The Masqueraders

Sir Anthony laughed suddenly. ‘No, it is a privilege,’ he said. ‘I would not forgo your acquaintance, sir, for the worlds. My horizon broadens every hour.’

My lord smiled graciously. ‘That was inevitable,’ he said. ‘It could not be otherwise.’

Sir Anthony walked to the window and back again, struggling with varied emotions. At last he turned, and made a gesture of despair. ‘Sir, you demoralize me. Until the privilege of knowing you was conferred upon me I protest I led a sober life, and my opinions were all respectable. I find myself walking now in your train, sir, caught up in I know not what lawless schemes, and I perceive with horror that the day approaches when I shall be lost to all sense of propriety and order.’

My lord acknowledged a compliment. ‘I had once some acquaintance with a Jesuit father,’ he said reminiscently. ‘That was in the days of my youth. I profited by it. Yes, I learned some few things.’

‘More than the Jesuit father taught you, I’ll lay my life,’ said Robin.

‘Yes,’ admitted his lordship. ‘But then, my son, his brain had its limits.’

‘Have you limitations, my lord?’ asked Sir Anthony.

My lord looked at him seriously. ‘I do not know,’ he said, with a revealing simplicity. ‘I have never yet discovered them.’

Came my Lady Lowestoft into the room in a fine bustle. Her sharp eyes darted from one guest to the other. ‘Tiens! Such a party!’ She untied the strings of her mantle, and cast it from her. ‘Robert, I know very well you have done some wickedness! Your children of a certainty did not visit friends at Barnet last night.’ She pointed an accusing finger. ‘It is my belief Robin killed the Markham – by your orders, Robert! It is a scandal! a madness! I gasp at it!’

‘A time-thrust,’ nodded my lord. ‘Superb!’

‘What’s that? What is it, a time-thrust?’ cried my lady.

‘You would not understand, my dear Thérèse. It is to lunge as your opponent lunges – you may judge how ticklish! – to parry his blade as you come through, and to pass on with not the smallest check to – the heart, was it not, my son?’

‘Then it is true!’ said my lady. She seemed to have no interest in the brilliance of Robin’s sword-play, unlike Sir. Anthony, who was looking at Robin with an appraising, marvelling eye. ‘Good God, Robert, what shall come of this?’ She pounced on Sir Anthony. ‘And you! Do not tell me you had a hand in this too!’

‘Alack, ma’am, no.’

My lady put her hands to her temples. ‘The head turns on my shoulders. Of a certainty we are all mad!’ She sat down weakly. ‘You want to end at Tyburn, all three?’ she demanded.

‘I’m inclined to think the honour of being executed on Tower Hill must be conferred upon the old gentleman at least,’ said Prudence. ‘Tyburn might do for us, I suppose.’

‘You are ridiculous, Thérèse.’ My lord was severe. ‘What have the Merriots to do with duels and masked men?’

‘I may be ridiculous,’ said my lady, ‘but this I say! the sooner you end this masquerade the better now. Mark me well! We will retire to Richmond, my children. Then if the wind of suspicion should blow your way – eh, but Robert shall send word, and you vanish!’

‘I will go further th

an that,’ interposed Sir Anthony. ‘I’ve to visit my sister, Lady Enderby, in Hampshire next week. I desire to take Mr Merriot along with me.’

Prudence shook her head. My lord rose, and picked up his hat. ‘Do not meddle in my plans,’ he advised them all. ‘Go to Richmond if you will, but await there my orders. It is not possible that suspicion should fall upon my son.’

He was right thus far, but he had reckoned without Miss Grayson. Prudence, summoned to make a deposition, could tell the gentlemen of the Law very little. Her evidence was admirably given; nothing could exceed the tranquillity of her bearing, nor the frankness of her replies. She was complimented on her share of the night’s work, disclaimed gracefully, and departed.

Miss Grayson’s evidence was of another colour. She had a worried father in support, but her self-possession was, under the circumstances, almost as creditable as Mr Merriot’s. She listened acutely to the conflicting stories of the coachman and the postilion, and adapted her own as best she might to theirs. The tale as told by these lackeys would perhaps have surprised Robin and John. The postilion was inclined to grant Robin a height he lacked; the coachman, more cautious on this point, waxed impassioned on the subject of the unparalleled ferocity displayed by both men. The third man was the most cautious of all. He said that one man had fired at him before he could raise his blunderbuss, but although he had been forced to surrender it he had not thought the masked men ferocious. Pressed further, he deposed that the smaller man had told the lady to keep Mr Markham covered with his own pistol, which she had done.

This produced quite a sensation. Miss Letty said with spirit: – ‘I did not care whether I fell into a highwayman’s hands so long as I was rid of that odious Abductor.’

It was felt that there was some sound sense displayed in this, but still it was unusual for a lady to be so completely at ease with a couple of highwaymen.

Miss Letty thought it best to adhere as closely as possible to the third man’s tale. She avowed unblushingly that the highwayman who had fought the duel was of medium height, had brown hair, and was nothing out of the ordinary in appearance. When asked if he was not, as the coachman said, a man of polished address, she seemed uncertain. She would hardly say he had polish, but she admitted he had something of the air of a gentleman. Yes, he had kissed her hand, certainly, but to her mind that was little better than an insult considering he had previously nicked her pearls from her. ‘Whoever it was,’ she announced, ‘he rescued me from a monster, and I am very grateful to him.’

Faced with the question of abduction, the questioners shook dubious heads. That was a criminal offence, but murder on the King’s Highway –.

Miss Letty broke in hotly with a flat disclaimer. She turned to the coachman and demanded whether it was not a fair duel. Perceiving that his late master was in danger of being convicted – if you could convict a dead man, of which ticklish point he was not certain – of abduction, the coachman bestowed some of his support on the other side. Decidedly it had been a fair fight, so far as he was able to judge.

The affair was, in fact, a strange mystery, but the officers of the Law hoped to unravel it.

Sir Humphrey shook his head gravely when he found himself alone with his daughter, and said only that they were not likely to hear the end of this for many a long day.