Masqueraders (5 page)

‘But stupid, my child, stupid! There was never a hope. Moreover, we do very well with little fierce George. Bah, why plunge all in disorder for a pretty princeling?’

‘He had the right.’ Robin spoke sombrely.

‘
Quant à ça
,
I know nothing of the matter, my little one. You English, you chose for yourselves a foreigner.
Bien!
But you must not turn against him now. No, no, that is not reasonable.’

‘By your leave, ma’am, not all chose him.’

She flashed a look at him. ‘Eh, so he had you under his spell, the bonnie prince? But you—no, my cabbage, you are no Jacobite at heart. A spell, no more.’

‘Oh, I am nothing at all, ma’am, rest you content. I meddle no more in the affairs of princes.’

‘That is wise,’ she approved. ‘This time you escape. Another time—who knows?’

He laughed irresponsibly. ‘As to that, my lady, I don’t count myself safe as yet.’

His sister’s serenity was ruffled momentarily. She looked with some anxiety towards my lady, who bent towards her swiftly, and patted her hand.

‘Ah, no more of that!
Au fond
,
you do not like to see blood flow, you English. It is thought there has been blood enough: the tide turns. Lie close, and all blows over. I am certain of it—
moi qui te parle!
’

Robin made a face at his sister. ‘The creature must needs play the mother to me, madam.’

‘Madam, behold my little mentor!’ Prudence retorted. ‘Give you my word I have my scoldings from him, and not the old gentleman. ’Tis a waspish tongue, egad.’

Talk ran a while then on the vagaries of Mr Colney. My lady must needs speculate upon his whereabouts; his dutiful children could not permit themselves to indulge in the optimism of hazarding a guess. Sufficient for them that he had named London as a meeting-place: wherefore behold them here, in all obedience.

My lady professed alarm; Prudence cracked a nut. My lady was urgent to know the nature of Mr Colney’s business in the late rebellion; her queries were met by a humorous quirk of the eyebrow, and a half shrug of the shoulder.
Eh bien
then, might he with safety show himself in town? Had he not, in effect, been conspicuous up there in the North?

It was Robin who said with a laugh:—‘Lud, ma’am, and did you ever know him when he was not conspicuous? It has been dark intrigue for him, here and there—a go-between, as I take it. What does one know of him? Nothing! But I’d wager my last guinea he has his tracks well covered.’

My lady reflected on the likelihood of this, but it was evident that she continued to feel some trepidation at the thought of
ce cher
Robert coming to London, which was, in fact, the lion’s den.

Prudence smiled. ‘My lady, he has very often informed us that I contrive might well stand for his motto, and, faith, I believe him.’

‘I contrive,’ mused my lady. ‘Yes, that is Robert. But it is the motto of the Tremaines.’

‘The more like the old gentleman to appropriate it,’ said Robin. ‘Who are the Tremaines?’

‘Oh, one of your old families. They are Viscounts of Barham these many years, you must know. The last one died some few months since, and the new one is only some cousin, I think, of name Rensley.’

‘Then our poor papa can have his motto,’ said Prudence.

She had a mind to learn something of Sir Anthony Fanshawe, and drew the trend of the talk that way. There was no word spoken of Miss Letty and her indiscretion: Sir Anthony had been chance-met on the road—also one Mr Markham.

My lady wrinkled her brow at the last name; it was plain she did not count Mr Markham amongst her friends. More closely questioned, she said that he was a man of
mauvais ton
,
a great gambler, and received at an astonishing number of houses, for no reason that she could perceive unless it were his friendship with my Lord Barham.

‘There you have two people of no great breeding,’ ran her peroration. ‘Have naught to do with either, my children. Both are counted dangerous, and both are rogues. Of that I am convinced.’

‘And Sir Anthony?’ said Robin, with a quizzical look at his sister. ‘Is that another rogue?’

My lady found this infinitely amusing. ‘The poor Sir Tony! To be sure, a very proper gentleman—well-born, rich, handsome—but fie! of an impenetrability. Ah, you English!’ She shook her head over the stolidity of the race.

‘He displays already a most fatherly interest in my little sister, ma’am,’ Robin said solemnly. ‘We are like to be undone by it.’

‘Robin must have his jest, my lady.’ Prudence was unruffled. ‘I believe I am not a novice in the art of simulation. I don’t fear Sir Anthony’s detection.’

‘My dear, he does not see a yard before his own nose, that one,’ my lady assured her. ‘Fear nothing from him. You will meet him at my rout to-morrow. All the world comes.’

There was no more talk then of Sir Anthony, but he came again into Prudence’s mind that night when she made ready to go to bed. She came out of her coat—not without difficulty, for it was of excellent tailoring, and fitted tightly across her shoulders—and stood for a while before the long mirror, seriously surveying herself. A fine straight figure she made: there could be no gainsaying it, but she found herself wondering what Sir Anthony, of the lazy speech and sleepy eyelids, would make of it. She doubted there might be too great a love of the respectable in the gentleman. She placed her hands on her slim hips, and looked, without seeing, into the grey eyes in the mirror. Sir Anthony refused to be banished from her mind.

Respectable! Ay, there was the sneering epithet of a vagabond for an honourable gentleman. It was tiresome of the man, but there was that in his face inspired one with trust, and a disinclination to simulate. One could not imagine the large gentleman descending to trickery and a masquerade. So much the worse for him, then, if he found himself ever in a dangerous corner. One might give the masquerade an ugly-sounding name: call it Deceit; no good ring to that. Or call it the pitting of one’s wits against the world’s; that had a better smack.

The fine mouth showed a tendency to curl scornfully. One’s wit against the world was well enough; one’s wit against a single fellow creature, not so good. The one was after all a perilous losing game, with all to risk; the other savoured a little of the common imposter. Sir Anthony would be friendly; unpleasant to think that one could show but a false front.

She caught herself up on the thought, turned away from the mirror, and began to untie the lace at her throat. Egad, she was in danger of turning sentimental because a large gentleman looked on her with kindness. A sentimental country, this England: it awoke in one a desire for security.

The neck-cloth was tossed on to the table, and a soft chuckle came. Ludicrous to think of security with Mr Colney for sire. She reflected ruefully that her father was somewhat of a rogue; disreputable even. A gaming house in Frankfort, forsooth! She had a smile for that memory. Hand to mouth days, those, with herself in boy’s clothes, as now. The old gentleman had judged it wisest, and when one remembered some of those who came to the gaming house one had to admit he had reason. A dice box in one pocket, and a pistol in the other, though! Proper training for a girl just coming out of her teens! A mad life, egad, but there had been much to recommend it. One had learned something, after all. Sure, only to live with the old gentleman was an education: one owed him a deal, but if one desired to enter into a life of security his very existence must prove a bar.

She perceived in her thoughts a tendency to edge round to the contemplation of Sir Anthony, and judged it time to have done. Dimly she could see difficulties ahead; characteristically she dismissed them with a fatalistic gesture. Time enough to ponder them when they presented themselves.

She pulled the heavy curtains back from the bed, and of habit slipped a little gold-mounted pistol beneath her pillow. She climbed into the big four-poster, and very soon lay lightly asleep. Not the dark future, nor Sir Anthony would be permitted to disturb Prudence’s repose, though fleetingly both might enter into her dreams. After all, one could not be mistress of one’s thoughts in sleep.

CHAPTER V

Sir Humphrey Grayson Waits upon Mr Merriot

The morrow brought Sir Humphrey Grayson early in the forenoon to wait upon Mr Merriot. The message was brought Prudence in my Lady Lowestoft’s boudoir, where she sat in converse with her hostess. The exigencies of his toilet still kept Robin above stairs; his sister had left him to the lacing of his corsets, an operation conducted by John and accompanied by some of the young gentleman’s choicer oaths.

My lady, upon the news of Sir Humphrey’s call being brought, was all agog with curiosity. She had no notion the Merriots held other acquaintance than herself in town, and desired to be told how they were known to Sir Humphrey, who, to be sure, led something of the life of a recluse.

Prudence mentally consigned Sir Humphrey to perdition: it seemed he would be an added complication. The fewer people to know of Miss Letty’s escapade the better for that sprightly lady, but Prudence reflected that there were mysteries and secrets of her own enough to keep close without the addition of another’s. She evaded my lady’s questions. She claimed no acquaintance with Sir Humphrey, but believed Sir Anthony Fanshawe had solicited his kindness on her behalf. My lady was left to make what she could of this; Prudence went downstairs to the room looking out on to the street that was used for morning callers.

There arose at her entrance a tall thin gentleman with stooping shoulders and a limp. He wore the powdered wig of Fashion, but neglected to paint his face. The brown eyes, not unlike Miss Letty’s own, held some trouble. He had the look of a man prematurely aged by ill-health.

The gentleman bowed to Mr Merriot, leaning the while on his cane. Mr Merriot returned the bow and was swift to pull forward a chair for the visitor. ‘Sir Humphrey Grayson, I believe? Sir, you honour me. Will you not be seated?’

A certain grimness about Sir Humphrey’s mouth vanished as his glance took in Mr Merriot. The young gentleman had a great air of Fashion, but practised what Sir Humphrey had come to believe an old-fashioned courtesy towards the elder generation. He took the chair offered, with a passing reference to a gouty foot. There was a slight squaring of the bent shoulders: it was evident this elderly gentleman had little relish for his visit. ‘Mr Merriot, I believe you must know the reason of my being here,’ he said bluntly. ‘Let me be plain with you. My daughter has put me in your debt.’

A stiff-backed old man; one must perforce pity the hurt to his pride. Prudence made swift answer. ‘Why, sir, I protest, there is no need for such talk! Do me the favour of letting a very trifling service be forgot!’

There were further signs of thaw. ‘Bear with me, Mr Merriot. You must do me the honour of accepting my very heartfelt thanks for your rescue of my daughter.’

‘Why, sir, there is nothing to all this. My part was played but a bare half-hour before Sir Anthony came upon us. He would have settled the business as quickly had I let be. Pray let us not speak of it! I am happy to have been of service to Miss Grayson. Or thank my sister, sir, whose quicker wits devised the little plot.’

Sir Humphrey permitted himself to smile, and to incline his head. ‘I do indeed desire to render my thanks to Miss Merriot. My foolish daughter can talk of naught else but that same plot. At least allow me to compliment you on a tricksy piece of sword-play.’

Prudence gave her rich chuckle. ‘An old ruse, sir, but useful. I trust Miss Grayson finds herself none the worse for her adventure?’

‘Rest assured, sir, my daughter is incorrigible.’ But a reluctant smile went with the words.

‘Why, sir, it’s a child, after all, with a child’s desire for a romantic venture.’

‘It might have led to a most damaging scandal, Mr Merriot.’

Prudence discerned some anxiety in Sir Humphrey’s eye, and made haste to reassure. ‘All fear of that must be at an end with you sir; of that I am certain. None save Sir Anthony and ourselves can know aught of the matter.’

There was again a bow. ‘My daughter should count herself fortunate in meeting so discreet a friend in her trouble,’ said Sir Humphrey.

This punctilious grandeur became oppressive. Prudence conceived the happy thought of sending a message up to Robin. Sir Humphrey professed himself all desire to lay his compliments before Miss Merriot. Black Pompey was sent running to Robin’s chamber, and in a little while Robin came, all powdered and patched and scented; a fair vision in pale blue taffeta. No girl, Prudence thought, could appear lovelier.

There was a curtsey, a few gliding steps towards Sir Humphrey, and a delicate hand held out. Sir Humphrey bowed low over it, and a faint crease crept between Prudence’s brows. It seemed to her unseemly that the old courtier should kiss her graceless brother’s hand. She met Robin’s dancing eyes of mischief with a look of some reproof. Robin sank into a chair with a billow of stiff silks. ‘Sir Humphrey, this is too kind in you, I protest! Miss Letty spoke of your love of seclusion. There was no need for this visit. No, no, sir, you shall not thank me for the other night’s work!’ A fan was spread, but a laughing pair of eyes showed above it. ‘Spare my blushes, sir! Conceive me fainting in the arms of the Markham! Oh lud!’