The Masqueraders

‘I make it a rule, sir, to play for whatever sum my opponent suggests,’ was the quick answer.

The heavy lids lifted for a moment, and she saw the grey eyes keen. ‘You must needs have faith in your skill, Mr Merriot.’

‘In my luck I have, Sir Anthony.’

‘I felicitate you. I will play you for the half of Jollyot’s stakes.’

‘As you please, sir. Will you cut?’

It would not do to show a change of front now that the large gentleman had watched her at play with Sir Francis. Prudence fumbled a little at the cards, and displayed a beginner’s uncertainty. Sir Anthony seemed to be engrossed with his own hand, but as she hesitated once more over the five cards of her discard he glanced up, and drawled: ‘Oh, spare yourself the pains, my dear boy! I am no hawk.’

Prudence fenced cautiously; she was not quite sure what the gentleman would be at. ‘The pains of what, sir?’

‘Of all this dissimulation,’ said Sir Anthony, with a disarming smile. ‘I must suppose you were taught to play picquet in your cradle.’

Almost she gasped. It seemed as though John had reason when he said that large gentleman was awake for all his sleepiness. She laughed, and forebore to evade, judging her man with some shrewdness. ‘Nearly, sir, I confess. My father has a fondness for the game.’

‘Has he indeed?’ said Sir Anthony. ‘Now, what may have induced you to play the novice with my friend Jollyot, I wonder?’

‘I have been about the world a little, Sir Anthony.’

‘That I believe.’ Leisurely Sir Anthony looked at the three cards that fell to his minor share. ‘It seems you lost no feathers in that bout.’

She laughed again. ‘Oh, I’m an ill pigeon for plucking, sir! I declare a point of five.’

‘I concede it you, my fair youth.’

‘A quarte may perhaps be good?’

‘It depends, sir, on what heads it.’

‘The King, Sir Anthony.’

‘No good,’ Sir Anthony said. ‘I hold a quarte to the Ace.’

‘I am led to believe, sir, that three Kings won’t serve?’

‘Quite right, my dear boy; they must give way to my three Aces.’

This was all in the grand manner. Prudence chuckled. ‘Oh, I’ve done then! My lead, and I count six, sir.’

The hand was played. As the cards were gathered up Sir Anthony said: ‘I take it so shrewd a youth stands in no need of a friendly warning?’

Certainly the enigmatic gentleman was developing a kindness for her. ‘You’re very kind, sir. I do not know why you should be at this trouble for me.’ It was spoken with some warmth of gratitude.

‘Nor I,’ said Fanshawe indolently. ‘But you are not – in spite of those twenty years – of a great age, and there are plenty of hawks in town.’

Prudence bowed. ‘I shall take that to heart, sir. I have to thank you.’

‘Pray do not. Plucking pigeons has never been a favourite pastime of mine… Well, I concede your point, but I claim a quinte and fourteen Queens, besides three Kings. Alack for a spoiled repique! Five played, sir.’

The game came presently to an end. ‘Very even,’ said Sir Anthony. ‘Do you care to honour me at a small card-party I hold on Thursday evening?’

‘Indeed, sir, mine will be the honour. On Thursday and in Clarges Street, I think?’

Sir Anthony nodded. He beckoned to a lackey standing near, and sent him to fetch wine. ‘You will drink a glass with me, Merriot?’

‘Thank you, a little canary, sir.’