The Masqueraders

Mr Markham was on his feet now, dizzy and bewildered. ‘Was it you knocked me down, sir? Answer me that!’ he panted.

‘Alas, sir, I did!’ said Mr Merriot. ‘I came in to find my sister struggling, as I thought, in your arms. Can you blame me, sir? My action was the impulse of the moment.’

Mr Markham was put into a chair. He fought for words, a hand still held to his jaw. ‘Struggling? she flung herself at me in a swoon!’ he burst out.

Miss Merriot was kneeling at his feet, napkin in hand. Mr Markham thrust it aside with an impotent snarl. ‘You have the right to be angry, sir,’ sighed Miss Merriot. ‘’Twas all my folly, but oh sir, when the bustle started, and they were crying fire without I scarce knew what I did!’ Her fair head was bent in modest confusion. Mr Markham did not heed her.

‘Blame you? blame you? Yes, sir, I can!’ he said wrathfully. ‘A damnable little puppy to – to –’ Words failed him; he sat nursing his jaw and fuming.

Mr Merriot said haughtily: – ‘You’re heated sir, and I believe excusably. I don’t heed what you say therefore. I have asked your pardon for a mistake – understandable, I contend – that I made.’

‘Puppy!’ snapped Mr Markham, and drank off the rest of the wine in the glass. It seemed to restore him. He got up unsteadily and his hot gaze swept round again. ‘Letty!’ he shot out. ‘Where is the girl?’

‘Dear sir, indeed you are not yourself yet!’ Miss Merriot laid a soothing hand on his arm. ‘There is no girl here save myself.’

She was shaken off. ‘No girl, you say?’ roared Mr Markham, and went blundering towards the room across the passage. ‘Letty!’ he shouted. ‘Letty, I say! Hell and damnation, her cloak’s gone!’ He came back, his face dark with rage and suspicion, and caught at Mr Merriot’s straight shoulder. ‘Out with it! Where is she? Where have you hidden her? You don’t trick me, my fine sir!’

Miss Merriot, hovering watchfully, cast herself between them, and clung to her brother. ‘No, no!’ she cried. ‘No swords, I do beseech you. Sir, you are raving! There is no girl here that I have seen.’

Mr Merriot put his sister aside. ‘But wait!’ he said slowly. ‘As I remember there was a lady in the room as I came in. A child with black hair. My sister was overwrought, sir, and maybe forgets. Yes, there was a lady.’ He looked round as though he expected to see her lurking in some corner.

‘Damme, it won’t serve!’ cried out the infuriated Mr Markham, and went striding off to the door that led into the taproom, calling loudly for the landlord.

Mine host came quickly, with an uneasy look in his face. In answer to Mr Markham’s furious query he said nervously that in the scare of the fire someone had driven off with his worship’s chaise, and he doubted but that the lady was in it.

Mr Markham swung round to face Peter Merriot again, and there came a red light into his eyes, while his hand fumbled at his sword hilt. ‘Ah, you’re in this!’ he snarled.

Mr Merriot paused in the act of taking snuff. ‘Your pardon, sir?’ he asked in some surprise. ‘A lady gone off in your post-chaise, and myself in it? I don’t understand you, sir. Who is the lady, and why should she go off so? Why, it’s churlish of her, I protest.’

Mr Markham seemed undecided. ‘It’s no business of yours,’ he said savagely. ‘But if I find ’twas you did it. – Which way did the chaise go?’

‘To – towards London, sir,’ nervously answered mine host. ‘But ’tis only what Tom says. I didn’t see myself, and indeed, sir –’

Mr Markham said something between his teeth at which mine host cast a horrified glance at Miss Merriot. The lady appeared to be unmoved. ‘Saddle me a horse at once! Where’s my hat?’

Light dawned on Mr Merriot. ‘Egad, it’s a runaway, Kate. Faith, sir, it seems my – er – impetuosity was indeed ill-timed. A horse, of course! You should be up with the chaise soon enough. A horse for the gentleman!’ Mr Merriot swept out into the court, bearing mine host before him.

‘It’s ready saddled, sir, but Tom says the gentleman ordered it half an hour since,’ said the puzzled landlord.

‘Saddled and ready, eh? Then see it brought round to the door, for the gentleman’s in a hurry.’

‘Yes, sir, but how came it that the horse was bespoke when the gentleman was a-laying like one dead?’

‘Bespoke? A ruse, man, a ruse, and your man in madam’s pay very like. Best keep your mouth shut. Ah, behold the bereft gentleman!’

Mr Markham came stamping out with his hat rammed over his nose, and managed to hoist himself into the saddle with the assistance of two scared ostlers. He gathered the bridle up, and turned to glare down upon Mr Merriot. ‘I’ll settle with you later,’ he promised ferociously, and setting spurs to his horse dashed off into the darkness.

Miss Merriot came out to lay a hand on her brother’s shoulder. ‘The dear gentleman!’ she remarked. ‘Very well, child, but what next?’

Two

Arrival of a Large Gentleman

Brother and sister went back into the coffee-room. As they entered by one door a little figure tiptoed in at the other, and stood poised on one toe as if for flight. ‘Has he gone?’ breathed Miss Letitia.

It was Peter Merriot who went forward and took the lady’s hand. ‘Why, yes, child, gone for the moment,’ he said, and led her to the fire.

She raised a pair of big pansy-brown eyes. ‘Oh, thank you, sir!’ she said. ‘And you too, dear madam.’