The Masqueraders

by Джорджетт Хейер

  “You are he! Sir, you must let me take your hand! I owe you more than I can ever hope to repay. Indeed, I scarcely know how to thank you, for words seem to be inadequate!”

  Robin broke in, flushing. “Sir Humphrey, you will agree that gratitude is out of place when I tell you that I love your daughter. I am here today to ask you for your permission to pay my addresses to her in form.”

  Sir Humphrey wrung his hand anew. His feelings were almost too much for him. At one moment he was under the gloomy conviction that the late appalling scandal had ruined his Letitia for ever; at the next a brilliant match for her was proposed to him. Her position in the world would be honourable beyond his wildest hopes, and no one would dare to talk scandal of the prospective Viscountess of Barham. He gave Robin to understand that he had a father’s blessing and suggested that he should send Letty to him at once.

  Robin begged him, with a dancing smile, to lose no time in so doing. Sir Humphrey went off with quite a jaunty step.

  In a few moments the door opened again to admit Letty. She was dressed all in primrose taffeta, with a riband through her curls. Her father had not told her who waited to see her; there was a wondering expression in the brown eyes, and she looked doubtfully at Robin.

  He stood in the middle of the room, watching her, and said no word. The puzzled gaze ran over him slowly; a little hand stole to Letty’s breast and her eyes widened. The slight, strong figure was surely familiar. She saw him put a hand to his pocket, and bring out a string of pearls. On his little finger was a gold ring cunningly wrought.

  “It is you!” she said, little above a whisper. Then she saw the fascinating smile, and the pearls held out to her, and she came forward in a stumbling run. “Oh, you have come at last!” she said, on a sob, and found herself in his arms. The pearls dropped unheeded to the floor.

  “I have come as I told you I should and you know what I demand,” he said in her ear. “Letty, will you marry me?”

  She breathed a shy yes; she was clinging to him, and she put up her face to be kissed. All dreams had come true for her.

  The arms tightened about her. “Ah, you wonderful girl!” Robin said. “You do not even know my name!”

  “I love you.”

  “I worship you,” Robin said, and lifted one of her hands to his lips. “Do you love me enough to forgive, Letitia?”

  His voice sounded anxious. She pulled his hand to her own lips. “Forgive you! I have nothing, nothing to forgive you!”

  “Ah, but you have!” He put her gently from him. “Look at me! Look at me well, Letty!”

  She was blushingly rosily, and dropped shy eyelids. He said more insistently: — “Look into my face, Letitia, and tell me then if you have nothing to forgive.”

  The long lashes fluttered upwards; the brown eyes were misty. “What is it you mean?” Letty asked.

  “You don’t know me? You don’t recognise me? Look at me well, child?”

  She stared full into his face, blankly at first, and then with dawning astonishment. “But — but — oh no, you could not be!”

  “Could not be what?”

  “Another brother — another brother of Kate Merriot’s,” she ventured. “You — it is the eyes — and the nose — and — ”

  “I am not her brother,” Robin said. “Try again, Letty. You come near the truth.”

  She fell back a pace. “You are not — oh, you cannot be — no, no, how could you be?”

  “I am Kate Merriot,” Robin said, and waited, his eyes on her face.

  Letty was as pale now as she had been rosy. “You — you? A woman? You acted — But it can’t be! Kate was a woman!”

  He shook his head; he was no longer smiling.

  “Oh!” cried Letty. “Oh, the things I must have said — ” She broke off in distress.

  “I swear on my honour you said naught to Kate you would not have said to a man!” he said quickly.

  Letty was staring at him in amazement. “It was not fair!” she said. “You might have told me!”

  “Will you let me explain?” he asked. “Won’t you hear me?”

  Letty came nearer. “Yes, please explain,” she said in a small tearful voice. “But — but I wish you had trusted me!”

  He held out his hand, and she put hers into it. “I wish I had, Letitia. But I had been schooled to tell no secrets. And this one had my life at stake.”

  Her lips formed an O. “Tell me!” she begged. “You know I forgive you anything. And I would never, never betray you.”

  “Beloved!” He caught her to him. “I hardly dared to think that you could forgive so hateful a deception.”

  She hung her head. “You forget — you are the Unknown hero,” she confided shyly.

  “There’s very little of the hero about me, child; I’m an escaped Jacobite.”

  Her head came up; her eyes sparkled. “And I thought it romantic to elope with that odious Markham!” she cried. “Tell me all about it, please!”

  At that Robin went off into a peal of laughter. She was surprised. “Why, you did not suppose I should mind, did you?” she inquired.

  “I ought to have known,” Robin said, and swept her off her feet. “My darling, my name is Robin, and I’m an adventurer! Will you still marry me?”

  “I like your name, and I should love to be an adventuress,” said Letty. “May I be one?”

  “Alack, you are more like to be a Viscountess,” Robin said, and sat down with her on his knee.

  The tale took some time in the telling, and it left Letty wide-eyed and amazed. When she heard that Peter Merriot was Prudence Tremaine, she gasped, and gasped again. At the end for a while she could only bewail the fact that she had not known it all before.

  “And Tony knew? Tony?”

  “My dear, it was Fanshawe rescued her from the hands of the Law,” Robin said. “He carried her off to his sister, and I’m off to fetch her tomorrow.”

  Letty stammered a little. “T-Tony tied up those m-men? T-Tony stopped the c-coach? Why — why — ”

  “He’s not so stolid as you thought,” teased Robin. “The truth is he has an ambition to marry her.”

  “Oh, and I thought he wanted to marry you!” Letty cried. “And all the while he knew, and — oh, ’tis the most amazing thing I ever heard! It is wonderful, Robin! I am very glad, for I like Tony vastly. But your sister to play the man. — She must be monstrous brave and clever!”

  “Like her brother,” bowed Robin. “For myself I have a weakness for a fairy-like creature with brown eyes, but I confess Sir Anthony is fortunate. My Prue’s a dear creature.”

  “And — and you deceived me grossly!” Letty said, but she did not sound angry. “Goodness, will your sister ever forgive me? ’Twas my fault she was taken by the Law, for I told those odious men you had brown hair and were of medium height! But I never, never thought they would seize on Mr — I mean, on your sister. Robin, are you sure you are quite safe now?”

  “Quite sure, child. Robin Lacey is no more. Here is only Robert Tremaine.”

  “And no one would ever guess you were Kate,” Letty said. “Even I did not guess until you made me look at you, and then I could not credit it. Oh Robin, Robin, I knew you would come again, but I have been so miserable! There has been the horridest scandal and aunt is dreadfully cross.”

  “But now,” Robin said, holding her close, “it is for me to see that you are happy ever after. And I will see to it.”

  “I am happy,” Letty said into his shoulder. A thought came to her; she lifted her head, and said in a voice of unholy glee: — “And aunt shall see that I am not in the least ruined for life! She will look very silly when she knows I am to be a Viscountess one day!”

  Chapter 32

  Journey’s End

  Robin had instructions to bring his sister to Barham Court, where my lord would await their coming. My lord wrote a beautiful letter to my Lady Enderby, thanking her for her kindness to his daughter, and begging her to honour his house with her company. He purp
osed to invite Sir Humphrey and Letty Grayson down too; my Lady Lowestoft, and of course Sir Anthony Fanshawe. He had begun to meditate nuptials: Robin felt sure that they were to be magnificent.

  As for this unlooked — for ending, it took Robin’s breath away. It seemed there was no longer room for doubt: the old gentleman was Barham indeed, and the days of their adventuring were over. Faith, and it was like him to allow his children to doubt him to the end! It gave him the chance to make a gesture. It had been so, Robin reflected, all through this masquerade. Simplicity was abhorrent to his lordship; he revelled in a network of intrigue; he loved to accomplish the impossible. A less tortuous man might have established his identity in a way quieter and more direct; a less fantastic man might not perhaps have perceived the need for his son and daughter to be in town all this while. They could have escaped to France, and waited there. Robin understood the workings of that stupendous mind. The old gentleman wanted them to see his triumph; it would have lost half its savour if they had not been there to be mystified, aghast, and at the last thunderstruck. He liked also to make a dupe of the whole of Polite Society. He had thrown his son and daughter right into the lion’s den, masquerading in a preposterous guise: Robin could imagine his delight. In fact, the old gentleman had once more shown himself to be too clever for the rest of the world, and for him that was the breath of life.

  Robin wondered whether my lord would be content now, or whether thirty years of adventuring would not prove too strong for him. It was hard to imagine the old gentleman at rest.

  Robin wondered too what Prue would have to say to it, if she did not already know of my lord’s success. John, packing a valise for Robin, thought that Miss Prue would not be surprised. He said with a dry smile: — “She’s taken up with her own affairs, Master Robin. Leastways, she was when I saw her.”

  “Have you been down to Dartrey?” Robin asked.

  “Ay, when I’d put you aboard the Pride o’ Rye I was off post haste with all her gear.”

  “How was she?”

  “Well enough, but my Lady’s Enderby’s clothes hung on her. It’s a merry, stout lady, that.”

  Robin played with the hare’s foot. “She wasn’t married, I suppose?”

  “She was not, sir, but I’d say it won’t be long before she is.”

  “Pleased, eh?”

  “He’s a fine man, Master Robin.”

  “Oh ay, I dare swear he’ll suit her. Egad, she’ll turn respectable! I’m to be married myself, John.”

  “No need to tell me that, sir.”

  “You’re mighty knowing, a’n’t you?” Robin got up, and stretched himself. “And so we all live happily ever after. Who’d ha’ thought it?”

  He journeyed to Dartrey in a luxurious chaise, which had the arms of the Tremaines blazoned on the doors, and enjoyed a silent laugh over it, remembering hand to mouth days abroad. He reached Dartrey on the afternoon of the next day, and was set down at an old white house that stood in well-timbered grounds, back from the road.

  A servant ushered him into the sunny withdrawing room, and went away to find his lady.

  Robin took critical stock of his surroundings. Ay, here was an air of security, of comfort, and of tranquillity. It would suit Prue; she was made to live in just such a house. For himself — eh, but one wanted a spice to life, after all.

  A pleasant voice broke into his reverie. “Do you desire to see my Lady Enderby, sir?”

  Robin turned quickly to face the long windows that gave on to the lawn. Sir Anthony Fanshawe stood there, sleepy as ever, smiling a little. “She commissioned me to bring you out into the garden,” Sir Anthony said. His eyes ran over Robin, and narrowed. Gradually a look of recognition and of wonder came.

  Robin had given no name to the servant. Now as he looked at Sir Anthony his lips quivered. “I thank you, sir. And do I address Sir Anthony Fanshawe?”

  “I am undoubtedly a fool,” Sir Anthony said, and came into the room. “But I confess you had me baffled. How are you, my dear boy?”

  Their hands clasped warmly. “As you see, O mountain. I flourish. And you?”

  “The same as ever. Prue’s well, and will be overjoyed to see you. You must come out to her.” Sir Anthony stood back the better to survey Robin. “Well, my little popinjay, you make a mighty pretty young man.”

  “I do, don’t I?” Robin retorted. “One of these days, my mammoth, I will cross foils with you, and maybe teach you a trick or two will make you respect me.”

  “You are really very like your father,” sighed Sir Anthony.

  They went out together on to the lawn. There was a cedar tree not far from the house, and chairs set under it. A lady of ample proportions sat in one: Robin had no difficulty in recognising Sir Anthony’s sister. Beside her Prudence sat in a gown of white muslin. She looked up as the two men crossed the lawn, and rose quickly. “My dear!” she said, and held out her hands as she went to meet Robin.

  He put an arm round her waist, and kissed her cheek. “Well, child, does the gentleman like you in this guise?” Privately he thought he had never seen her look better. Handsome she was as a boy, but in her petticoats she was a beautiful, queenly creature: a big woman, perhaps, but not too big for the man she had chosen.

  She gave her delightful chuckle. “He says so, my dear, but I doubt he doesn’t like to hurt my sensibilities. But I must make you known to my lady.” She led him forward. “Beatrice, will you be kind to my little brother?”

  My lady held out a plump hand. “I’ll be kind to anyone who doesn’t want me to get up,” she said in a voice very like Sir Anthony’s. She looked Robin over placidly. “Of course, I begin to understand,” she said. “You would make a charming girl.”

  Robin bowed over her hand, and his eyes began to dance. “Not near so charming a girl as a man, ma’am,” he assured her.

  “Very, very like his lordship,” said Sir Anthony pensively.

  Robin was made to sit down beside my lady. “I feel sure you are going to entertain me,” she remarked. “I’ve been driven to yawning point: I never could abide a pair of lovers.”

  “Oh, I’m come to relieve you, ma’am. I’m to bear Prue off.” He gave her my lord’s letter. “I have this to deliver from my father.”

  My lady opened the letter. Said Prudence, twinkling: — “Is it true the old gentleman’s Barham indeed?”

  “So he says. I arrived to find him installed at the town house in some state.”

  “Lord, it’s a marvellous man!” Prudence said. “We become persons of consequence, and Tony’s denied his cherished role. He’d an ambition to play King Cophetua, Robin.”

  “The poor mountain! All your hopes fall to the ground, sir. The old gentleman is like to demand a prince at the least for his daughter.”

  “Remains only Gretna,” said Sir Anthony. “Which reminds me — how did you leave Letty Grayson?”

  “Reluctantly, my mammoth. Shall we be married all four together and delight the old gentleman with so much display?”

  “Oh, we don’t desire to dwarf you, little man!”

  My lady looked up from her letter. “I’m bid forth to Barham, Tony. You are all in league to disturb my peace. Well, we’ll see what Thomas says.”

  Sir Thomas came soon into sight round a corner of the hedge. He was as lean as his lady was stout, and his eye was as vague as hers was keen. He accepted Robin philosophically, but seemed to be exercised over his roses. “I’ve a mind to move them,” he said. “They don’t thrive. Do you understand roses, sir?”

  “Alack, sir, my education’s been neglected.”

  “A pity,” Sir Thomas said gravely.

  His wife roused herself to inform him of my lord’s invitation. “Do we go, Sir Thomas?”

  Sir Thomas considered it. “He might understand roses,” he said hopefully.

  It was not until later, after dinner, that Prudence had a word alone with her brother. She stepped out with him into the dim, scented garden, and walked with him beside a bed of lavender
, her silken skirts hushing gently as she went. In the lamp-lit room they had left my lady said: — “That’s a very pretty pair, Tony. I don’t deny it. You must know you’ve to embrace the brother if you would embrace the sister.”

  “My dear Beatrice, do you suppose I did not know it? It’s a devoted couple. I wouldn’t have it otherwise.”

  “I shall have to come to Barham for your wedding,” decided my lady. “I’ve an ambition to see the old gentleman.”

  “He will fatigue you sadly, my dear.”

  “A mad business from start to finish,” said my lady. “I’ll see it to the end.”

  Beside the bed of lavender Prudence walked with a hand tucked in Robin’s arm. “So we come to the journey’s end.”

  “You’re happy?”

  “Egad, don’t you think so?”

  “To say truth, I thought it. You achieve respectability.”

  “I make you my curtsey, child, for the compliment.”

  Robin watched it critically. “Not so prettily done as I can do it, my dear.”

  “Oh, I always said I’d none of your graces. But think of my height. And you — what do you achieve?”

  “Letty.” He laughed a little. “She would not thank you for calling that respectability.”

  “I don’t, be sure. What for the old gentleman?”

  “Faith, isn’t a Viscounty enough? Do you look to see him turn respectable too?”

  “Optimism falls short of it. In truth, we all achieve something more than our deserts. It’s a quaint world.” She smiled and joined hands with him. “Give you joy, Robin.”

  “Certainly, child.” He pressed her long fingers. “And you have it.”

  “Yes, I have it.” She turned her head, for a large figure was coming towards them.

  “Abundance of it,” Robin said wickedly.

  But a week later, at Barham, on the terrace, my lord looked over the lawns to where four people were throwing bread to the carp in the marble pond and waved a satisfied hand. “I contrive!” he said.

  My lady looked too at the pretty group. There was Prudence, blue-gowned, and stately, leaning on Sir Anthony’s arm and beside them Robin seemed to be endeavouring to prevent an eager, laughing Letitia from overbalancing into the pond. It was a charming picture and my lady’s bright eyes softened as she looked. “What, all of it, Robert?”