Masqueraders (11 page)

Then, from a little way down the street came a shout, and the sound of a man running. ‘Hold them, lad, I’m with you!’ cried the newcomer, and Prudence recognised the voice of Mr Belfort.

He fell upon her assailants from the rear, and there was swift and bloody work done. With a howl the man Prudence had first wounded went running off down the street, one hand clipped to his shoulder. His flight was a signal for the other two to follow suit. In another minute the street was empty, save for Prudence and the Honourable Charles.

Mr Belfort leaned panting on his sword, and laughed hugely. ‘Gad, see ’em run!’ he said. ‘Hey, are you hurt, lad?’

Prudence was leaning against the wall, dizzy and shaken. The shoulder which had sustained the blow from the cudgel ached sickeningly. With an effort she stood upright. ‘Naught. A blow on the shoulder, no more.’ She swayed, but mastered the threatened faintness, and bent to pick up her cloak. Her hand shook slightly as she wiped her sword in its folds, but she managed to smile. ‘I have—to thank you—for your prompt assistance,’ she said, trying to get her breath. ‘I rather thought I was sped.’

‘Ay, three to one, blister them,’ nodded Mr Belfort. ‘But white-livered curs, ’pon my soul. Not an ounce of fight in ’em. Here, take my arm.’

Prudence leaned gratefully on it. ‘Just a momentary breathlessness,’ she said. ‘I am well enough now.’

‘Gad, it must have been a nasty blow!’ said Mr Belfort. ‘You are shaken to bits, man. Come home with me; my lodging is nearer than yours.’

‘No, no, I thank you!’ Prudence said earnestly. ‘The blow—struck an old wound. I hardly heed it now.’

‘Tare an’ ’ouns, but that’s bad!’ cried Mr Belfort. ‘Really, my dear fellow, you must come to my place and let me look to it.’

‘On my honour, sir, it’s less than naught. You may see for yourself I am quite recovered now. I shall not trespass on your hospitality at this hour of night.’

He protested that the night was young yet, but not to all his entreaties would Prudence yield. They walked on together towards Charing Cross, the Honourable Charles still adjuring Prudence at intervals to go home with him. ‘By gad, sir, these Mohocks become a positive scandal!’ he exclaimed. ‘A gentleman mayn’t walk abroad, damme, without being set upon these days!’

‘Mohocks?’ Prudence said. ‘You think they were Mohocks, then?’

‘Why, what else? The town’s teeming with ’em. I was set on myself t’other day. Stretched one fellow flat!’

Prudence thought of the words she had caught as she had come up to the embrasure. A rough voice had growled: ‘This is our man, boys.’ She said nothing of this, however, to Mr Belfort, but assented that without doubt the men had been Mohocks, intent on robbery.

‘A good thing ’twas I left Devereux’s rooms directly after you,’ said Mr Belfort. ‘But that Burgundy, y’know—demned poor stuff, my boy! There was no staying longer. How a man can get drunk on it beats me. Look at me now! Sober as a judge, Peter! Yet there’s poor Devereux almost under the table already.’

They parted company at Charing Cross, where Mr Belfort saw Prudence solicitously into a chair. She was borne off west to Arlington Street, and set down safely outside my lady’s house.

A light burned still in Robin’s room. Sure, the child would never go to bed until she was come home. She went softly in, and found Robin reading by the light of three candles.

Robin looked up. ‘My felicitations. You escaped betimes.’ His eyes narrowed, and he got up. ‘Oh? What’s toward, child?’ he said sharply, and came across to Prudence’s side.

She laughed. ‘What, do I look a corpse? I was near enough to it. But there are no bones broken, I believe.’

The beautifully curved lips straightened to a thin line; Prudence saw her brother’s eyes keen and anxious. ‘Be a little plain with me, child. You’ve sustained some hurt?’

‘No more than a bruise, I think, but oh, Robin, it hurt!’ Again she laughed, but there was a quiver in her voice. ‘Help me to come out of this coat; ’tis on my left shoulder.’

The shoulder was swiftly bared and an ugly bruise disclosed. There came a soft curse from Robin. ‘Who did it?’

‘Now, how should I know? Charles spoke of the Mohocks.’

Robin was searching on his dressing table for ointment, and came back to her with the pot in his hand. As he smeared the stuff lightly over the bruise, he said remorsefully: ‘’Tis I who was at fault. I should have seen to it you had my lady’s chaise out.’

‘Oh, no harm done, as it chances. But there were three of them and I was all but sped. Then Charles came running up, and there was an end of it.’ She slipped her shirt up again over her shoulder. ‘Thanks, child. I would you had seen my sword play. I am sure it did you credit.’ She paused and looked at the guttering candles. Her tone changed, and became serious. ‘I have a notion they were creatures of Markham’s set on to beat me.’

‘Markham’s?’ Robin set down the ointment.

‘I know of no one else with a grudge against me. They were not common Mohocks.’ She told him what she had heard.

He strode to the window and back again, frowning. ‘I think this is where we make our bow,’ he said at last.

‘Devil a bit!’ was the cheerful response. ‘For the future I shall remember to take a chaise; that’s all there is to it.’

‘I had rather see you safe in France.’

‘I won’t go.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, do you turn stubborn?’

‘As a mule. We go down to Richmond with my lady to-morrow, and the Markham may think that I’ve gone into retirement on account of my mauling. He should be satisfied. I await the old gentleman, for I’ve a curiosity to see what his game is.’ She got up, and stretched her long limbs, wincing at the pain of her bruised shoulder. ‘Get you to bed, Robin.’ She went out, yawning.

They were gone on the morrow down to my lady’s house at Richmond. My lady was loud in her exclamations of horror at what had befallen Prudence, but Prudence could chuckle now that all was over, the while Robin sat in frowning silence. His petticoats began to irk him.

Mr Markham heard of the affair at White’s, from the lips of Mr Belfort. He professed himself all concern, but his friend Lord Barham, drawing him aside, said with a snigger: ‘So that’s a score settled, eh, my buck?’

‘It’s not,’ said Mr Markham curtly, and scowled.

‘Gad, I’d give something to know what you have against the young sprig!’ said his Lordship. ‘It’s a conceited puppy, ecod! I’ve a mind to give it a trouncing myself.’

Mr Markham saw Sir Anthony Fanshawe, idly twirling his quizzing-glass, and rather testily requested his noble friend to guard his tongue. Sir Anthony continued blandly to survey the pair. Mr Markham strode off, rather red about the gills.

Sir Anthony turned to Mr Belfort, standing in a circle of his acquaintances. ‘Well, Charles, have you been fighting with the devil’s emissaries?’ he said genially. ‘What’s this I hear of Mohocks?’

‘Three of them, right in the middle of town, if you please!’ said Mr Belfort. ‘Thunder an’ turf, but it’s a crying disgrace! I’m saying to Proudie here that measures ought to be taken.’

Sir Anthony took out his snuff-box, and shook back the ruffles from his hand. ‘Oh, were you attacked?’ he inquired.

‘Not I. ’Twas young Merriot they set upon, as he came off from Devereux’s last night.’

The strong hand paused for a moment in the act of unfobbing the snuff-box. The sleepy eyes did not lift. ‘Indeed?’ said Sir Anthony, and awaited more.

‘Three to one, the ruffians, and lucky I chanced along, for the lad’s not over strong in the sword arm, I take it. Game enough, but he was soon blown.’

‘He was, was he?’ Sir Anthony took snuff in a leisurely fashion. ‘And—er—was he hurt?’

‘A blow on the shoulder. It seemed to knock him pretty well endways. But he said something of an old wound there, which would account for it,’ said Belfort, feeling that some excuse was needed.

‘Ah, an old wound?’ Sir Anthony was politely interested. ‘Of course. That would, as you say, account for it.’

‘There’s naught to be said against the lad’s courage,’ Belfort assured him. ‘Game as a fighting cock, pledge you my word. I was all for taking him off to my lodgings to attend to his shoulder, but no, he’d none of it!’

‘He refused to go with you, did he?’ Sir Anthony nicked a speck or two of snuff from his sleeve.

‘Oh, wouldn’t hear of it! Naught I could say was to any avail. He would be off home, and have no fuss made.’

‘Very creditable,’ said Sir Anthony, stifling a yawn, and strolled away to meet my Lord March, just come in.

CHAPTER X

Sudden and Startling Appearance of the Old Gentleman

At Richmond, in the pleasant house with its gardens running down to the river, Sir Anthony was one of my Lady Lowestoft’s visitors. He rode out to pay a morning call, and was fortunate enough to find my lady and her two guests at home.

Sir Anthony indicated Prudence’s stiff shoulder with a movement of his quizzing-glass. ‘So you must needs go brawling about our streets, little man?’

There was a quick contraction of Robin’s brows. He looked up to find the sleepy gaze upon him, and straightaway achieved a shudder. ‘Oh pray, sir, don’t speak of it!’

‘You should keep him closer tied to your apron strings, ma’am,’ said Sir Anthony, and began to talk of the state of the roads. But upon my lady’s going out of the room he broke off to say: ‘Have you any idea that it was Markham’s men set upon you, young man?’

‘Some little suspicion of it,’ Prudence admitted. ‘I shall be more wary in the future.’

‘It’s a vengeful creature.’ Sir Anthony crossed one leg over the other. ‘I believe you would do well not to go abroad unaccompanied at night,’ he said, and fell to twirling his eyeglass by its riband.

He presently took leave of them, and rode off back to town. Robin said with a laugh: ‘Oh, it’s all solicitude! The benevolent mammoth!’

‘Lord, must you still be jeering!’ Prudence demanded and left him rather abruptly.

They returned to Arlington Street at the end of the week, arriving on the day of her Grace of Queensberry’s rout, whither they were bidden. They went in state in my lady’s town chariot, and my lady regaled them on the way with some highly entertaining details of my Lord March’s private life.

Her Grace’s salons were large enough to accommodate even the crowd that assembled at her house that evening. There were bright lights in sparkling chandeliers, and many heavy-scented flowers, and over all the hum of gay chatter. Her Grace stood at the head of the stairs to receive her guests, and had the felicity of knowing that my Lord March, her son, was adorning the rout with his unaccustomed presence.

My lord was in excellent spirits, and stayed for at least an hour in the big withdrawing rooms. After having done his duty there so nobly, he retired to the card rooms for a spell, in search of a little relaxation.

Robin’s elderly admirer found him out, and showed an ardent desire to know more of him. Prudence left him, murmuring compliments into one bashful ear.

It was quite late in the evening when there came a slight stir about the doorway, and Prudence had returned to Robin’s side, ousting the elderly beau. She stood now behind his chair, Sir Raymond Orton a few paces from her, and my Lady Lowestoft, laughing immoderately at something Mr Selwyn was saying to her, not far distant.

Some late comer, it appeared, was arriving; a knot of ladies gathered near the door gave way, and Prudence could enjoy a clear view.

Two gentlemen came in, and stood for a moment looking round. One of these was my Lord March; the other was a slight, elderly gentleman with arresting grey eyes, a nose inclined to be aquiline, and thin, smiling lips. He was magnificently attired in puce satin, with embroidered waistcoat. His wig must surely have come straight from Paris; his shoes, with their jewelled buckles, had preposterous high red heels to them; the cut of his coat spoke the most fashionable tailor of the day in every line. There was the hint of a diamond in the lace at his throat, and on his breast he displayed several scintillating foreign orders. He stood very much at his ease, his head slightly inclined to hear what my Lord March was saying, and one thin white hand delicately raising a pinch of snuff to a finely chiselled nostril.

Prudence’s hand found Robin’s shoulder, and gripped hard. Robin looked up, and she felt him stiffen.

The old gentleman’s eyes travelled slowly round the room the while he listened to my Lord March; rested a moment on Miss Merriot’s face, and passed on. Her Grace of Queensberry came forward to welcome the newcomer, and he bent with great courtliness over her hand.

Robin turned in his chair. ‘I am dreaming. I must be dreaming. Even he could not dare——’

Prudence was shaking with suppressed laughter. ‘Oh, it’s the old gentleman himself, never fear! Lud, might we not have expected something after this fashion?’

‘Arm-in-arm with March—covered with jewels—all his misbegotten orders—gad, it beats all! And who the devil does he pretend to be now?’ Robin sat fuming; he could not admire this last freak of his sire. ‘Of course, we’re sped now,’ he said in a voice of gloomy conviction. ‘This will land us all at Tyburn.’

‘Oh, my dear, he’s incomparable! You have to admit it.’ Prudence saw Mr Molyneux advancing, and hailed him. ‘Pray, sir, who is the magnificent stranger but just arrived?’