Masqueraders (33 page)

‘Ay, my lady. And you’ll bide here, Master Robin, till I bring word from his lordship.’

Robin got up. ‘Don’t fear me. I make my escape when everyone’s abed. I’ll await your return safe enough.’

He and my lady had dinner in lonely state in the big dining-room. In the character of Miss Merriot he affected to be quite overcome; my lady, when dinner was over, insisted that poor Kate should lie down in her boudoir with the hartshorn. She led poor Kate thither, and summoned fat Marthe. Fat Marthe was told that my lady did not desire her servants to sit up late. It was to be understood both she and Miss Merriot had gone early to bed. Marthe signified complete understanding, and rolled out again. My lady and Robin sat and talked over the strange events of the day, and the gilt clock on the mantelpiece ticked over the minutes.

At ten o’clock Robin was restive, listening for John, and he began to tap an impatient foot. Why must he delay, a’ God’s name? Marthe came in with hot chocolate, and the news that old Williams had at last taken himself off to bed. The house was very still. Robin went softly away to his chamber, candlestick in hand, and was shut up there for nearly an hour. It was just on eleven when he came back into my lady’s boudoir, and he was dressed in coat and breeches with shining top-boots on his feet, and a sword at his side. He went to the window, and stood looking down the moonlit road, listening.

My lady studied his profile, and when he turned, feeling her gaze upon him, nodded and said:
‘
Du vrai
,
my child, I like you best as a man. I do not think anyone will ever know you for the bold Miss Merriot.’

‘You don’t, ma’am?’ Robin glanced towards the mirror.

‘No, never. I do not know what makes the so great change.’ She pondered it. ‘Miss Merriot was a fair height for a lady, but Master Robin—oh, we must not call him a little man, of course!’

‘You spare my feelings, in fact. It may be the neck-cloth, and the hair drawn back. I was careful always to affect a degage style as Miss Merriot.’

‘We-ll,’ said my lady slowly. ‘Miss Merriot was a dainty piece, but you, my child—you look to be all muscle and—
je ne sais quoi
.’

‘I have my fair share of muscle, ma’am, I believe,’ Robin said modestly.

But my lady was right. With her petticoats he cast off all Miss Merriot’s mannerisms. Kate had a tripping step: Robin a clean, swift stride; Kate was languorous: Robin never; Kate fell into charming attitudes: Robin’s every movement was alert and decisive; Kate could adopt a melting siren’s voice: Robin’s speech was crisp, just as his eye was keen where Kate’s was languishing. The truth was he was a consummate actor, and if he played a part he became that part, heart and soul. My Lady Lowestoft had often marvelled at the perfection of his acting, the rigid attention to every little feminine detail, but she doubted whether she had ever appreciated him fully until now, when he threw off his disguise and all its attendant mannerisms.

She was thinking of this when the sound of horses came to her ear. In another minute or two the wheels stopped by the porch.

Robin peered through the window-pane. ‘This will be John at last. Oh lord, ma’am, it’s the old gentleman himself!’

Marthe was evidently waiting to let in the travellers, for a few seconds later the door of the boudoir opened, and my Lord Barham walked in,
point de vice
as ever, in a scarlet riding coat under his cloak, buff small clothes, and high top-boots.

‘Well, Robert!’ said my lady.

My lord kissed her hand punctiliously, but without his usual display of rapture. A severe gaze was bent upon his son. ‘The whole of this affair,’ announced my lord in an awful voice, ‘is deplorable in the extreme. It has been botched and bungled in a manner passing my comprehension.’

John, entering behind my lord, shut the door. ‘He’s been like this all the way down,’ he told Robin. ‘We’d ha’ been here an hour since, but that he must needs stop to change his clothes,’ he added.

‘It is not my habit to drive about the country in ball dress,’ said my lord crushingly.

It was quite evident that he was very much put out. Lady Lowestoft patted the couch invitingly. ‘But sit down, my dear Robert!’ she coaxed.

My lord came out of his cloak. ‘Take it!’ he said. John obeyed with a wry smile at Robin. My lord gave his ruffles a twitch, and bent to flick a speck of dust from his shining boots. He then walked to the fireplace, and entirely ignoring my lady’s invitation, stood with his back to it, and proceeded to deliver himself of a terrific denunciation. ‘Botched and bungled!’ he repeated. He appeared to address no one in particular. ‘Are my schemes so incomplete they need adjustments? Do I leave aught to chance? Am I to be set aside, disregarded, over-ruled? In a word, am I to be disobeyed?’

His hearers felt that they were not expected to venture a reply. Robin sat down astride a chair, laid his arms along the back of it, propped his chin on them, and waited patiently. My lord’s eyes swept the room. ‘I am not!’ he said, in a tone that made my lady jump guiltily. ‘At the start of this episode I made my plans. They were beautifully complete. I do myself less than justice: they were perfect! I issued my orders: a child might have comprehended them. Not so my son. Did I ordain that my Prudence should embroil herself in the affair? I did not. Did I inform my son that I desired him to escort Miss Grayson home when all was done? I did not. No one possessing but the smallest knowledge of me could have supposed it possible that I should meditate such a piece of folly! My children chose to set me at naught. They meddled in a plan of
my
making!’ The penetrating eye flashed.

Robin sighed, and continued to watch his father; my lady blinked; John, standing still by the door, compressed his lips, and looked at my lord rather as an adult might look upon the tiresome tricks of a small child.

My lord’s accusing gaze rested on each one in turn. ‘I have a forbearance passing anything one could imagine,’ he said amazingly. ‘Did I, when this came to my astonished, my incredulous ears, give way to my very righteous indignation? I did not. Some slight reproof I may have allowed to pass my lips. Enough, one would say to warn my children that in future they must obey the very letter of my law. The thing was done; the crass error had been perpetrated. To what avail my censure? I held my peace. I said only: Do nothing without word from me. Await my instructions! When you came to this place—a measure of which I never approved—I said it. To John, my servant, I said more emphatically still: “If aught should befall my children apprise me instantly.” By John no less than by my children have I been disregarded.’

‘Ay, my lord, and I’ve been telling you for the past hour and more that I was on my way to you when I met Sir Anthony. If you would but listen——’

My lord flung up a hand. ‘You interrupt me at every turn! Allow me to speak!’ The tone was not that of a request; John looked helplessly at Robin, who held up a finger. It was quite plain to Robin that his father was greatly annoyed to think that anyone but himself had had a hand in the management of the affair.

‘I have said I was disregarded,’ my lord continued. ‘It is very true! tragically true! Do you suppose that I had not foreseen the apprehension of my daughter? It is possible you could think I had not made my plans in preparation of this?’ He paused a moment. Robin, who had thought precisely this, held his piece. My lord, satisfied that he was not going to venture to speak, swept on. ‘It was, from the first moment of deviation from my original schemes a contingency to be expected. I expected it. It happens. My daughter is arrested; my servant, not yet lost to all sense of what is due to me, sets off to apprise me of it. He meets Sir Anthony Fanshawe. He should never have done such a thing!’

John was moved to answer. ‘’Deed, and how could I help it, my lord?’ he said indignantly.

‘Of course you could have helped it. In your place should I have fallen into the arms of Sir Anthony? Certainly not! Sir Anthony—I excuse him only because he has not had the inestimable advantage of being trained by me from childhood—must needs meddle—must needs put a clumsy finger into a pie of my making! And John! Does he inform Sir Anthony that it is unwise, nay, dangerous to meddle in my affairs?’

‘Yes, my lord,’ said John unexpectedly. ‘I did.’

‘You put me out with these senseless interruptions!’ said his lordship tartly. ‘You aided and abetted him in a flamboyant, noisy rescue! I—Tremaine of Barham——’

‘I thought it would come,’ murmured Robin.

My lord paid no heed. ‘I—Tremaine of Barham—had a score of subtle schemes for Prue’s release. I shall not divulge them now. They have been overset by folly and conceit!’

Robin straightened in his chair. ‘By what, sir?’

‘Conceit!’ pronounced my lord. ‘A vice I detest! You flatter yourselves that you could carry this through without my assistance. My daughter, as I understand, is riding all over the country like a hoyden with a man who has not yet obtained my consent to be affianced to her. The impropriety holds me speechless! The Honourable Prudence Tremaine is whisked off like a piece of baggage, smuggled away to the house of a woman of whom I know nothing, as though she were in sooth a criminal flying for her life!’

‘Instead of which,’ said Robin, inspecting the lacing of one of his great cuffs, ‘she might be lying snug in gaol. Horrible, sir.’

‘And why not?’ my lord demanded. ‘I had an alibi for her—I should have intervened in a manner quiet, and convincing. All the dignity of my proceeding has been upset; my son is forced to escape at night, and in secrecy; a hue and cry for the Merriots must of course arise, and I—I must set all straight again! If I were not a man of infinite resource, and of resolution the most astounding, I might well cast up my hands, and abandon all. If I had not the patience of a saint I might be tempted to censure the whole of this affair as it deserves. But I say nothing. I bear all meekly. I am to set about the unravelling of a knot I had no hand in making. I have to adjust my plans to suit an entirely altered situation.’ He stopped and took snuff.

My lady preserved her air of coaxing. But she felt shattered. ‘It is all very dreadful, Robert,’ she agreed. ‘Give the
bon papa
a glass of Burgundy, Robin.’

Robin got up, and went to the table Marthe had set. He brought my lord a glass of the wine. My lord sipped it in austere silence, enjoying the bouquet. His manner underwent a sudden, bewildering change. With complete urbanity he said: ‘A very good Burgundy, my dear Thérèse. I felicitate you.’

Robin judged it time to speak. ‘You crush us, sir. Believe us all penitence. Doubtless we lack finesse. But I confess I applaud Sir Anthony’s action. It seems to me masterly.’

‘Of its kind,’ said my lord affably, ‘superb! Unworthy of me, clumsy beyond words, lacking entirely any forethought but—for any other man—worthy of applause. I applaud it. I smile to see such blundering methods, but I do not say what I think of them. Sir Anthony has my approbation.’ The terrible frown was wiped from his face. He sat down beside my lady and became once more benign. ‘We must now consider your case, my Robin. You have my forgiveness for what is past. I say nothing about it.’

‘You can scarcely expect to find a brain like yours inside my poor head, sir,’ said Robin dulcetly.

‘I realise it, my son. On that account alone I do condone all this folly. I even forgive John.’

John received this with a grunt not exactly expressive of gratitude. My lord looked affectionately across at him. ‘You did very well, my John, from what I can discover. When I consider that you lacked my guiding hand, I am bound to acknowledge that you and Sir Anthony carried the affair through very creditably. But we have now to provide for Robin.’ He put his finger-tips together, and smiled upon his son. ‘I perceive you are in readiness to be gone. I do not entirely like the lacing of that coat, but let it pass. You will proceed at once to the coast with John. He knows the place. If Lawton—you do not know him, but I have had many dealings with him in my time—if Lawton, I say, keeps to the plans he had made when I was aboard his vessel last month, he should bring the
Pride o’ Rye
in for cargo at about this time. If he has been already there will be others soon enough. You will show that ring. It is enough.’ He handed a ring he wore on his little finger to his son. ‘But John will be with you. I need have no anxieties. Once in France you will proceed to Dieppe. Your trunks are with Gaston still. You will collect them, and embark on the first packet to England—under your rightful name. Remember that! You may find me in Grosvenor Square by then. John will see you safe aboard the
Pride o’ Rye
,
and return then to me. I have need of him.’

‘Good gad, sir, I don’t need John to escort me to this mysterious place!’ said Robin.

‘Certainly you need John,’ said my lord. ‘He knows the ways of the Gentlemen. Do not presume to argue with me. I come now to you, Thérèse. To-morrow you will discover the flight of Miss Merriot. You will make an outcry; you will pronounce yourself to have been imposed upon. When questions are asked it will transpire that you made the acquaintance of the Merriots at the Wells, and knew no more of them than may be gathered from such a chance-met couple. Is it understood?’

My lady made a face. ‘Oh, be sure! But I do not at all like to appear so foolish, Robert.’

‘That cannot be helped,’ said my lord.