He would summon a council that night, he promised, and the matter should be considered.
But that council was never to be called, for Andrew Fletcher's association with the rebellion was drawing rapidly to its close, and there was that to happen in the next few hours which should counteract all the encouragement with which the Duke had been fortified that day.
Towards evening little Heywood Dare, the Taunton goldsmith, who had landed at Seatown and gone out with the news of the Duke's arrival, rode into Lyme with forty horse, mounted, himself, upon a beautiful charger which was destined to be the undoing of him.
News came, too, that the Dorset militia were at Bridport, eight miles away, whereupon Wilding and Fletcher postponed all further suggestion of the dash for Exeter, proposing that in the mean time a night attack upon Bridport might result well.

For once Lord Grey was in agreement with them, and so the matter was decided.

Fletcher went down to arm and mount, and all the world knows the story of the foolish, ill-fated quarrel which robbed Monmouth of two of his most valued adherents.
By ill-luck the Scot's eyes lighted upon the fine horse that Dare had brought from Ford Abbey.

It occurred to him that nothing could be more fitting than that the best man should sit upon the best horse, and he forthwith led the beast from the stables and was about to mount when Dare came forth to catch him in the very act.

The goldsmith was a rude, peppery fellow, who did not mince his words.
"What a plague are you doing with that horse ?" he cried.
Fletcher paused, one foot in the stirrup, and looked the fellow up and down.