The Masqueraders

It was a short cut. He would pass the coach without the men on it seeing him, and could join the road again further on. Then for my Lord Barham, with all possible speed, and back again to hold Master Robin in check.

John could see no way out of the present dilemma, but he never saw the way in any crisis: he could only obey instructions. He had not the smallest doubt that my lord would at once perceive a way. The greatest anxiety, once my lord was informed, must be Master Robin’s behaviour,

John knew quite enough of this young gentleman to picture all manner of foolhardy deeds. Certain, he must hasten back to Richmond with all

speed.

The mare was covering the ground in a long, easy gallop. John came on to a cart-track he had been making for, and turned down it. In a little while the cart-track joined the road; John reined the mare into a canter, easing her for a space. A strip of close turf bordered the road; he pressed on to it, and the mare, nothing loth, quickened to the gallop again.

John began to consider the time. Judging by the long shadows it was nearly dusk, and Mistress Prue must not be left to spend the night in captivity. And where should he find my lord at this hour? There came a worried look into the square face: John foresaw much waste of time spent in search of his master. Unconsciously he pressed his knees closer to the mare’s flanks. He was well ahead of the coach, but there was not a moment to be lost.

The road turned a corner; there was a horseman in sight, trotting along the strip of turf towards John. John pulled the mare in a little, anxious to attract no attention, and she slackened to a canter.

He would have passed this other rider without a glance, but of a sudden the big roan horse was pulled across his path, barring the way, and he heard the voice of Sir Anthony Fanshawe.

‘Well, my man? Well? Whither away so fast?’

The mare had been brought perforce to a standstill. John looked into that handsome, lazy face, and spoke urgently. ‘Let me pass, sir. I must get to his lordship.’

The eyes were keen and searching. ‘Yes?’ said Sir Anthony. ‘And wherefor?’

‘It’s Miss Prue!’ John said in an agony of impatience. ‘She’s taken by the Law for the killing of Mr Markham! Now will you let me pass, sir?’

The large hand on the bridle had tightened; the indolent air was gone. ‘Less than ever, my man. When was she taken? Come, let me have the whole story, and quickly!’

‘She’s on the road now, sir, behind me! I must get to my lord.’

‘We won’t trouble his lordship,’ said Sir Anthony. ‘This is my affair.’

John looked doubtful. The large gentleman had a masterful way with him, but John was inclined to trust to no one but my lord. He waited.

Sir Anthony passed his riding whip absently down the neck of his horse. His eyes looked straight ahead, and they were frowning. After a moment he turned his head, and spoke. ‘Yes, I think we might compass it, John,’ he said placidly. ‘Have you a mind to a fight?’

John smiled grimly. ‘Try me, sir! You’ll stop the coach?’

Sir Anthony nodded. ‘I hope so. How many men?’

‘Two inside – naught to fear from them. There’s the coachman on the box, and a man with him.’

‘Four.’ Sir Anthony was unperturbed. ‘Possibly a pistol in the coach.’

‘There’d be one in the holster, maybe. But Miss Prue’s inside and she has all her wits, sir.’ John looked at the large gentleman in some awe. From the first he had felt respect for Sir Anthony, but he had not thought that he would undertake such a lawless venture as this quite so calmly. John was of the opinion that he might well be a good man in a fight, provided his size did not make him slow.

Sir Anthony came down out of the saddle, and produced his handkerchief. ‘Have you a muffler, my man? Cover your face to the eyes, and pull your hat well over your nose.’

John loosened the cloth at his neck. ‘There’s enough of it for two, sir. You’d best wear your greatcoat.’ His glance rested expressively on Sir Anthony’s fine cloth coat.

Sir Anthony was unstrapping it from the saddle. He was handed a half of John’s generous neckcloth, and proceeded to arrange it to cover the lower half of his face. The greatcoat was buttoned up, and the sword-hilt pulled through the placket. ‘I’ve pistols,’ Sir Anthony said, ‘but I don’t want to make this a killing matter. Break yourself a thick stick: it should suffice.’

‘Give me one of your barkers, sir. I’ll do as I did when we held up Mr Markham – fire over the coachmen’s heads. It frightens them so they think they’re killed.’

‘My dear good man, do you want every cottager running from miles round to see what the noise means? Threaten a shot if you like, but on no account fire. It is understood?’

‘Ay, sir,’ said John, abashed. He went off to find a likely cudgel in the little spinney close at hand. Returning presently with a rough stick of ash, he ventured a piece of information. ‘Miss Prue has her sword-stick, sir. I saw to that. They don’t know it, but she does, and she knows how to use it, too.’

Sir Anthony smiled a little. Ay, she would know, that cool, daring bride of his. He mounted again, and pushed forward to the spinney. ‘We’ll lie in wait here. It’s as lonely a stretch of road as there is. Now attend to me a moment, John. You can do as you’re told?’

John, reining in under the trees beside the large gentleman, nodded assent. It was in his mind that there were few who would care to refuse to do Sir Anthony’s bidding.