seemed now that there were two blades stabbing at him through the hedge, not one. Smythe decided that the only prudent thing to do was run for it. The only problem was, he was not really sure where he was going.