Masqueraders (21 page)

The large gentleman’s voice broke in on her reflections. ‘There is no Borgia blood in my veins, Peter Merriot.’

There was some sternness in the tone. Her left hand came mechanically to cover the maltreated wrist; the marks of the gentleman’s fingers still lingered. ‘I did not suppose it, sir.’

Sir Anthony rose, pushing back his chair. He walked to the window and back, and the grey eyes followed him. He stopped, and looked down at Prudence; there was gravity in his face, but no anger, she thought. His words gave her a slight start. ‘My dear, I wish you could find it in your heart to trust me,’ he said.

’Deed, but trust was there, in her heart, but how tell him?

‘I’ve had suspicions of your secret since the first evening you dined with me here,’ he went on. ‘Of late I have been as certain as a man may be of so wild a masquerade.’

So much for Robin, and for my Lady Lowestoft, scornful of his perspicacity. Well, she had had fears of this. But not even she had realised how much the sleepy gentleman saw. Egad, what must he think of her? The colour rose at the thought. She lifted her eyes; it did not occur to her to try evasion. ‘I would trust you willingly, Sir Anthony,’ she said in a still, calm voice. ‘I have not liked the lies I have told, and the great lie I have acted.’ She put a hand up to her neck-cloth; it was tight round her throat of a sudden. ‘But there is not only myself involved. If it were all to do again, I would do it.’ A look of pride came into her face; her chin was up, but it sank after a moment. She looked down at the ring on her finger, and wiped the trickle of wine from her hand with a crumpled napkin.

‘Will you tell me your name?’ Sir Anthony said gently.

‘It is Prudence, sir. In truth, I know no more. I have had many surnames.’ There was no hint of bitterness in her voice, nor any shame. It was best the large gentleman should know her for the adventuress she was.

‘Prudence?’ Sir Anthony was frowning now. ‘So that is it!’ he said softly.

She looked up, searching his face.

‘You are not very like your father,’ said Sir Anthony.

She gave nothing away in her expression, but she knew that he had very nearly the full sum of it.

There fell a silence. ‘Prudence . . .’ Sir Anthony repeated and smiled. ‘I don’t think you were very well named, child.’ He looked down at her, and there was a light in his eyes she had never seen there before. ‘Will you marry me?’ he said simply.

Now at last there came surprise into her face, on a wave of colour. She rose swiftly to her feet, and stood staring. ‘Sir, I have to suppose—you jest!’

‘It is no jest.’

‘You ask a nameless woman, an adventuress to marry you? One who had lied to you, and tricked you! And you say it is no jest?’

‘My dear, you have never tricked me,’ he said, amused.

‘I tried to do so.’

‘I wish you would call me Tony,’ he complained.

She had a tiny suspicion she was being punished. Sure, the fine gentleman would never ask her to be his wife in all seriousness. ‘You have the right to your revenge, sir,’ she said stiffly.

He came round the corner of the table, and took one of her hands in his. She let it lie there resistless. ‘Child, have you still so little faith in me?’ he asked. ‘I offer you all my worldly goods, and the protection of my name, and you call it a jest.’

‘I’ve—I’ve to thank you, sir. I don’t understand you. Why do you offer this?’

‘Because I love you,’ he answered. ‘Must you ask that?’

She raised her eyes to his face, and knew that he had spoken the truth. She wondered that he did not take her into his arms, and with a fine intuition realised the chivalry of this man who would take no advantage of her being alone in his house, and quite defenceless. She drew her hand away, and felt a hot pricking beneath her eyelids. ‘I cannot marry you, Sir Anthony. I am no fit bride for you.’

‘Don’t you think I might be permitted to judge of that?’ he suggested.

She shook her head. ‘You know nothing of me, Sir Anthony.’

‘My dear, I have looked many times into your eyes,’ he said. ‘They tell me all I have need to know.’

‘I—don’t think so, sir,’ she forced herself to say.

Her hand lay on the chair-back. He took it in his again, and carried it to his lips. ‘You have the truest eyes in the world, Prudence,’ he said. ‘And the very bravest.’

‘You don’t know me,’ she repeated. ‘I have led the life of an adventurer; I am an adventurer—a masquerader! I have no knowledge even of my true name. My father——’ She paused.

‘I take it your name may well prove to be a Tremaine,’ he said, with a soft laugh.

‘You’ve guessed my father, sir?’

‘Why yes, it’s the remarkable old gentleman who claims to be the lost Viscount, I believe. You told me once your father would surprise me.’

‘Did I, sir? Well, that is he. I think you are one of those who have little faith in his claim.’

‘To say truth,’ remarked Sir Anthony, ‘I care very little whether he proves to be Barham or not.’

‘But I care, Sir Anthony. If he is Barham indeed, and I am thus a woman of birth noble enough . . .’ She found it was impossible to continue.

‘Then you would marry me?’ Sir Anthony prompted. ‘Is that it?’

She nodded. It was not in her nature to deny she cared for him.

‘And do you know what you will do if he is not Tremaine of Barham?’ inquired Sir Anthony conversationally.

She made a gesture of fatalism. ‘I shall be off on my adventuring again, sir.’

‘You may call it adventuring if you please, but I believe I’m a staid creature. You will marry me just the same, you see.’

She smiled a little. ‘This is madness, sir. You will be glad one day that I said you nay.’

‘And will you be glad, Prue?’ he asked gravely.

‘I shall be glad for your sake, sir.’

‘My dear, I want to take you out of this masquerade of yours at once. There’s danger on all sides, and—I love you.’

‘Ah, do not!’ she made swift outcry. ‘It’s not possible, sir. More depends on the masquerade than you know.’

‘I believe I may guess. You’ve a brother took part in the late Rebellion, dressed now in woman’s clothes. His name is, I think, Robin.’

She looked wonderingly up at him. ‘Do you know everything, sir?’

‘No,’ he answered, smiling. ‘Not quite. Marry me, and put both your fortunes into my hands. I can help this Robin, maybe.’

‘Not even for that. I could not, sir. Grant me a little pride! You would be King Cophetua, but I’ve no mind to play the beggar-maid.’

He made no reply for a moment, but stood looking down at her. ‘I cannot force you to marry me,’ he said at last.

‘Sir Anthony—I would have you marry a woman of whom you can be proud.’

‘I have nothing but pride in you. In your courage, and in the quick wits of you. I have never known so wonderful a woman.’

‘You can have no pride in my birth, sir. I do not know what my father is; we have never known, for he loves to be a mystery. If this claim is true—if he is indeed Tremaine of Barham—ask me once more!’ Her eyes were wet, but her mouth smiled resolutely.

‘I am to wait, then! You deny me the right to protect you now?’

‘You have me at your feet, sir,’ she said unsteadily, ‘but I do deny you. I must.’

‘You at my feet!’ he said. ‘That is a jest indeed!’ He let go her hand, and took a turn about the room. She watched him wistfully, and at last he spoke again. ‘Ay, you’ve pride,’ he said. ‘Did that spring of low birth? You must needs cleave your own path, and take no help even from the man who loves you. You ask me to wait. I will wait, until this father of yours has settled his affairs. But when that day comes, and whatever the issue—believe me I shall take you then, by force if need be, and carry you off to Church. Is it understood?’

She smiled mistily, and tried to shake her head. He laughed and there was no laziness either in his face or in his voice. ‘Better come to me willingly then,’ he said, ‘for, by God, I shall have no mercy!’

CHAPTER XIX

Meeting in Arlington Street

Prudence showed an impassive face to John who was waiting to let her into the house, but she slipped past the door of Robin’s chamber on tiptoe, and was gone into her own without the usual visit to him. She preferred to meet her sharp-eyed brother in the morning, when she might have acquired some command over herself.

Sure the world was upside down. And who would have thought it of the large gentleman? She had come to think she could no longer by surprised, but this strange proposal of his came to dispel such fancies. He meant it, too: not a doubt of that. As she prepared for bed she thought over it long, and with some agitation. The gentleman’s last words lingered; they had been forcefully uttered; she believed he was not the man to promise what he would not perform.

Well, she had said him nay: that had been of instinct, because she loved him, and it was not in a lover’s part to take the selfish course. But the devil was in it the gentleman refused to take her nay. There seemed to be no counter for that; she perceived that she was doomed to become Lady Fanshawe. A slow smile played around the corners of her mouth. No use pretending it was not a role she had an ambition to play; not much use either to pretend she would escape from Sir Anthony, and hide herself abroad. It might be a difficult matter, she reflected, but honesty forced her to admit it was not the difficulty of it deterred her. If when the time came the sleepy gentleman still claimed her she would be his for the taking: there was, faith, a limit to altruism. But he should be granted a respite; he must have time to think it over carefully. Maybe he had fallen under a spell of her unconscious weaving, and might later achieve sanity again. Egad, he had a position to maintain in the world, and an old name to consider. He would thank her perhaps for her nay. A gloomy thought to take to bed with one.

She slept but fitfully; the evening’s work haunted her dreams, and in the waking moments a vision of security, and the love of a large gentleman came to tantalise her. The night hours passed in wakeful contemplation; she fell asleep with the grey dawn, and was sleeping still when Robin peeped in on her in broad daylight.

Robin forbore to wake her. Something had gone amiss; that was sure. He had awaited her homecoming last night, and he had heard her creep past his door to her own. That told its own tale. Robin declined to drive out to visit friends with my Lady Lowestoft, and sat him down to await his sister’s pleasure.

There came soon a knock on the door into the street, and a few minutes later Sir Anthony Fanshawe was ushered into the room.

Robin made his curtsey, and was startled to see no gallant bow in response. ‘Sir?’ said he, in a voice of some dignity.

Sir Anthony laid down his hat and gloves. ‘I’ve to suppose you’ve not yet seen your sister,’ he remarked.

This came as something of a shock to Robin, but long training stood him in good stead. He showed no signs of shock, but looked watchfully under his long lashes, and softly said: ‘Pray how am I to take that, sir?’

‘Honestly, I beg of you.’

The time for dissimulation was obviously past. Robin felt some annoyance at being found in all this woman’s gear, but no shadow of alarm crossed his face. ‘So! I’m to understand Prue takes you into her confidence?’

‘Say, more truly, that I forced her confidence.’

Robin’s dazzling smile came. ‘I have to offer you my apologies, sir. I under-rated your intelligence. What now?’

Sir Anthony replied placidly: ‘I’ve a very lively desire to marry your sister, Master Robin.’

‘You cannot suppose me astonished to hear that,’ said Robin. But he felt some astonishment nevertheless. ‘Do you come to ask my consent?’

‘It was not exactly my object,’ Sir Anthony said. ‘I take it I had best apply to my Lord Barham for that.’

Egad, Prue was in the right of it all along when she said there was little escaped those sleepy eyes. It would not do to appear confounded. ‘When you are better acquainted with the family, sir, you will realise your error.’

‘My dear boy,’ said Sir Anthony lazily, ‘from the little I have seen of your remarkable parent I should imagine he pulls all the strings to set you both dancing.’

Robin laughed. ‘There’s some truth in that, sir. But if you don’t want my consent, what do you want of me?’

‘You’ve not had speech with your sister?’

‘Devil a word.’

Sir Anthony sat down on the couch. ‘I see. Well, Master Robin, I have asked her to marry me, and she refuses.’

If that was so then Prue must be mad. ‘You don’t say so, sir! Well, well, she was ever a fastidious piece. Am I to force her into your arms?’

‘Do you think you could do it?’ There was an amused smile went with the words.

‘I don’t, sir. I am fairly certain that I should not make the attempt. Prue has a knack of managing her own affairs.’

‘So I apprehend. She will marry me, she says, if your father proves his claim to be just. Failing that, she would have me know I stand no chance with her.’

A quick frown flitted across the smoothness of Robin’s brow. He spoke the thought in his mind. ‘Lord, what ails her? That’s a nonsensical piece of missishness.’