Masqueraders (12 page)

‘What, don’t you know?’ cried Mr Molyneux, shocked. ‘Ah, to be sure, you’ve been out of town this last week. That stranger is the greatest romance we’ve known since Peterson ran off with Miss Carslake.’ He laughed at Robin. ‘All the ladies are in ecstasies over it, I assure you. It appears, you see, that the grand gentleman is the lost Viscount. One thought such things only happened in fairy tales.’

Robin sank back in his chair; seeing him incapable of speech; Prudence said faintly: ‘Indeed, sir? And—and who is the lost Viscount?’

‘Fie, fie, what ignorance! And the thing’s the jest of town!—but you have been at Richmond: I forget that. Why, none but Tremaine, my dear boy, of course!—Tremaine of Barham! Surely you must know that!’

Some dim recollection of my Lady Lowestoft’s talk flitted across Prudence’s memory. ‘I didn’t know there was a lost Tremaine, sir,’ she said.

‘Good Gad, not know of the Barham claim?’ This was Mr Belfort, who had wandered up to them. ‘Why, this is the lost black sheep appeared to filch the title from Rensley. It’s a famous jest, and Rensley’s as sour as a lemon over it.’ He laughed delightedly at the thought of the deposed lord’s discomfiture.

‘But what’s his claim?’ persisted Prudence.

‘Oh, that! To be sure, no one remembered his existence in the least, but it seems he’s a brother of old Barham, who died a month or two back. Odd, a’n’t it?
I
never heard of any brother, but it was all rather before my time, of course. Anyway, Cloverly was telling me he has all the papers to prove he’s the man, and a fine romantic story it all is. A jolt for Rensley, though!’

‘Does Rensley acknowledge him?’ Prudence found strength enough to inquire.

‘As to that, Rensley’s lying low, I take it, but I believe he told Farnborough he was sure his cousin was dead, and that this man had stolen the papers. But Rensley would take that tone, y’know.’ Mr Belfort perceived a friend close by, and was off to greet him.

‘And what do you make of that?’ said Prudence calmly in her brother’s ear.

Robin shook his head. ‘It’s the most consummate piece of impertinent daring—gad, it beats our masquerade!’

‘But how can he carry it off? And for how long?’

‘And why?’ Robin demanded. ‘It’s senseless!
Why?
’

‘Oh, the old love of a fine dramatic gesture. Don’t we know it? It’s to rank with the time he played the French Ambassador in Madrid. And he came off safe from that.’

‘But this—this is England!’ Robin said.
‘
Cordieu
,
will you but look at him now?’

The magnificent gentleman was bowing before Miss Gunning. Well they knew that flourish of a laced handkerchief. Egad, but he had all the airs of a Viscount, or of a Duke for that matter. A large figure came up with him; the new Lord Barham gave Sir Anthony Fanshawe two fingers to clasp. Sir Anthony stayed but to speak a few words, and then walked leisurely away.

Came a gasp from my Lady Lowestoft’s direction. My lady sprang up.
‘
Mon cher
Robert!’ she cried, and held out her hands. Volubly she explained to Mr Selwyn that this dear gentleman had long been known to her.

‘Thérèse!’ My Lord Barham kissed both her hands. ‘I have the supreme felicity to find you!’

‘Faith, it’s an ecstatic old gentleman!’ The voice came from behind Prudence. Sir Anthony Fanshawe had come round the room to her side.

‘I’m to understand it’s a lost viscount, or some such matter?’ Prudence took snuff with an air of unconcern.

‘Quite so. The last of the Tremaines, it appears. Offspring don’t so far materialise.’

My Lady Lowestoft was bearing down upon them with a hand on Lord Barham’s arm.
‘
Mon cher
,
I must present to you some dear young friends of mine,’ they heard her say. ‘It is a Mr and a Miss Merriot, who are staying with me for a space.’

‘I am enchanted to meet a friend of my Thérèse!’ his lordship declared, and was straightway presented to Miss Merriot.

Robin arose, and spread out his skirts; as he rose from the curtsey he extended a hand right regally, and gazed limpidly into the face of his sire.

My lord bowed deeply over the hand, and, looking up, bestowed a glance of admiration upon Miss Merriot’s fair countenance. ‘But charming!’ he said. ‘Charming, I protest!’

It was Prudence’s turn now, and she made my lord a leg. Deep down in the grey eyes the twinkle lurked. ‘I am honoured, sir,’ she said.

My lord bowed slightly, as became a man of his years and rank, and smiled with delight upon Mr Merriot. Indeed, a most affable old gentleman. He turned to compliment my lady on having two such enchanting friends to stay with her, and promised himself the pleasure of waiting upon her in the morning. With yet another bow to Miss Merriot he walked away with my lady on his arm.

‘I am entirely overpowered,’ complained Sir Anthony, and sat him down beside Robin.

Robin tilted his head speculatively. ‘Something of a foreign air,’ he mused. ‘Do you agree, sir?’

‘Something of an oppressive air I find it,’ answered Sir Anthony, with a chuckle.

‘My lady seems to know him very well,’ remarked Prudence, and went away to glean what information she could.

Accounts varied, but it seemed my lord had quarrelled violently in his youth with his father, and taken himself off to France with a low-bred bride of his own choosing. Since that day he had never been heard of, until suddenly, soon after the death of his elder brother, he descended on the town in a blaze of magnificence. Prudence expressed surprise that he had not shown himself upon the death of his father, but the answer to that was ready. There were rumours that there had been little love lost between the brothers: the remarkable gentleman had chosen to remain in obscurity.

She could obtain no more certain information, and returned with her gleanings to Robin. My Lady Lowestoft was ready to go home; they greeted her proposal with relief, and were borne off under her wing. My Lord Barham, seeing them go, waved his hand, and said:
‘
A demain!
’
most gallantly.

Not until they were safe inside the coach did my lady give way to the mirth that was consuming her. But then she lay back against the padded cushions and laughed till the tears ran down her painted cheeks.

Robin regarded her gloomily. ‘Ay, it’s a rare jest, ma’am.’

‘It is—it is altogether
magnifique!
’
she gasped. ‘It is a
coup
the most superb! Not even I dreamed of anything so superb!’ She sat up and dabbed at her eyes. ‘
Voyons
,
was there ever such a man? I myself am ready to believe him to be Lord Barham. What an air! What effrontery!
Mon Dieu, mon Dieu
,
I have not been in such an agony of laughter since he stole the Margrave’s mistress!’

‘That’s a tale I don’t know,’ said Prudence. ‘I perceive that a hurried flight to France awaits us.’

‘But no, but no! Why, my cabbage? He proves himself the lost vicomte, and who is to know more?’

‘Oh, it’s simple!’ said Robin dryly. ‘But there is always the possibility of the true viscount’s appearance.’

‘How, my child? We see the
bon papa
with all the papers. The real viscount is dead, of course! How else could Robert have the papers?’

‘Good God, ma’am, do you put it above the old gentleman to steal them from a live man?’

‘There’s more to it than that.’ Prudence’s calm voice broke in. ‘A counterfeit for a day, a week, a month is very well, but even the old gentleman can’t maintain it for ever. Rensley won’t be satisfied with a few documents. There’ll be traps set, and others of no one’s setting into which he is bound to fall. Consider, ma’am, what it means suddenly to become an English peer with estates, and a large fortune! The thing’s not so easily done, I believe.’

‘There’s also the little matter of the late fracas in the North,’ said Robin. ‘Certain, he discards the black wig, and the French accent, but there must be information out against him.’

‘My children, I have faith in him!’ her ladyship declared. ‘He is as I have said—
magnifique!
’

CHAPTER XI

My Lord Barham in Arlington Street

When the black page announced my Lord Barham next morning both Mr and Miss Merriot were with my lady in the morning-room. My lord was ushered in, very
point-de-vice
,
with laced gloves, and a muff of miniver, and a long beribboned cane. The muff and the cane were given into the page’s charge; the door closed behind this diminutive person, and my lord spread wide his arms. ‘My children!’ he exclaimed. ‘Behold me returned to you!’

His children maintained an admirable composure. ‘Like Jonah cast up out of the whale’s belly,’ said Robin.

My lord was not in the least put out of countenance by this coolness. ‘My son!’ He swooped upon Robin. ‘Perfect! To the last detail! My Prudence!’

Prudence submitted to a fervent embrace. ‘Well, sir, how do you do?’ she said, smiling. ‘We perceive you are returned to us, but we don’t understand the manner of it.’

He struck an attitude. ‘But do you not know? I am Tremaine. Tremaine of Barham!’

‘Lud!’ said Robin. ‘You don’t say so, sir!’

He was hurt. ‘Ah, you do not believe in me! You doubt me, in effect!’

‘Well, sir’—Prudence sat on the arm of Robin’s chair, and gently swung one booted leg to and fro—‘We’ve seen you as Mr Colney; we’ve seen you as Mr Daughtry; we’ve even seen you as the Prince Vanilov. You cannot altogether blame us.’

My lord abandoned his attitude, and took snuff. ‘I shall show you,’ he promised. ‘Do not doubt that this time I surpass myself.’

‘We don’t doubt that, sir.’

My lady said on a gurgling laugh: ‘But what will you be at,
mon cher
?
What madness?’

‘I am Tremaine of Barham,’ reiterated his lordship, with dignity. ‘Almost I had forgot it, but I come now into my own. You must have known’—he addressed the room at large—‘you who have watched me, that there was more to me than a mere wandering gamester!’

‘Faith, we thought it just devilry, sir,’ Prudence chuckled.

‘You do not appreciate me,’ said my lord sadly, and sat him down by the table. ‘You lack soul, my children. Yes, you lack soul.’

‘I concede you all my admiration, sir,’ said Prudence.

‘You shall concede me more still. You shall recognise a master mind in me, my Prudence. We come to the end of our travels.’

‘Tyburn way,’ said Robin, and laughed. ‘Egad, sir, you’ve a maggot in your head to venture on such a piece of folly!’

The old gentleman’s eyes glinted. ‘Do my schemes go awry, then? Do I fail in what I undertake to do, Robin my son?’

‘You don’t, sir, I’m willing to admit, but you break fresh ground now, and I believe you don’t know the obstacles. This is England.’

‘Robin acquires geography!’ My lord smiled gently. ‘It is the land of my birth. I am come home,
enfin
.
I am Tremaine of Barham.’

‘And pray what are we, sir?’ inquired Robin, with interest.

‘At present,
mes enfants
,
you are Mr and Miss Merriot. I compliment you. It is admirable. I see that you inherit a part of my genius.’ He kissed his finger-tips to them. ‘When I have made all secure you are the Honourable Robin, and the Honourable Prudence Tremaine.’

‘Of Barham,’ interpolated Prudence.

He looked at her affectionately. ‘For you, my beautiful Prue, I plan a great marriage,’ he informed her magnificently.

‘A Royal Prince, belike?’ said Prudence, unimpressed.

‘I will choose from an older house than this of Hanover,’ my lord said grandly. ‘Have no fear.’

Robin looked at his sister. ‘My dear, what to do?’ he said helplessly.

‘Leave all to me!’ commanded my lord. ‘I do not make mistakes.’

‘Except in the matter of Royal Princes,’ said Robin, with meaning.

‘Bah! I forget all that!’ The past was consigned to perdition with a snap of thin fingers. ‘It might have chanced otherwise. I seized opportunity, as ever. Do you blame me for the Rebellion’s failure?’

Prudence shook her head. ‘Ah, sir, you should have been put at the head of it,’ she mourned. ‘The Prince would be at St James’s to-day then.’

My Lord was forcibly struck by this view of the case. ‘My child, you have intuition,’ he said seriously. ‘You are right. Yes, beyond all doubt you are right.’ He sat lost in meditation, planning, they knew, great deeds that might have been.

They exchanged glances. My lady sat by the window, chin in hand, raptly gazing upon the old gentleman out of her narrow eyes. There was nothing to do but to wait for him to come out of his trance. Robin sat back in his chair with a shrug of fatalism; his sister continued to sling one booted leg.