“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 19
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.”
“Don’t let it perturb you. Allow me some say in the matter. She’ll marry me whatever be the issue, and she knows it. I’ve said I’ll wait upon Barham’s claim; it’s to solace pride, I take it. But I want her out of this masquerade with all speed. That’s why I’m here.”
“As a family, sir, we stand by each other. It’s for Prue to decide, and for me to support her decision. To say truth, I am a little of her mind. I believe the old gentleman may settle his affairs. Well, we’re bound to him; we’ve played too many of these games to turn our backs now.”
“I don’t ask it of you. I ask only that I too may be permitted a share. You stand in some danger, as I understand. I’ve influence in certain circles; I think I can serve you. If I could get a pardon for you, the Merriots may disappear, and await the issue of the Barham claim in a safe seclusion.”
The door was opened again. “My Lord Barham!” announced a lackey, and my lord came in, all scented, and powdered, and patched.
He stopped just inside the room, and seemed to be enraptured at the sight of Sir Anthony. “My friend Fanshawe!” he exclaimed. “And the beautiful Miss Merriot!”
“It won’t serve, sir,” Robin broke in. “Your friend Fanshawe is more intimate with you than you know. You may say that we all lie in his power.”
My lord evinced not the smallest discomfiture. “My son, if you think I lie in any man’s power you do not know me. As for you to be in danger when my wing is spread over you is not possible.” He spoke with a tinge of severity in his voice.
Sir Anthony had risen at his entrance, and bowed now. “You stand in no danger from me, sir.”
My lord surveyed him haughtily. “I stand in no danger from anyone, my dear Sir Anthony. You have no knowledge of me. You are to be pitied.”
“Envied, more like,” said his undutiful son.
Sir Anthony’s mouth twitched, but he suppressed the smile. “Let us hope, sir, that I’m not to be long in dismal ignorance. I aspire to the hand of your daughter.”
The severity left my lord; he beamed, and spread open his arms. “I am to embrace a second son, enfin! You aspire — it is well said! Tremaine of Barham’s daughter may look to the highest quarters for a mate.”
“You’re abashed,” Robin told Sir Anthony.
He seemed to be struggling more with amusement, however. “Why, sir, I hope you’ll look kindly on my suit.”
“I will give my consideration,” my lord promised. “We must speak more of this.”
“By all means, sir. But I think it only fair to tell you I have the fixed intention of wedding Prudence whatever your decision may be.”
My lord eyed him a moment in silence, but displayed no anger. On the contrary, his smile grew. “I perceive you to be a man after my own heart!” he announced.
“It’s a compliment,” Robin said, on a note of information, and folded his hands in his lap.
“Certainly it is a compliment. You see clearly, my son. But we must think on this; it is a matter of some weight.”
“There’s another matter of some weight also, sir. I desire to serve your son here. I’ve some influence, as I tell him, and I will use it on his behalf with your consent.”
My lord became all blank bewilderment. “I don’t take you, sir. What is it you have a mind to do for my son?”
“Well, sir, I’ve some notion of getting a pardon for him. I believe it may be done.”
My lord struck an attitude. “A pardon, sir? For what, pray?”
“For his share in the late Rebellion, sir. Does he want one for something else beside?”
“That!” My lord brushed it aside. “I have forgotten all that. It is nothing; it lies in the dead past. Oblige me by forgetting it likewise.”
“Oh, with all my heart, sir, but there are perhaps some whose memories are not so short. A pardon is necessary if Robin wants to remain in England, and come out of those clothes.”
My lord put up an admonishing finger. “Sir Anthony, I acquit you of a desire to insult me. Don’t cry pardon. I have said that I acquit you. But you do not know me; you even doubt my powers. It is laughable! Believe me, there is greatness in me. It would astonish you.”
“Not at all,” said Sir Anthony politely.
“But yes! I doubt now that you, even you whom I would embrace as a son, have not the soul to appreciate me. You make it plain. I pity you, sir!”
“At least I have the soul to appreciate your daughter,” mildly remarked Sir Anthony.
“That I expect,” said his lordship loftily. “To see my daughter is to become her slave. I exact such homage on her behalf. She is incomparably lovely. But I — I am different. My children are very well. They have beauty, and wit — a little. But in me there is a subtlety such as you don’t dream of, sir.” He pondered it sadly. “I have never met the man who had vision large enough to appreciate my genius,” he said simply. “Perhaps it was not to be expected.”
“I shall hope to have my vision enlarged as I become better acquainted with you, sir,” Sir Anthony replied, with admirable gravity.
My lord shook his head. He could not believe in so large a comprehension. “I shall stand alone to the end,” he said. “It is undoubtedly my fate.”
Sir Anthony gave the conversation a dexterous turn: the old gentleman seemed to be in danger of slipping into mournful contemplation of his own unappreciated greatness. “Just as you please, sir, but I want to put an end to a notion Prudence has of emulating your noble solitude. I wish to take her out of this masquerade, and have her safe under the protection of my name.”
My lord’s piercing eyes flashed at that. “I make allowance for a lover’s feelings!” he cried. “But while I live she stands in no need of another’s protection. I am the person to guard her, Sir Anthony.”
“You are, sir, certainly,” Fanshawe said. There was an edge to his words which did not escape my lord.
“I admire my forbearance.
Concede me a great patience. You may call it toleration. I do not call you out. I curb myself!”
“I could not possibly meet my future father-in-law, so pray continue to curb yourself, sir.”
“You need have no fear. But were I to meet you, sir, you would lie dead at my feet within the space of five minutes. Possibly less. I do not know.” He appeared to give the matter his consideration.
“That,” said Robin reluctantly, “is really true.”
Sir Anthony preserved his calm. “I don’t think it. But I trust his lordship will spare me.”
His lordship signified with a gracious wave of his hand that he would spare Sir Anthony. “But do not try me too far!” he warned. “Like all men of great brain, I am choleric when pressed. You give me to understand that you do not consider that I — I, Tremaine of Barham! — can take care of my daughter!”
“Not in the least, sir. I make no doubt you can. But when you permit her to engage on so dangerous a masquerade — ”
“Permit?” cried my lord. “You conceive that my children thought of this for themselves? Your partiality makes you blind. Mine was the brain that evolved this plot; mine was the inspiration. I do not permit: I ordain.”
Robin ranged himself on the side of his father. “We spin our own web, sir. Give us credit for some little resource.”
Fanshawe turned to look at him. “I suppose I am far from appreciating any of you,” he said humorously. “But did you never think what might be the issue if Prudence were discovered?”
“I could not imagine such a possibility, sir, to be frank with you. But then it was not our intention to cut such conspicuous figures in town. I will pay you the compliment to say that I think no other man would have discovered the imposture. I should like to know what made you suspect.”
“I should find it hard to tell you, Robin. Some little things and the affection for her I discovered in myself. I wondered when I saw her tip wine down her arm at my card-party, I confess.”
My lord frowned. “Do you tell me my daughter was clumsy?”
“By no means, sir. But I was watching her closer than she knew.”
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