The Masqueraders

‘Of Barham,’ interpolated Prudence.

He looked at her affectionately. ‘For you, my beautiful Prue, I plan a great marriage,’ he informed her magnificently.

‘A Royal Prince, belike?’ said Prudence, unimpressed.

‘I will choose from an older house than this of Hanover,’ my lord said grandly. ‘Have no fear.’

Robin looked at his sister. ‘My dear, what to do?’ he said helplessly.

‘Leave all to me!’ commanded my lord. ‘I do not make mistakes.’

‘Except in the matter of Royal Princes,’ said Robin, with meaning.

‘Bah! I forget all that!’ The past was consigned to perdition with a snap of thin fingers. ‘It might have chanced otherwise. I seized opportunity, as ever. Do you blame me for the Rebellion’s failure?’

Prudence shook her head. ‘Ah, sir, you should have been put at the head of it,’ she mourned. ‘The Prince would be at St James’s to-day then.’

My lord was forcibly struck by this view of the case. ‘My child, you have intuition,’ he said seriously. ‘You are right. Yes, beyond all doubt you are right.’ He sat lost in meditation, planning, they knew, great deeds that might have been.

They exchanged glances. My lady sat by the window, chin in hand, raptly gazing upon the old gentleman out of her narrow eyes. There was nothing to do but to wait for him to come out of his trance. Robin sat back in his chair with a shrug of fatalism; his sister continued to sling one booted leg.

My lord looked up. ‘Dreams!’ he waved them aside. ‘Dreams! I am a great man,’ he said simply.

‘You are, sir,’ agreed Prudence. ‘But we should like to know what you plan now.’

‘I have done with plans and plots,’ he told her. ‘I am Tremaine of Barham.’

There seemed to be no hope of getting anything more out of him. But Prudence persevered. ‘So you have told us, sir. But can you prove it to the satisfaction of Mr Rensley?’

‘If Rensley becomes a nuisance, Rensley must go,’ my lord declared, with resolution.

‘Murder, sir?’

‘He will disappear. I shall see to it. It need not worry you. I arrange all for the best.’

‘I wonder whether Mr Rensley will see it in that light?’ said Prudence. ‘Does he acknowledge you, sir?’

‘No,’ admitted his lordship. ‘But he fears me. Believe it, he fears me!’

Robin had been sitting with closed eyes, but he opened them now. ‘I grant you this much, sir: you are to be feared.’

‘My Robin!’ My lord flung out a hand to him. ‘You begin to know me then!’

‘I’ve a very lively fear of you myself,’ said Robin frankly. ‘Give me audience a moment!’

‘Speak, my son. I listen. I am all attention.’

Robin looked at his finger-tips. ‘Well, sir, the matter stands thus: we’ve a mind to turn respectable, Prue and I.’ He raised his eyes. His father’s expression was one of courteous interest. ‘I admit we don’t see our way clear. We wait on you. To be candid, sir, you pushed us into the late Rebellion, and it is for you to extricate us now. I’ve no desire to adorn Tyburn Tree. We came to London under your direction; we stayed for you here, according to the plan. True, you have come as you promised you would, but in a guise that bids fair to compromise us more deeply still. We don’t desert you: faith, we can’t, unless we choose to go abroad again. But we’ve an ambition to settle in England. We look to you.’

The old gentleman heard him out in smiling silence. At the end he arose. ‘And not in vain, my children. I live but to settle you in the world. And the time has come! Listen to me! I answer every point. For the Rebellion, it is simplicity itself. You cease to exist. You vanish. In a word, you are no more. Robin Lacey – it was Lacey? – dies. Remains my son – Tremaine of Barham! I swept you into the Rebellion it’s true. In a little while I have but to stretch out a hand, and you are whisked from all danger. Have patience till I make all secure! Already I announce to the world the existence of a son, and of an exquisite daughter.’ He paused. Applause – it was clearly expected – came from my lady, who clapped delighted hands. His eyes dwelt upon her fondly. ‘Ah, Thérèse, you believe in me. You have reason. Not twice in five hundred years is my like seen.’

‘The world has still something to be thankful for,’ sighed Robin. ‘It’s all very fine, sir, and I had as lief be Tremaine of Barham as Robin Lacey; but how do you purpose to arrive at this promised security?’

‘That I do not as yet know,’ said his lordship. ‘I make no plans until I see what I have to combat.’

‘You realize there’s like to be a fight, sir?’

‘Most fully. There are maybe some few will know me from foreign days. Those I do not fear. They are less than nothing.’