The Masqueraders

Respectable! Ay, there was the sneering epithet of a vagabond for an honourable gentleman. It was tiresome of the man, but there was that in his face inspired one with trust, and a disinclination to simulate. One could not imagine the large gentleman descending to trickery and a masquerade. So much the worse for him, then, if he found himself ever in a dangerous corner. One might give the masquerade an ugly sounding name: call it Deceit; no good ring to that. Or call it the pitting of one’s wits against the world’s; that had a better smack.

The fine mouth showed a tendency to curl scornfully. One’s wit against the world was well enough; one’s wit against a single fellow creature, not so good. The one was after all a perilous losing game, with all to risk;

the other savoured a little of the common imposter. Sir Anthony would be friendly; unpleasant to think that one could show but a false front.

She caught herself up on the thought, turned away from the mirror, and began to untie the lace at her throat. Egad, she was in danger of turning sentimental because a large gentleman looked on her with kindness. A sentimental country, this England: it awoke in one a desire for security.

The neckcloth was tossed on to the table, and a soft chuckle came. Ludicrous to think of security with Mr Colney for sire. She reflected ruefully that her father was somewhat of a rogue; disreputable even. A gaming house in Frankfort, forsooth! She had a smile for that memory. Hand to mouth days, those, with herself in boy’s clothes, as now. The old gentleman had judged it wisest, and when one remembered some of those who came to the gaming house one had to admit he had reason. A dice box in one pocket, and a pistol in the other, though! Proper training for a girl just coming out of her teens! A mad life, egad, but there had been much to recommend it. One had learned something, after all. Sure, only to live with the old gentleman was an education: one owed him a deal, but if one desired to enter into a life of security his very existence must prove a bar.

She perceived in her thoughts a tendency to edge round to the contemplation of Sir Anthony, and judged it time to have done. Dimly she could see difficulties ahead; characteristically she dismissed them with a fatalistic gesture. Time enough to ponder them when they presented themselves.

She pulled the heavy curtains back from the bed, and of habit slipped a little gold-mounted pistol beneath her pillow. She climbed into the big four-poster, and very soon lay lightly asleep. Not the dark future, nor Sir Anthony would be permitted to disturb Prudence’s repose, though fleetingly both might enter into her dreams. After all, one could not be mistress of one’s thoughts in sleep.

Five

Sir Humphrey Grayson Waits Upon Mr Merriot

The morrow brought Sir Humphrey Grayson early in the forenoon to wait upon Mr Merriot. The message was brought Prudence in my Lady Lowestoft’s boudoir, where she sat in converse with her hostess. The exigencies of his toilet still kept Robin above stairs; his sister had left him to the lacing of his corsets, an operation conducted by John and accompanied by some of the young gentleman’s choicer oaths.

My lady, upon the news of Sir Humphrey’s call being brought, was all agog with curiosity. She had no notion the Merriots held other acquaintance than herself in town, and desired to be told how they were known to Sir Humphrey, who, to be sure, led something of the life of a recluse.

Prudence mentally consigned Sir Humphrey to perdition: it seemed he would be an added complication. The fewer people to know of Miss Letty’s escapade the better for that sprightly lady, but Prudence reflected that there were mysteries and secrets of her own enough to keep close without the addition of another’s. She evaded my lady’s questions. She claimed no acquaintance with Sir Humphrey, but believed Sir Anthony Fanshawe had solicited his kindness on her behalf. My lady was left to make what she could of this; Prudence went downstairs to the room looking out on to the street that was used for morning callers.

There arose at her entrance a tall thin gentleman with stooping shoulders and a limp. He wore the powdered wig of Fashion, but neglected to paint his face. The brown eyes, not unlike Miss Letty’s own, held some trouble. He had the look of a man prematurely aged by ill-health.

The gentleman bowed to Mr Merriot, leaning the while on his cane. Mr Merriot returned the bow and was swift to pull forward a chair for the visitor. ‘Sir Humphrey Grayson, I believe? Sir, you honour me. Will you not be seated?’

A certain grimness about Sir Humphrey’s mouth vanished as his glance took in Mr Merriot. The young gentleman had a great air of Fashion, but practised what Sir Humphrey had come to believe an old-fashioned courtesy towards the elder generation. He took the chair offered, with a passing reference to a gouty foot. There was a slight squaring of the bent shoulders: it was evident this elderly gentleman had little relish for his visit. ‘Mr Merriot, I believe you must know the reason of my being here,’ he said bluntly. ‘Let me be plain with you. My daughter has put me in your debt.’

A stiff-backed old man; one must perforce pity the hurt to his pride. Prudence made swift answer. ‘Why, sir, I protest, there is no need for such talk! Do me the favour of letting a very trifling service be forgot!’

There were further signs of thaw. ‘Bear with me, Mr Merriot. You must do me the honour of accepting my very heartfelt thanks for your rescue of my daughter.’

‘Why, sir, there is nothing to all this. My part was played but a bare half-hour before Sir Anthony came upon us. He would have settled the business as quickly had I let be. Pray let us not speak of it! I am happy to have been of service to Miss Grayson. Or thank my sister, sir, whose quicker wits devised the little plot.’

Sir Humphrey permitted himself to smile, and to incline his head. ‘I do indeed desire to render my thanks to Miss Merriot. My foolish daughter can talk of naught else but that same plot. At least allow me to compliment you on a tricksy piece of sword-play.’

Prudence gave her rich chuckle. ‘An old ruse, sir, but useful. I trust Miss Grayson finds herself none the worse for her adventure?’

‘Rest assured, sir, my daughter is incorrigible.’ But a reluctant smile went with the words.

‘Why, sir, it’s a child, after all, with a child’s desire for a romantic venture.’

‘It might have led to a most damaging scandal, Mr Merriot.’

Prudence discerned some anxiety in Sir Humphrey’s eye, and made haste to reassure. ‘All fear of that must be at an end with you, sir; of that I am certain. None save Sir Anthony and ourselves can know aught of the matter.’

There was again a bow. ‘My daughter should count herself fortunate in meeting so discreet a friend in her trouble,’ said Sir Humphrey.

This punctilious grandeur became oppressive. Prudence conceived the happy thought of sending a message up to Robin. Sir Humphrey professed himself all desire to lay his compliments before Miss Merriot. Black Pompey was sent running to Robin’s chamber, and in a little while Robin came, all powdered and patched and scented; a fair vision in pale blue taffety. No girl, Prudence thought, could appear lovelier.

There was a curtsey, a few gliding steps towards Sir Humphrey, and a delicate hand held out. Sir Humphrey bowed low over it, and a faint crease crept between Prudence’s brows. It seemed to her unseemly that the old courtier should kiss her graceless brother’s hand. She met Robin’s dancing eyes of mischief with a look of some reproof. Robin sank into a chair with a billow of stiff silks. ‘Sir Humphrey, this is too kind in you, I protest! Miss Letty spoke of your love of seclusion. There was no need for this visit. No, no, sir, you shall not thank me for the other night’s work!’ A fan was spread, but a laughing pair of eyes showed above it. ‘Spare my blushes, sir! Conceive me fainting in the arms of the Markham! Oh lud!’

Prudence might retire into the background; Robin had the situation well in hand. She sat down on the window seat, and was at leisure to admire her brother’s adroitness. For some reason he seemed bent upon the captivation of Sir Humphrey. Prudence could guess the reason. Faith, more complications brewing. But it was unseemly again that Robin should ogle so elderly a gentleman. Lord, what a clever tongue the child had!

Indeed, talk ran merrily between the two in the middle of the room. Robin seemed to have the knack of inducing a stiff-necked sire to unbend. Within ten minutes he might count Sir Humphrey very much his friend, and dare even to touch lightly on the subject of Miss Letitia’s indiscretion. There came no rebuff: only a word or two sufficient to show the worried state of Sir Humphrey’s mind.

Robin put by the fan of painted chicken-skin. With a pretty air of coaxing and of deference he cooed softly: ‘An impertinence in me to speak of the matter at all, dear Sir Humphrey. Forgive me!’ He was