The Masqueraders

Thirty

Triumph of Lord Barham

Speculation concerning the result of my Lord Barham’s coming meeting in Grosvenor Square was in abeyance. The strange flight of the Merriots formed the topic of every conversation in Polite Circles. It was a seven-days’ wonder, and society was greatly put out to think it had received this couple with open arms. It was felt that my Lady Lowestoft had been very much to blame, and quite a number of people who heard my lady’s lamentation felt a glow of superiority. They had a comfortable conviction that they would never have been so foolish as to invite such a chance-met pair to stay. One or two persons had an odd idea that they had heard my lady say she was acquainted with the Merriots’ father, but when they mentioned this my lady was positively indignant. Voyons, how could she have said anything of the sort when she had never set eyes on the elder Mr Merriot? She had been most grossly deceived; no one could imagine how great was the kindness she had shown the couple; she had had no suspicion of foul play. When she heard that Mr Merriot was taken by the law for the killing of Gregory Markham she was so shocked, so astonished, she could scarcely speak. And then, next morning, to find Kate flown, and a horse gone from her own stables – oh, she was prostrated. The affair was terrible – she believed she would never recover.

It seemed like it indeed. Society grew tired of hearing her on this subject, for she could talk of naught else. And where had the Merriots gone? Who were the men who snatched Peter from the coach? One had undoubtedly been the servant, John, but who was the other? The unfortunate gaolers swore to a man of gigantic size, but no one paid much heed to that. It was the sort of exaggeration one would have expected.

Sir Anthony Fanshawe heard of it down at Dartrey, and took the trouble to write to his friend Molyneux. He protested he could not believe young Merriot was the villain this affair showed him to be. He was inexpressibly shocked by the news, but he felt sure some explanation must sooner or later be forthcoming. He ended by telling his friend that he had some notion of extending his stay with my Lady Enderby, since her ladyship had with her a most charming visitor.

Molyneux chuckled over this, and told Mr Troubridge that Beatrice Enderby was once more trying to foist an eligible bride on to poor Tony.

In the meantime there could be found no trace of the fugitives. They had vanished, and no man saw the way they went. Nor did any man see the way John returned, for he came secretly and looked quite different. The black hair had changed to a grizzled brown crop; the black brows became sandy, and the ugly mole beside his nose had vanished. It was not to be expected that the Merriots’ swarthy servant wore a wig, darkened his brows and lashes, and affixed a seeming mole to his face. Nor could it cross anyone’s mind that an old servant of my lord’s, who had been in waiting on the young Tremaines should have any connection with the Merriots’ lackey. Such a notion occurred to no one, more especially since it appeared that more than once my lord had warned my Lady Lowestoft that she should not trust too much in her youthful visitors.

People could not help admiring my lord’s perspicacity. He shook his head at my lady, and said only: ‘Ah, Thérèse!’

Whereupon my lady put a handkerchief to her eyes, and confessed that she had been wrong in her estimation of the Merriots, and my lord right. It became known that my lord had warned her many times; he had suspected something to be amiss from the first.

For three days everyone had theories to put forward, and exclamations to make, but on the fourth day interest veered round again to my lord’s claim.

My lord was to meet the lawyers and his cousin at Grosvenor Square, and he would give conclusive proof of his identity.

Mr Rensley, with his arm still in a sling, awaited the issue with not unjustifiable impatience. The family lawyers, Clapperly and Brent, were the first to arrive: young Mr Clapperly brought old Mr Clapperly, long since retired from the lists; and Mr Brent brought a grave clerk, and many documents.

Mr Brent rubbed his hands together and murmured over a list he held. He desired to know whether a Mrs Staines, and a Mr Samuel Burton had arrived.

Mr Rensley stared at that. ‘Burton?’ he echoed. ‘Do you mean my lodge-keeper?’

Mr Brent coughed. ‘Let us say, sir, the lodge-keeper at Barham. You know we said we would not be – er – controversial.’

Mr Rensley said something under his breath, at which Mr Clapperly frowned. ‘Why should he arrive?’ he asked brusquely.

‘The claimant, sir, desired it. Also Mrs Staines, who is, I believe, Burton’s sister.’

‘

I know nothing about her,’ Rensley answered. ‘Has that impostor bribed them to recognize him?’

Young Mr Clapperly, a man of some forty years, begged Mr Rensley to moderate his language. Mr Brent assured Rensley that my lord had not set eyes on either Burton or his sister since his arrival: both brother and sister were as mystified as he was himself.

Shortly after this the couple arrived, and were ushered into the big library.

Burton was a stockily-built man of middle age, sandy-haired and blue-eyed; his sister was rather older, a respectable-looking woman, who dropped a shy curtsey to Rensley, and another to the lawyers. She was given a chair by the table, and sat down on the extreme edge of it, with her brother beside her.

‘Three o’clock,’ said young Mr Clapperly, consulting a large watch. ‘I think we said three, sir?’

A coach was heard to drive up, as though in answer. In a few minutes the door opened to admit my Lord Barham, my Lord Clevedale, and Mr Fontenoy.

My lord swept a magnificent leg to the assembled company. ‘I am late!’ he exclaimed. ‘I offer a thousand apologies!’

‘No, sir, no, almost to the minute,’ Mr Brent told him.

Mr Rensley was looking with dislike upon my lord’s companions. My lord addressed him at once. ‘You scowl upon my friends, cousin. But you must remember that I have the right to bring whom I will to this interview.’ He turned to Mr Clapperly. ‘Is that not so?’

‘Oh, perfectly, sir! There can be no objection. Pray, will you not be seated, gentlemen?’

They were grouped about a table that stood in the middle of the room. My lord sat at the end of the table, with old Mr Clapperly opposite to him. My lord produced his snuff-box, and unfobbed it. ‘And now my cousin Rensley wants to put some questions to me,’ he said gently. ‘There is no reason why I should answer any of them. I stand proved already Tremaine of Barham. You have tried to find that I stole my papers, and you have failed, gentlemen. I condole with you. Let me hear your questions; I shall endeavour to satisfy you.’

There was an uncomfortable air of strain in the room; my lord was too much master of the situation. Rensley sat on Mr Clapperly’s right hand, and scowled at the table. Mr Clapperly had begged him to leave all to his men of business, and he had agreed to hold his peace. He did not look at my lord; the sight of that smiling countenance enraged him to the point of desperation.