The Masqueraders

‘My dear fellow, it’s the devil of a business,’ Belfort said severely. ‘A most disgraceful affair, ’pon my soul!’

Mr Devereux shook his head. ‘Very, very disgraceful,’ he echoed.

‘Lud, sir, you horrify me! What’s toward?’

‘Rensley,’ said Belfort, ‘has committed a – damme, a cursed breach of etiquette! You can’t meet the man, Peter. Can he, Dev?’

Mr Devereux was of the opinion that it would be impossible.

A flush sprang up in Prudence’s cheeks. It was of sudden, overwhelming relief, but Mr Belfort took it to betoken anger. ‘Ay, Peter my boy, I knew you’d take it hard, but positively you can’t meet the man after such a slight.’

‘Very shocking business,’ Mr Devereux said mournfully. ‘Can’t understand it at all.’

Prudence had command of herself again. If she must not fight it seemed safe enough to protest a little, as was proper. ‘But pray let me hear what it is!’ she said. ‘I don’t draw back from an encounter, Charles, be sure.’

‘It’s Rensley has drawn back,’ Mr Belfort said, still with awful solemnity.

‘Not drawn back, Bel. You couldn’t say he had drawn back,’ protested Mr Devereux.

‘It’s the same thing, Dev. He can’t meet Peter tomorrow, and I say it’s a cursed insult. I shall tell Jessup our man won’t fight.’

‘Has Rensley fled the country?’ demanded Prudence.

‘Worse, my dear boy!’

‘Not worse, Bel! Hardly worse! Plaguey unfortunate happening.’

Mr Belfort laid an impressive finger on Prudence’s shoulder. ‘He’s offered us a damned slight, Peter. It can’t be swallowed. Take my word for it, there can be no meeting.’

‘Why, Charles, you mystify me! Let me know what this slight is, I beg of you.’

‘He has fought another man this morning,’ said Mr Belfort, and stood back to observe the effect of this terrific pronouncement.

Prudence was all honest incredulity. ‘You tell me he has met some one else in a duel?’ she cried. It seemed to be a positive dispensation of a kindly Providence, but it would not do to let the gentleman suspect she felt this. She affected anger. ‘He sets me aside, you would tell me! It’s for some later quarrel? You call it a slight! You’re moderate, Charles!’

‘Devilish irregular,’ said Mr Devereux. ‘I was monstrous shocked when I heard of it, give you my word. They say there’s a tendon cut in his sword arm that won’t heal this many a day. Quite impossible to meet him.’

‘But apart from that, Dev – apart from that, mind you, I would not have our man swallow such a cursed piece of rudeness,’ Mr Belfort reminded him. ‘Our quarrel came first, demm it!’ A frown marred the cherubic look in his face. ‘And what’s more, Dev, Fanshawe knew it!’

‘Fanshawe!’ the exclamation broke from Prudence, who stood staring.

‘Fanshawe himself,’ nodded Belfort. ‘And I saw him this morning, and somehow or other the thing slipped out, and I told him you were to meet Rensley.’

‘But – you say Fanshawe is the man who fought Rensley?’

‘You may well ask, Peter. Fanshawe it was. Found our man at Galliano’s, and forced a quarrel on him.’

‘Carslake tells me it all began as a jest, Bel,’ pleaded Mr Devereux.

‘Jest or no, Dev, the man had no business to meet Fanshawe till our little affair was settled. And so I shall tell Jessup.’

‘But why did Sir Anthony – ?’

‘Ah, that’s the question,’ nodded Belfort. ‘I don’t know, but they do say he told Rensley he was a poltroon, and struck him in the face with his glove. Kestrel – he was there, y’know – will have it Tony was out for a fight from the first, but Orton thinks it all sprang up out of naught.’

An idea struck Mr Devereux. ‘’Pon my soul, Merriot, you might call Fanshawe out, so you might!’

Prudence laughed, and shook her head. ‘Oh, hold me excused! I count Sir Anthony very much my friend, in spite of this day’s work.’