The Masqueraders

by Джорджетт Хейер

  Chapter 7

  A Taste of a Large Gentleman’s Temper

  The morning’s ride sowed promising seeds of a new friendship. The Honourable Charles had an engaging frankness; he kept no secrets from those admitted into the circle of his acquaintance, and it seemed probable that his life might be an open book for Prudence to read if she had a mind that way. With admirable dexterity she steered all talk into channels of her own choosing. She was certainly not squeamish, but half an hour spent in the company of the expansive Mr Belfort was enough to show that the greater part of his reminiscences was calculated to bring a blush to maiden cheeks. Prudence maintained an even complexion, and had sense enough to think none the worse of him for all his lurid confidences. Sure, they were not meant for a lady’s ears.

  The ride at an end, it was Charles and Peter with them; they might have been blood brothers. Prudence acquiesced in it, but grimaced to herself when she reflected that it had been in her mind to lie close in London. Evidently this was not to be. But there was nothing to be feared from Mr Belfort: the disguise was deep enough to hoodwink a dozen such rattlepates.

  She came back to Arlington Street to find Robin posturing above a bouquet of red roses. Robin achieved a simper. “Behold me, my Peter, in a maidenly flutter!”

  Prudence put down her whip and gloves. “What’s this?”

  “My elderly admirer!” said Robin in an ecstasy, and gave up a note. “Read, my little one!”

  Prudence gave a chuckle over the amorous note. “Robin, you rogue!”

  “I was made to be a breaker of hearts,” sighed Robin.

  “Oh, this one was cracked many times before!”

  Robin tilted his head a little; the merry devil looked out of his limpid blue eyes. “I’ve a mind to enthrall the mountain,” he said softly.

  “You won’t do it. He’s more like to unmask you than to worship at your shameless feet,” Prudence answered.

  “Oh? Here’s a change of front, by my faith! Unmask me, is it? Now why?”

  “John was right. The gentleman’s wide awake for all we think him so dull.”

  “So?” Robin awaited more. She told him of the incident at cards the night before. He listened in silence, but shrugged a careless shoulder at the end. “I don’t see a great deal to that. Easy enough to see your game if he stood at your elbow. Did you fleece the wolf?”

  “Some fifty guineas. We may stand in need of them if this is to continue long. But Sir Anthony — ” she paused.

  “You’re bewitched. What now?”

  “I believe we shall do well to preserve a strict guard before him.”

  “As you please, but I think you rate a mountain’s intelligence too high. Consider, my dear, how should any man suspect what is after all the very light of improbability? Why should so wild a surmise so much as cross his brain?”

  “There is that, of course. Plague take the man, he must needs load me with favours!”

  Robin laughed. “He takes you to White’s, eh? Some little matter of a card-party too, I think?”

  “On Thursday, at his house.”

  Robin folded pious hands. “I believe my sense of propriety is offended,” he quoted maliciously.

  The shot glanced off her armour. “You’ve none, child, rest assured.”

  Robin let be at that, and went off to make ready for a call on Miss Grayson. My Lady Lowestoft’s town chaise bore him to the house, and a lackey in sombre livery ushered him into the withdrawing-room.

  An elderly lady arose from a chair near the fire, and dropped a stately curtsey. Before Robin could return the salute Miss Letty bounced out of her chair and came running towards him. An embrace was clearly offered; Robin withstood temptation, and held out his hands. Miss Letty’s were put into them, and so he kept her at arm’s length.

  “My dear, dear Miss Merriot! I have so hoped you would come!” Letty cried.

  The elder Miss Grayson spoke an austere reproof “Letitia, your manners, child!”

  Robin swept a curtsey to the lady. “Why, ma’am, I beg you’ll not chide her. I should be flattered indeed to receive such a welcome.”

  “I fear, ma’am, our Letitia is a sad madcap,” Miss Grayson said. “Pray will you not be seated? My honoured brother told me we might expect the pleasure of this visit.”

  Miss Grayson’s honoured brother at that moment made his entry and stayed some little while in converse with Miss Merriot. When he went out again he took his sister with him. Robin enjoyed an hour’s tête-à-tête with Miss Letty, at the end of which time the lackey came in to announce the arrival of Mr Merriot to fetch his sister.

  Mr Merriot must come in, Letty declared. Her greeting was scarcely less warm than had been her greeting to Robin. Sir Humphrey, reappearing, was cordial enough, and had to endure a rapturous hug from his daughter upon his announcement of an invitation but this instant received from my Lady Dorling, for a masked ball. My Lady Dorling begged the pleasure of the Misses Grayson’s company, and Sir Humphrey said that Letty might go.

  Would Miss Merriot be there? — Miss Merriot could not answer with certainty.

  “I wonder, will Miss Merriot be there?” Prudence said when they sat together in the coach.

  “Don’t doubt it, child. A masked ball... Well, we shall see.”

  There was that in the tone which made Prudence look up sharply. “What devilry’s afoot?”

  Robin’s eyes mocked from beneath long lashes. “You would give much to know, would you not?” he taunted.

  Prudence declined to encourage this spirit in her brother. “What’s the upshot là-bas?”she inquired. The jerk of her head might be supposed to indicate the direction of the Grayson abode.

  “Letty’s to appear in Society. My doing.”

  “And the Markham?”

  “I’m somewhat at a loss. I might gather a word here and there, you understand: not many. I take it there’s a deadlock. All Sir Humphrey’s concern is to keep the affair dark. Wherein I am to suppose Fanshawe with him.”

  “There’s to be no meeting?”

  “What, are you in a flutter?” Robin gibed.

  “As you see,” was the placid rejoinder.

  “Ay, you’re a cold-blooded creature, a’n’t you? There’s to be no meeting. I had thought it might easily be arranged, but it seems the Markham is an ambitionless creature, and lacks the desire to meet your mountain. There was some little talk of Fanshawe’s swordsmanship.” He pursed his lips. “As to that, I crave leave to cherish doubts.”

  “They say he’s a swordsman?”

  “So I was given to understand. It’s my belief the English don’t understand the art. There’s some mobility required. Do you see the mountain on the skip?” He laughed gently. “With pistols I will believe him an expert. It’s a barbarous sport.”

  Prudence frowned. “You would say there can be no meeting for fear of the Markham making a disclosure?”

  “I apprehend the matter runs something after that fashion.”

  “Faugh! It’s a very cur.”

  “Certainly, child, but curs may snap. I need not tell you to step warily, I suppose.”

  “I stand in some danger of being called out, you think? I shall be all conciliation. It’s possible the dear soul may himself step warily. That blow in the coffee-room — a child’s trick, egad! — would make pretty telling.”

  “Just, my dear, but run no risks. There are pitfalls on all sides.”

  “You do perceive them, then? I’ve trod no trickier maze. And we plunge deeper and deeper.”

  “There is flight open to us if need arise. I console myself with that thought.”

  Prudence crossed one leg over the other. “And the old gentleman?”

  “Oh, the devil take him! This is in part a maze of his making. Have you considered it?”

  “Of course. There should be word from him soon. I suppose we are to be swept back to France to await the next mad freak.”

  “You don’t want that?” Robin looked sideways.

 
; “I’m in love with respectability,” said Prudence lightly.

  There was a teasing word ready, but Robin forbore to utter it. This change in his sister promised to complicate things still further. Not a doubt of it, the mountain had caught her fancy, but there could be little hope of a happy ending. Gentlemen of Sir Anthony’s stamp did not marry daughters of — egad, the daughter of what was she? There was no saying, but “rogue’ might serve as a general term. Cast off the old gentleman, and all his wiles. A shabby trick, that: she would never hear of it. Nor would they be in much better case. A girl must have some parentage, after all.

  They came back to Arlington Street to find Sir Anthony himself paying his duty to my lady. It appeared he had come to fetch Mr Merriot to White’s, hard by in St James’s. He bore Prudence away with him; she felt herself powerless to resist.

  There was quite a sprinkling of people gathered at White’s, and amongst them was Mr Markham in conversation with a sandy-haired gentleman of some forty years. Prudence caught the sound of a name, and looked again with some interest. So the sandy gentleman was the new Lord Barham, of whom Lady Lowestoft had warned them? Certainly there was no great good to be observed in the heavy jowled face. She remembered some snatches of Belfort’s talk that morning. There was a suspicion, so the Honourable Charles hinted, that Barham’s methods of play were not quite impeccable.

  Mr Molyneux came in, and had a pleasant greeting for Sir Anthony and his companion. After a moment Lord Barham walked across to say something to Mr Molyneux, who made Prudence known to him.

  My lord stared upon the stranger and slightly inclined his head. It was evident that his lordship had no intention of wasting civilities upon an unknown gentleman; he turned a broad shoulder, and made some idle observation to Sir Anthony.

  Fanshawe looked sleepily through his eyeglass: it was wonderful what an air of lazy hauteur the large gentleman could assume. “You lack finesse, Rensley,” he said in a bored voice. “I see my friend Devereux by the window, Merriot. Let me present you.”

  My lord flushed angrily. As she followed in Fanshawe’s wake Prudence heard him say to Markham — “Who’s that cockerel Fanshawe’s befriending?”

  Mr Markham’s reply was lost to Prudence, but she had seen the scowl on his face when he had first perceived her. But a little while later he came up to her, and exchanged a greeting, and a smile had taken the place of the scowl. Prudence liked it no better; she had a notion Mr Markham meant mischief. There was not a word spoken of the disastrous meeting on the road to Scotland; all was politeness and affability. Upon the approach of Sir Anthony, however, Mr Markham fell back.

  Prudence came through the ordeal of this visit to White’s with flying colours, and through a dozen other such ordeals, as the days passed. At Sir Anthony’s card party she played at faro, and cast dice, and her luck held. She had to witness the gradual collapse under the table of more than one gentleman, but her host maintained a perfect sobriety. Prudence admired the hard head of the man. The Honourable Charles could still stand, but his legs were uncertain under him, and he showed a disposition to tell a long and obscure story to anyone who could be got to listen. Prudence walked back to Arlington Street in the dawn, accompanied part of the way by Mr Devereux, who hung affectionately on her arm, and professed, between hiccups, an everlasting friendship.

  There were other card parties to follow this; a visit to Ranelagh Gardens; a rout party, and later, my lady Dorling’s masked ball. My lady had sent cards to Mr and Miss Merriot for this event: it promised to be one of the largest parties of the season.

  “Do you go, Sir Anthony?” Prudence asked, at Belfort’s card party.

  “I suppose I must,” Sir Anthony answered. “These balls are a plaguey nuisance. I’ve a mind to go down to my house at Wych End after this one. Do you care to bear me company?”

  She was at a loss for a moment, but her wits never deserted her for long. “Why, sir, it would give me much pleasure, but I believe my sister has some claims on my company.”

  “She might be induced to spare you for a week,” Sir Anthony suggested.

  “You tempt me, sir, but no, I think I must refuse. There are some engagements binding me besides.”

  Sir Anthony raised his eyebrows a moment. “You’re very positive about it,” he remarked.

  She looked up. “I offend you, sir,” she said directly.

  “By no means. But I wonder why you will not come?”

  “It is not will not, Sir Anthony. I would like above all things to join you, but as I have said — ”

  “To be sure: those engagements,” nodded Sir Anthony, and turned away.

  Prudence was left to stand alone in the middle of the room. She felt curiously forlorn, for it was evident Sir Anthony was not pleased.

  Belfort called to her to come and throw a main with him. She moved across to his table, and out of the corner of her eye saw Sir Anthony sitting down to faro by the window. There was no getting near him after that; she became a prey to Lord Barham, who deigned to recognise her, and was conscious of a protective influence withdrawn. She was forced to play with my lord, and she lost rather heavily, and knew the reason. Escaping at length, she engaged on a hand at picquet with the optimistic Jollyot, and presently took leave of her host, complaining of the headache. The serious grey eyes travelled towards the faro table somewhat wistfully; Sir Anthony looked up.

  There was a hard look on his face; he met the grey eyes coolly, and Prudence saw the fine mouth unsmiling. She turned aside to the door, and heard his deep voice speak. “Oh, are you off, Merriot? Stay a moment, I’ll bear you company.”

  Five minutes later they were descending the steps into the street, and Sir Anthony drawled — “How came you out of that bout with Rensley, my fair youth?”

  “Badly,” Prudence replied evenly. She misliked the ironic note in the gentleman’s voice.

  “The pigeon lost some feathers, eh?”

  “At least the pigeon played fair, sir!” said Prudence rather tartly.

  “Softly, softly, my child! Do you say that Rensley cheated?”

  Prudence flashed a glance upwards into that inscrutable face. “Do you think he would not cheat a pigeon, sir?”

  “No, little man, I thought that he would.”

  She bit her lip. “You’re scarcely just to me, sir.”

  “What, because I would not scare away an ogre from the nursling? Experience harms none, child.”

  “I think you wanted to show me, sir, that I was at the mercy of all once away from your side,” said Prudence plainly.

  “And are you not?” Sir Anthony inquired.

  “There is perhaps a trick or two up my sleeve yet, sir. But why should you desire to demonstrate thus to me?”

  “A further step in your education. You should thank me.”

  The imperturbable voice exasperated one. Was there no coming to grips with the man?

  “I think you are not entirely honest with me, Sir Anthony.”

  “Expound, my sage. Wherein am I dishonest?”

  She said steadily — “You are angry with me for refusing to go with you to Wych End. I don’t complain that you left me to Lord Barham. Indeed, I had rather you stood aloof, for I have no claim on you, and I believe I may take care of myself. But when you say that what you did was to educate me, sir, you are at fault.”

  “What I did, then, was done out of spleen, you think?” Quite unruffled was the voice.

  “Was it not, Sir Anthony?”

  There was a slight pause. “I have an idea I don’t suffer from an excess of spleen,” Fanshawe said. “Shall we say that my rendering you up to the wolf was a punishment for churlishness?”

  This was coming to grips with a vengeance. Decidedly it was not well to cross the large gentleman. One felt something of a midget.

  “I am sorry that you should think me churlish, sir.” She discovered that her voice sounded small, and rather guilty, and made an effort to pull herself together. “I think you misunderstand the reason o
f my refusal to go to Wych End.” That was no sooner said than she wished it unsaid. God knew where it might lead.

  “I don’t consider myself omniscient,” said Fanshawe, “but I am under the impression that life in town is more amusing than life at Wych End.”

  She perceived the trend of the matter. Ay, here was a pretty tangle. It was, after all, an honour for an unknown young gentleman to be invited to stay with the great Sir Anthony Fanshawe. Her excuse had been lame; in a word, she must appear cubbish. And how to retrieve the false step? “You are under a false impression, sir.”

  “I am, am I?”

  “I know very well, sir, that I am unduly honoured by your proposal, but I have been taught that it is a greater rudeness to ignore previous engagements than to refuse a flattering new invitation.”

  “You have that wonderfully pat,” admired Sir Anthony. “Pray let us forget the matter.”

  “So long as I do not stand in your black books,” Prudence said tentatively.

  There was a laugh, and a hand on her shoulder. “I confess, I have an odd liking for you, young man. You are absolved.”

  Ridiculous that one should feel a weight removed from one’s mind. Prudence decided to say nothing to Robin of the matter, dreading his mirth.

  Chapter 8

  The Black Domino

  My Lady Lowestoft stole up to the door of Prudence’s chamber, threw a swift glance round to see that no one was by, and went in, firmly shutting the door behind her. Prudence sat before her dressing table, haresfoot in hand. She looked round to see who came in so unceremoniously. “Fie!” she said, and turned back to the mirror.

  “My reputation if any one saw me!” said my lady, and sat down in a swirl of purple silk. She carried a strip of velvet in one hand, and a purple domino hung from her shoulders. She put up the velvet to her face. “So! Am not I intrigante,my dear?”

  “Very, ma’am. You always are, masked or not.”

  “So they say,” nodded my lady. “Oh, la-la! we’re very fine tonight, not?”

  Prudence smoothed the crimson silk sleeve of her coat, and smiled a little. “My pièce de résistance,ma’am.”