Masqueraders (6 page)

Prudence might retire into the background; Robin had the situation well in hand. She sat down on the window seat, and was at leisure to admire her brother’s adroitness. For some reason he seemed bent upon the captivation of Sir Humphrey. Prudence could guess the reason. Faith, more complications brewing. But it was unseemly again that Robin should ogle so elderly a gentleman. Lord, what a clever tongue the child had!

Indeed, talk ran merrily between the two in the middle of the room. Robin seemed to have the knack of inducing a stiff-necked sire to unbend. Within ten minutes he might count Sir Humphrey very much his friend, and dare even to touch lightly on the subject of Miss Letitia’s indiscretion. There came no rebuff: only a word or two sufficient to show the worried state of Sir Humphrey’s mind.

Robin put by the fan of painted chicken-skin. With a pretty air of coaxing and of deference he cooed softly: ‘An impertinence in me to speak of the matter at all, dear Sir Humphrey. Forgive me!’ He was assured of Sir Humphrey’s forgiveness, nay, more, of his attention. ‘Well, well!’ Madam Kate smiled confidentially upon him. ‘I own to some few years more than the child can boast, I believe. Perhaps I may whisper a word or two.’

Sir Humphrey begged the favour of Miss Merriot’s advice. Prudence, by the window, was forgot. There was no doing anything; she could but sit by while Robin became as outrageous as the fit prompted him. Lud, but they were plunging deeper and deeper into the morass!

Robin was dropping dulcet words of advice into a father’s ear. Let him not coop Miss Letty up so close; sure, it was a high-spirited child only in need of a little amusement. Too young?—Oh, fie, never think it! Take her out into the world; let her make her curtsey to Society. By no means take her back to Gloucestershire; that were fatal. So it went on, somewhat to Prudence’s amusement. Robin had a mind to pursue the acquaintance, then? Snared by a pair of pansy-brown eyes, ecod!

The amusement fled before the next words. Sir Humphrey made bold to solicit Miss Merriot’s kindness for his daughter. His sister was, perhaps, not an enlivening companion for so frivolous a child as his Letitia. He should think himself more than ever in her debt if Miss Merriot would take Letty a little under her wing.

‘Now how to escape that?’ thought Prudence.

But it seemed that Robin had no desire to escape the imposition. There were professions of the utmost willingness; he pledged himself to wait upon Miss Grayson the very next day.

‘The rogue!’ thought Prudence, and said it aloud as soon as Sir Humphrey had taken his ceremonious leave of them.

Robin laughed, and dropped a mock curtsey. Surely the devil was in the boy to-day.

‘Lord, child, let us be serious. What are you pledged to now?’

‘To be a friend to the little dark beauty. I’m all alacrity.’

‘It’s evident.’ His sister spoke dryly. ‘I believe it won’t serve, Robin.’

Robin raised one mobile eyebrow. ‘What’s this? You’ve nervous qualms, my Peter? Faith, I thought there were no nerves in you. I stand in no danger of discovery that I can see.’

‘None, child. You’re incomparable,’ Prudence said frankly. ‘You’ve more female graces than ever I could lay claim to, even in my rightful petticoats. I believe my sense of propriety is offended.’

Came a flash into the blue eyes, and a head thrown up a little. ‘Oh, do you doubt me?
Merci du compliment!
’

Prudence was unmoved. ‘Ay, that’s the old gentleman in you. It’s a fine gesture.’

The chin came down; the mouth tightened a moment, then relaxed into a laugh. ‘You’d enrage a saint, Prue. Well, let us have it.’

Memories of the night’s reflections chased one another across Prudence’s mind. ‘It’s trickery. You become an impostor.’

‘I became one when I entered first into these damned uncomfortable clothes, child. Are you answered?’

Impossible to put those hazy ideas into verbal form. ‘I suppose so,’ said Prudence slowly. ‘Do you know, I begin to dislike myself?’

Robin looked at her, then put an arm about her waist. ‘Well, say the word. I’ll take you to France, and we’ll ha’ done with all this.’

‘You’re a dear, Robin. No, I chose this road, and we’ll stay.’

‘I’ve a notion it may lead to some end. Play it out, my dear. Trickery it is, but we harm none.’ Prudence looked sceptical. ‘Oh, you are thinking of the Grayson child! Never doubt me.’

‘I don’t doubt you. But she thinks you are a woman, and there are things she may say you should not be hearing.’

‘Do you think I cannot stop her? ’Tis I shall lead the talk. Be at rest, Prue.’

‘And if she discovers the truth?’

‘I don’t fear that.’

There seemed no more to be said. ‘We brave it to the end, then. Well, I’m content.’

CHAPTER VI

The Polite World Receives Mr and Miss Merriot

My Lady Lowestoft made no idle boast when she declared that all the world might be seen at her rout that evening. The world, as she knew it, was the Polite Society of the day; and Polite Society chose to venerate her ladyship. She had the felicity of seeing her salons filled to overflowing. Downstairs there were refreshments laid out in the dining-room; angel cakes, and ratafie; strange French concoctions and some of the late Sir Roger’s best Burgundy; sweetmeats of every known variety and French champagne, sparkling in the glasses, to go with them. There was a card room also, spacious enough to hold some few tables with comfort. Those who wished might escape from the chatter and the scraping of the fiddles in the saloons above, to seek a little quiet diversion here with a dice-box. My lady was fond of all games of chance herself, but her duties as hostess kept her to-night in the main rooms, where people came and went, gathered into knots for conversation, separated again to greet a new arrival, or lent an indulgent ear to the fiddlers scraping away at the back of the room.

Robin, in his character of Miss Merriot, was kept near my lady. He had chosen to array himself in shades of rose pink. A necklace lay on the white skin of his chest, and a bracelet enclasped one rather sinewy arm. If there could be found aught whereat to cavil in his appearance it must be those arms. They lacked the dimpled roundness necessary for beauty. Elsewhere no fault could be detected. The fair hair was piled up on top of his head, lavishly powdered, and decorated with a jewelled ornament; the face below was pink and white as any girl’s, with blue eyes dreamy under delicately pencilled brows, and a nose many a reigning toast mighty envy. A black riband round the throat served to emphasise the creamy whiteness of the skin; the waist, thanks to John’s lacing, was trim enough, and the foot peeping from beneath the hem of a flowered petticoat sufficiently small to escape notice. Maybe it was fashioned on the large size for so dainty a lady, but a high heel disguised a possible fault.

There could be no fault found either in his deportment. Standing a little back from the crowd, Prudence watched him with a critical eye. He had several times before donned this woman’s garb, but never for so long a stretch. She had coached him to the best of her ability, but well as she knew him could still fear some slip. She had to admit knowledge of him was deficient yet. Sure, he might have been born to it. His curtseys were masterpieces of grace; the air with which he held out a hand to young gallants so consummate a piece of artistry that Prudence was shaken with silent laughter. He seemed to know by instinct how to flirt his fan, and how to spread his wide skirts for the curtsey. Apparently he might be left safely to his own devices. His sister withdrew her gaze from him, reflecting that she would give much to hear what he was saying to the beautiful Miss Gunning standing beside him. If the spirit of mischief did not carry him away there was naught to be feared in his bearing. Prudence turned away, and came upon my Lady Lowestoft, in gay talk with Mr Walpole, who, since he lived so close, was naturally a late comer.

My lady manoeuvred the elegant Mr Walpole away from Prudence’s vicinity, and disposed of him at length to his dear friend Gilly Williams, who, with Mr Selwyn, seemingly but half awake, stood talking by the fire.

My lady came rustling back to the door, for there were guests still ascending the stairs. To Prudence, under her breath, she said: ‘I take him away, so! Of an inquisitive disposition, my cabbage! You would not believe! I feared he might pry too close. . . . Ah, madame!’ She curtseyed to a new arrival, and, a moment later, was exchanging witticisms with my Lord March, that saturnine peer.

A gentleman but lately introduced to Prudence suggested a hand at picquet. She looked calmly at this gentleman and professed herself all readiness. It took her no more than a minute to reach the conclusion that she was to be a lamb for the fleecing. Well, the gentleman should see.

There were several men in the card room, some few dicing, some talking idly beside, and one party engaged in a hand of lansquenet. Prudence sat down with Sir Francis Jollyot at a table away from the door, and assented placidly to his proposed stakes. They seemed large, but she had played for larger, and was in no wise perturbed.

‘’Tis a game I’m devilish partial to,’ Sir Francis observed. ‘You play it much, eh?’

‘A little, sir,’ Prudence said and displayed hesitation over the question of her discard. Across the table Sir Francis smiled in infinite good humour. He had played with young gentlemen from the country before, and foresaw a profitable evening. When the game was over he condoled with Mr Merriot on his ill-fortune, and proposed a fresh one. Prudence accepted most cordially. She perceived a greater skill at picquet in herself than in her smiling opponent. Played carefully this game of turning the tables on the wolf would be amusing. With no less hesitation in her demeanour, but with much less folly in her discards, she won the game. She was complimented on the cards she had held, and embarked upon the third encounter.

‘A reverse!’ commented Sir Francis gaily. ‘I hardly thought you would keep a guard to that Queen in the last hand, throwing the King of Hearts.’

The crease showed between Prudence’s brows. ‘Did I throw my King? You played out your cards so fast, you see, I scarcely . . .’ She left the end of her sentence to be understood. Sir Francis thought that he did understand, and sorted his hand with a smile ill concealed.

There came a fresh arrival into the room, and paused a while in the open doorway. This gentleman was very large, with wide shoulders under a coat of maroon velvet, and a strong, handsome face. Under heavy lids his eyes fell on Prudence and rested there.

‘Why, Fanshawe! I had thought you were out of town. Someone told me you had gone down to Wych End.’ Mr Troubridge, standing nearby, stepped closer to Sir Anthony, and offered his snuff-box. ‘What are you looking at? Oh, my Lady Lowestoft’s protégé! By name Merriot, and seemingly a pleasant youth. That face should captivate the ladies.’

‘It should,’ Sir Anthony replied. ‘Jollyot wastes no time, I see.’

Mr Troubridge laughed. It was after all, no concern of his. ‘Oh, trust Jollyot! By the way, young Apollo has a prodigious fine sister. Have you seen her? One of your fair beauties. She’s above stairs in the withdrawing room.’

‘I’ve been presented.’ Still Sir Anthony’s eyes dwelt on the unconscious Prudence. ‘Up from the country, are they? Now, neither has the look of it. Our young gentleman yonder’—very slightly he indicated Prudence with a movement of his quizzing-glass—‘has all the air of a town beau.’

‘Very modish, to be sure. He’ll have need of keen town wits if he plays with Jollyot.’ Mr Troubridge smiled a little, and looked towards the picquet table.

Prudence sat sideways at it, an arm laid along it, and one shapely leg stretched out before her. She wore a coat of dull gold brocade, with the skirts very full and stiffly whaleboned, and the great cuffs turned back to the elbow. There was much foaming lace at throat and wrists, and a jewelled buckle was placed above the black riband that confined her powdered locks in the nape of her neck. She was looking at the cards held in one hand, her face expressionless. There was a patch set at the corner of the firm mouth, and one high up on the cheek-bone. Her other hand, with a glowing ring on it, lay lightly on the arm of her chair. As though conscious of the gaze upon her, she looked up suddenly, straight at Sir Anthony. A tinge of colour rose in her cheeks; involuntarily she smiled.

‘Oh, do you know him?’ asked Troubridge, surprised.

‘We were introduced above stairs,’ Sir Anthony answered, with a fine disregard for the truth, and went across the room to Prudence’s side. ‘Well met, my dear boy.’ His hand pressed on Prudence’s shoulder to prevent her rising. ‘No, do not permit me to interrupt.’

At the sound of that lazy, pleasant voice a faint frown crossed Sir Francis’ face. He acknowledged Sir Anthony’s greeting only by a curt nod, and declared a point of five.

Sir Anthony stood still behind Prudence’s chair, and in silence watched the play through his eye-glass. The stakes had been raised at each new game; at the end of this one Sir Francis was most strangely a heavy loser. Either the young sprig from the country had played the game a-many times before, or else the Providence who guides the hands of novices had exerted herself most prodigiously on Mr Merriot’s behalf. Sir Francis was disinclined to believe Mr Merriot an adept: he had not the manner of it.

Sir Anthony moved at last, and spoke before Jollyot could suggest yet a fourth game, ‘Will you take a hand with me, Merriot?’