The Masqueraders

My lord shook his head decidedly. ‘If you want that for it, take it elsewhere, my dear Markham.’

Markham stowed it safely away. ‘With your leave, sir, we’ll ha’ done with this foolery. I know you for Colney. I hold a paper that would send you to the gallows-tree. Come out into the open, sir, and be plain with me. I’ve no animosity towards you; I wish you no harm. But you’ll pay well for the letter.’

My lord rose, and made a fine gesture. ‘I perceive that you would be a friend indeed. I embrace you! We understand one another.’

‘As to that,’ said Markham, rather bewildered by this sudden effusion, ‘I am neither your friend nor your foe. But I hold you in the hollow of my hand.’

‘You do, my dear Markham, you do! And if I were given the choice of a hand to be held in, I should choose yours. My word for it, sir, my solemn oath!’

‘I might have taken this paper to Rensley,’ Markham went on, disregarding. ‘I thought of it; I weighed it well. I decided it was more vital to you to get the paper than Rensley. And I came as you see.’

‘A master-mind!’ said my lord. ‘I drink to it.’ He did so, with considerable flourish. ‘You must accept my homage, Mr Markham. I descry in you a shrewd brain. I venerate it; we were made for each other. Rensley could never have given you what I can give you. My dear friend, I have something which might have been designed expressly for you. But still you don’t drink.’

Mr Markham tossed off the wine, and set his glass down again. ‘You’re mighty pleased over it,’ he remarked.

‘I am, sir. You have divined me correctly. I could embrace you.’

‘It is not your embraces I want, my lord.’

My lord smiled wickedly. ‘But do I not know it! It is Letitia Grayson’s embraces you crave, my dear Markham.’

Mr Markham choked and swore. ‘Curse it, what do you know of Letty Grayson?’

‘Very little, sir, but I shall hope to know more when she is Mrs Markham. I drink to that happy day.’

A gloomy look came into Mr Markham’s face. ‘You may spare your pains: it’s far off.’

‘No, no, my friend, it is close at hand!’ said my lord radiantly.

Mr Markham looked suspicious. ‘What do you know of it? You are off at a tangent. I’ve come to sell you your own treasonable letter, not to talk of Letty Grayson.’

My lord sat down again. ‘My friend, I will show you a sure road to Miss Letty,’ he promised.

‘I wish there was such a road,’ Markham said. The truth was Miss Grayson’s dimpled loveliness haunted him almost as much as did Miss Grayson’s golden fortune.

‘There is,’ said my lord. ‘But it is known only to me. Let us be plain – you did wish me to be plain with you, did you not? Well, my dear Markham, at first I thought, no: I will not show my Munich friend the road. But then, sir, then I fell in love with your wit. You remember that I was impelled to compliment you. You seem to realize that I might not be quite all I pretend to be. I admire that perspicacity. Then you assured me that you had no animosity towards me. I was struck by this, sir: I was amazed. I saw in you a friend: I changed my mind. I will put into your hands a certain means of winning Letitia Grayson. You might be away to Gretna in a week, if you chose.’

‘H’m!’ said Mr Markham sceptically. ‘That’s to play the same game twice. With Fanshawe on my heels, as he was before. No, I thank you.’

‘I myself will keep Fanshawe away,’ announced my lord. ‘You will stop only to change horses; you arrive at Gretna –’

‘And Letty refuses to marry me. Very pretty.’

‘You have it quite wrong,’ said my lord. ‘She goes willingly. You are married; she becomes mistress of her mother’s fortune on that day. You are at once rich, and a happy bridegroom.’

Mr Markham’s eyes glistened. It was an attractive picture, and he could not resist dwelling on it for a space. ‘You seem to know a devilish lot about the Graysons,’ he remarked.

‘I do, my friend, as you shall see. I know she becomes mistress of a charming fortune on the day she marries, with or without Sir Humphrey’s consent. You must be master of it. I am determined on it.’

‘But how?’ demanded Mr Markham.

My lord arose, and went to where a locked desk stood. Mr Markham watched him open it, and saw him take a bundle of papers from a hidden drawer, and select one from the bundle. My lord came back with it in his hand, and spread it for his visitor to read. A smile of simple triumph illumined his countenance.

Mr Markham read with knit brows. It was a letter from Sir Humphrey to a man Markham did not know. It was vague in tenour, but there were references to the ‘Prince’, and a half promise to render assistance in the ‘venture to be attempted’, if the Prince would come without foreign aid into England. Mr Markham sniffed. ‘The old dog!’ he said. ‘That wouldn’t send him to Tyburn. He’s a friend of Bute’s. He never lifted a finger in the Rising, and they’d never touch him.’

‘But would the little Letty see that with the same quickness, my friend? Your brain leaps to it, true, but do you rate her intelligence as high as yours? I cannot allow it to be so.’

A dim scheme began to form itself in Mr Markham’s brain. ‘I’ll take it,’ he said suddenly.