No sooner had she caught a glimpse of the large figure astride the roan than all Prudence’s air of languor left her. The sword was out of the stick in a flash, and the carved handle caught the chief officer shrewdly between the shoulders. She did not pause to see what befell this unfortunate; she had given him all that was needed to send him tumbling out of the coach. She had one foot on the floor of the coach, and one knee on the seat, and swooped round upon poor Matthew almost before his companion’s misfortunes had reached his intelligence. He gasped out “Lordy, Lordy!” and clapped a hand to his pocket. And there it stayed, for as he turned his head to face his prisoner he found the point of a peculiarly murderous-looking sword about an inch from his nose. Mr Merriot’s arm was drawn back in readiness to thrust; Mr Merriot’s grey eyes were fixed on him with an expression in them which made Mr Matthew goggle with dismay.
“Put your hands up! Quick, or I thrust home through your gullet,” said Prudence tersely.
The apologetic gentleman had never had such an experience in all his life. His arrests had never been interfered with in this unpleasant fashion, and he did not know what to do. There was a pistol in his pocket, but his hand had not reached it, and with that sword-point so close he had no intention of groping further for it.
The point touched his throat. “Hands up!” Prudence said, and made as if to shorten her arm for the thrust.
Matthew’s hands were raised in shaking haste; Matthew’s eyes were riveted to Mr Merriot’s face, and Matthew’s lips formed the words: “Don’t now, sir! don’t. It’s — it’s a hanging matter, and there was no offence meant to your worship. It was all dooty, sir!”
Sir Anthony’s great bulk blocked the door as he sprang lightly up into the coach. He was a fearsome figure, with the muffler concealing the lower half of his face, his hat drawn over his eyes, and the heavy cloak making him to look even larger than he really was. Matthew began to tremble violently, and rolled a beseeching eye from him to Prudence.
“Right pocket. A pistol,” Prudence said, still holding the sword to Matthew’s throat.
There was a deep low laugh, which sounded like a death-knell to poor Matthew; the gigantic newcomer bent and slipped a hand into the pocket indicated. The pistol was soon stowed away in that voluminous greatcoat; to Matthew’s relief the sword point was slightly withdrawn.
Sir Anthony’s voice was full of amusement. “Now, fellow, I’m afraid we must truss you up a little,” he said. “Your muffler’s the very thing.” The shapely hand divested Matthew of his muffler and neck-cloth without ceremony. He offered no resistance. He was twisted round, and in a trice his wrists were bound tightly behind his back with his own neck-cloth, and Mr Merriot was winding the muffler round his ankles in a most efficient manner. He was dumped down upon the back seat, and the next moment both the giant and Mr Merriot had jumped down from the coach.
Prudence pushed the sword back into its stick and looked round wonderingly. The chief gaoler was lying bound at the side of the road; the coachman was groaning and swearing on the floor of the box, as he came to his senses; his mate was clinging desperately to the reins, with a noble attention to duty, and trying, unsuccessfully, to keep one eye on his horses and the other on John, who sat astride the mare, the roan’s rein in his bridle hand, and a pistol in the other. The coach-horses appeared to be hopelessly entangled in the traces, and the coachman, by the looks of it, would be unable to do anything but hold his head for some time to come.
Sir Anthony hoisted his second captive into the coach and shut the door on him. Under the brim of his hat his eyes were dancing. The one unhurt and unbound man would have his hands full with the frightened horses for quite a considerable time.
Sir Anthony moved to the roan’s side, and swung himself up, taking the bridle from John. He gathered it up short in his left hand, and reached down his right to Prudence. “Put your foot on mine,” he said, “and up with you!”
She flung her coat up first, sent her sword stick spinning into the ditch, and stretched up her hand to clasp Sir Anthony’s. She came neatly up into the saddle before him, and got her leg over without fuss. A strong arm girdled her about, and the roan, stamping and sidling, was given his head. In a few minutes they were in the spinney, trotting briskly through, then out in the open fields, with the road lost to sight.
“My dear, my dear, you’re surely mad!” she said, but her fingers clasped his. “You should not — you should not, Tony — for me!”
Came only a little laugh from behind her, and a tightening of the hold about her waist.
“Lord, your unfortunate horse!” said Prudence. “I believe I’m no featherweight.”
“He’ll bear us both for as long as I need,” Sir Anthony said. “We bear southwards, John, and leave you by Easterly Woods.”
“Ay, sir,” John answered, pulling the muffler down from his face.
Prudence turned her head, and smiled at his stolid countenance. “Tell Robin, John. Oh, but how he would have delighted in this.”
“I’m like to find him bent on some madness,” grunted John.
Easterly Woods came into sight; in a few minutes they were under the spreading beeches, and the horses were pulled up.
Sir Anthony sprang down and lifted Prudence from the saddle. She had an odd delight in this masterful treatment of her, though she could have come down easily enough by herself. For a moment as he held her she looked down into his eyes, and saw them alight with laughter, and something else, more deep than that. She was set lightly on her feet, and for an instant caught his hands in hers. Then she turned and pulled her coat from the roan’s saddle.
“You remember, John?”
“Yes, sir.” John was holding the mare in readiness for Prudence.
She came to him, and took the bridle. She had very little doubt of her destination now. “You’ll keep Robin safe, John?”
“Ay, trust me, mistress.”
The twinkle crept up. “What, will you leave me to the large gentleman?”
“I will,” said John, and exerted himself to say more. “And I’d not wish you in better hands, Miss Prue. You’ll do as he says, and come to no harm. Up with you!”
She put her foot into his hand, and was flung up into the saddle. Beside her Sir Anthony sat the roan again.
“Good luck to you, sir,” John said. “You don’t need to fret over Master Robin, mistress.”
“Get him away tonight,” Sir Anthony said, and reached down his hand. “It was a good rough and tumble, John.”
John flushed unwontedly, and after a moment’s hesitation gripped the outstretched hand. “It was, sir. Goodbye, sir.”
The roan was pressed forward to the mare’s side; together they moved forward through the wood.
Chapter 28
Exit Miss Merriot
Easterly Woods lay but two miles, across country, from my Lady Lowestoft’s house, and John covered the distance swiftly. He came to the house by the river as the lamps were lit, and found my lady waiting in the hall, and Sir Anthony’s chaise in the drive outside. He pulled off his hat and spoke before my lady could open her mouth. “I took Mr Merriot’s message to Sir Anthony, my lady,” he said in a voice loud enough to carry to the listening lackeys by the door.
My lady’s black eyes snapped. “Yes?” she said. “And he said?”
“I was to tell you, my lady, he would not think of troubling you by coming here since Mr Merriot was took off. I’ve a note for his man.”
“Bah, it is a mistake the most absurd!” cried my lady. “Mr Merriot will return at once! Where does Sir Anthony go?”
“He did say, my lady, he would turn off to visit a friend,” John answered. He remembered the mare, and added apologetically: “The mare cast a shoe, my lady, and I made bold to leave her with the smith.”
My lady nodded. Her eyes searched John’s face, but could read nothing therein. “Your mistress is in a sad way,” she informed him, with considerable meaning.
“Yes, my lady? Should I give t
he note to Sir Anthony’s man?”
“Do so at once, of course. Then come to put up a change of clothes for Mr Merriot. You must take them to him on the instant. To snatch him away in that fashion with never a moment to pack a valise — affreux!” She swept round, and went off up the wide stairs.
John stayed but to give Sir Anthony’s note to his man, and followed my lady to Robin’s room. He entered without ceremony and found his young master in coat and breeches, pulling on his top-boots.
“For the love of God, John, will you make him listen to reason?” besought my lady.
Robin’s fair face was set in uncompromising lines. He threw my lady an impatient glance. “Oh enough, ma’am, enough! Do you suppose I shall sit here while my sister’s hailed off under escort?”
John shut the door behind him. “She’s safe, sir.”
Robin’s hands left tugging at his boot. “What?”
“Sir Anthony has her, sir. He’s ridden off with her into Hampshire, and he bid me tell you he would keep her safe.”
My lady gasped. Robin turned in his chair to face John. “Good gad!” he said. “The mountain! But how, man, how?”
John became quite animated. “Sir, you couldn’t have done it better! No, nor my lord either. There’s a coach well on the way to London with two men trussed up inside it, the horses kicked over the traces, and the whole in an uproar.” He laughed at the thought of it.
My lady sat down on the edge of the bed. “Sir Anthony did this?” she said incredulously. “Never!”
“We did it between us, my lady, but ’twas Sir Anthony planned it. Ay, there’s a cool head to be sure! ’Deed I’ve not seen his equal with a horse, Master Robin. It’s a wizard he is.”
“But tell!” ordered my lady, striking her hands together.
Robin’s eyes were bright and questioning. “Let’s have it from the start, John, if you please.”
“Ay, sir. You’ve to know I was off to my lord the instant those two vultures had Miss Prue off into the coach. Well, I know a way over the fields, and I could get ahead fast enough. I came on Sir Anthony riding down here, and he had the tale out of me.” John smiled. “He wouldn’t have me go to his lordship; he said ’twas his affair. That’s a man I don’t care to cross, Master Robin. He planned it we were to hold the coach up and get Miss Prue safe away. He’d be off with her to his sister, so he said, and I was to get you away this very night, sir. And so I will,” he added, with a touch of truculence.
“Never mind that.” Robin brushed it aside. “Do you tell me Sir Anthony planned to waylay this coach, and make off with a captive of the law?”
“Oh, he made nothing of that, sir! We was both muffled to the eyes, and Sir Anthony had his sword out. We waited in a bit of a spinney till the coach rounded a bend in the road. Sir Anthony, he said to me, “Take them in a charge.” But there was no doing it his way. Leastways, not for me, and I thought I could ride, so I did. He had the roan under him: you’ll know the horse, sir. Great powerful quarters, and I’ll warrant you he can cover the ground. Sir Anthony was out of the spinney, and thundering straight down upon the coach before I could know what he would be at. ’Deed, and I thought myself he would spear the roan on the shaft of the coach!”
My lady blinked. It all seemed so very unlike the indolent Sir Anthony Fanshawe.
“How many men?” demanded Robin.
“Four — if you could call them such, sir. Sir Anthony swerved to the right, and I got the mare round to the left of the coach. I’d a thick ash staff, and that accounted for the coachman. Sir Anthony planned it so that the horses were all startled and plunging; the other man on the box had his hands full with them. Sir Anthony wrenched open the coach door, and out comes one of the vultures, sprawling in the road. Sir Anthony was off the roan in a trice; I brought the mare round to him, and caught his bridle. I can tie up a man quickly and neat myself, sir, as you know, but Miss Prue’s sleepy gentleman beats all, so he does! He had him bound, arms and legs, before you’d time to look round.”
“I make the mountain my compliments,” said Robin. “Lord, I would I had been there! What did Prue do? You won’t tell me she folded her hands.”
“I will not, sir. I’d seen to it she had her sword stick with her, and you may lay your life she made use of it. She had the point at the other man’s throat till Sir Anthony jumped in to take his pistol from him, so I heard. There was no more to it. We were off, all three of us, with Miss Prue up before Sir Anthony on the roan. We made for Easterly Woods, and ’twas there I gave the mare up to Miss Prue.”
Robin slowly pulled off his boots again. “Lord!” he said. “And so farewell Peter Merriot! She went willingly?”
“Oh ay, she knew well enough there was no saying him nay then. He told me to bring her woman’s clothes down to my Lady Enderby’s as soon as may be. For, says he, she’s done with this masquerade. But first, sir, I must have you away. We’ll have a whole pack of the Watch down on us here when this is known.”
Robin bit one finger-tip. “If the mountain — egad, what a man it is! — has borne Prue off there’s naught for me to do. I’ll slip away tonight.”
John nodded. “Ay, but get you into your petticoats again now. I’m off to his lordship. It’s odds he’ll have something to say. I’ll take the valise my lady spoke of, to seem as though I were off to Miss Prue in prison.”
“Drive the curricle,” my lady said.
“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.”
“Well,” 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?”
The Masqueraders Page 24