Another enemy, as inveterate as the Irishman himself, appeared in the person of a rough-and-ready sea-dog, ex-Admiral Sir Thomas Frankland--whom the Perreaus had swindled out of thousands of pounds--a lineal descendant of Protector Cromwell. More truculent even than his great ancestor--for surely Oliver never confiscated ruff or farthingale belonging to Henrietta Maria--he pounced upon Mrs Rudd’s clothes, and indeed upon all property that might help to repay his loans. Remaining loyal to his old friend the Golden Square apothecary--for the choleric gentleman was convinced that he was an innocent instrument in the hands of the woman--he seized anything that Daniel and his mistress happened to possess. In consequence of this brigandage there was a pitched battle between the employees of the admiral and the sheriff’s officers for the possession of the house in Harley Street, in which the former got the worst of the tussle. Running amuck at all who took the other side--Barrister Bailey, Uncle Stewart, the Keeper of the Lyon Records--each in turn received a broadside from the fiery old salt. Shiver-me-timbers Frankland--this Paul Pry of a lady’s wardrobe--wrought more good out of evil to the cause of Margaret Rudd than any other man, and his fair enemy was nothing loth to let him run to the top of his bent. Nowhere was the diplomacy of Daniel Perreau’s mistress more remarkable than in the negotiations with her old servant, Mrs Christian Hart. Early in July there was an interview between the pair in Newgate: the handmaid compassionate and pliable; the prisoner full of subtle schemes against her enemies. Barrister Bailey was present, and a lengthy document was drawn up--a paper of instructions in the form of a narrative for the guidance of the faithful ‘Christy’--wherein was set forth the details of a wicked conspiracy, which the servant was to pretend that she had overheard, between old sea-dog Frankland and Mrs Robert Perreau to swear away Mrs Rudd’s life. Promising to learn her story and stick to the text, Mrs Hart went away with her manuscript; but, frightened by her husband or bribed by the admiral, in a little while she deserted to the other side. In no wise dismayed, Margaret Rudd retorted that ‘Christy’ had volunteered the story, and that the instructive document was a faithful copy of the woman’s narrative as dictated by herself, another copy of which she produced, attested by the faithful Bailey. Moreover, she alleged that the whole business was a thing devised by the Perreaus for the purpose of compromising their enemy, a most dexterous plot to make it appear that Mrs Rudd was endeavouring to create false evidence! Thus, even when the first scheme failed, she gained the effect desired by its very failure. Poor, persecuted woman, thought the big-hearted British public, and what a shocking old admiral!