‘Oh, yes, I can!’ retorted Mr Wrexham.
Lady Albinia, per
ceiving that he was in a towering rage, sank back against her cushions, and said in a dying voice: ‘I can feel a spasm coming on!’
‘Furnish me with Mrs Crewe’s direction, ma’am, and I will leave you to enjoy it in private!’
‘But I don’t know it!’ wailed her ladyship, almost beyond human aid. ‘I never kept her letter, for why should I? And I don’t recall the direction, though I am sure it was perfectly respectable, for if it had not been I must have noticed it!’
Controlling himself with a visible effort, Mr Wrexham strode from the room.
He dined alone, the butler informing him that her ladyship had bespoken a bowl of broth in her dressing-room. Since this was his mother’s invariable custom, whenever she was confronted by a disagreeable situation, Mr Wrexham was neither surprised nor alarmed. He ate his dinner in frowning silence, and then went upstairs to his room, and rang for his valet. Less than an hour later, clad in the satin knee-breeches and black coat that betokened a gentleman of fashion on his way to an evening party, he left the house, a half-mask in his pocket, and an old black domino, unearthed from the recesses of his wardrobe, over his arm.
4
THE PANTHEON, WHICH was on the south side of Oxford Street, was a magnificent structure, decorated in a style which rendered it obnoxious to the eye of the fastidious. It comprised a large suite of saloons, and a ballroom, which was a huge rectangular hall, with a painted ceiling, a raised platform for the musicians, and numerous boxes and alcoves. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and from every Gothic arch which lined the room; all was gilding and glitter. Originally, it had been patronized by members of the haut ton, but when the first building was burnt to the ground, and a new structure erected, the company became so far from select that Mr Wrexham had every excuse for forbidding his sister to be seen there.
Although the hour was early when he arrived there, the ballroom was already full of a motley crowd of persons, some in dominoes, some in historical costume, all masked, and many behaving with the licence encouraged by the wearing of disguises. After watching a quadrille for a few minutes, Mr Wrexham decided that his sister had not yet arrived, for although he could see two ladies in pink dominoes one was by far too tall, and the other had pushed back the hood of her domino to show a head of yellow curls. He began to stroll through the saloons, successfully resisting the efforts of two ladies of Covent Garden notoriety to beguile him into dalliance.
It was nearly an hour later, when the revelry was becoming a trifle indecorous, that he suddenly saw Letty. She had her hood drawn over her head, but he caught a glimpse of dusky curls, and recognized her little trim figure. She was waltzing with a large man in a purple domino, and the only circumstance which afforded her brother some slight degree of satisfaction was her obvious lack of pleasure in the exercise. Leaning his broad shoulders against one of the decorated pillars, and folding his arms across his chest, he watched her circle round the room, and very soon realized that her partner (whom he suspected of being slightly foxed) was subjecting her to a form of gallantry which was extremely unwelcome. He thought it would be a salutory lesson to her, and had almost made up his mind not to intervene for a little while, when she suddenly broke away from her partner, and hurried off the floor, hotly pursued. Mr Wrexham, shouldering his way through the loungers at the side of the hall, reached her just as Purple Domino caught her round the waist, saying with a laugh: ‘You shan’t escape me thus, pretty prude!’
Mr Wrexham, setting a hand on his shoulder, swung him aside. A glance at his sister showed him that she was shaking like a leaf; he was afraid that she might be going to faint, and pushed her into the alcove behind her, saying briefly: ‘Sit down!’
At the sound of his voice she jumped under his hand, and gave a gasp.
‘Yes, my girl, it is I!’ said Mr Wrexham very dryly indeed, and turned to confront Purple Domino.
In a voice which bore out Mr Wrexham’s previous estimate of his condition, Purple Domino demanded to know what the devil he meant by it.
‘I mean,’ said Mr Wrexham, ‘that unless you remove yourself within one minute, my fine buck, I shall have the greatest pleasure in supplying you with a little of the home-brewed!’
Purple Domino recoiled instinctively, but recovered, and said in a blustering tone: ‘Damme, what right have you to spoil sport?’
‘Let me inform you,’ said Mr Wrexham, ‘that I am this lady’s brother!’
‘B-brother?’ echoed Purple Domino, in a dazed voice. ‘But I didn’t – Curse you, how was I to know?’
He stood staring through the slits of his mask for a moment, in an undecided way, and then, muttering something indistinguishable, took himself off.
Mr Wrexham felt a hand touch his sleeve. He drew it through his arm. It was trembling so much that instead of uttering the blistering words hovering on his tongue, he merely said: ‘You see, Letty, I am not quite so gothic as you think me. Come, I am going to take you home now, and we will forget this military suitor of yours!’
She did not answer, but went meekly with him to the entrance-hall. It was deserted, save for the porter. Mr Wrexham said: ‘I sent the carriage home, so I must procure a hack. Go and put on your cloak! There is no need to be in a quake: I am not an ogre!’
5
‘NO,’ SAID THE Pink Domino, in a shaken voice. ‘But I – I am not your sister, sir!’
He had turned away, but at this he wheeled about, startled, staring at her. With an impatient movement he ripped off his mask, and it was to be seen that he was suddenly very pale, his eyes fiercely intent upon her face. ‘Take off your mask!’ he commanded imperatively. ‘I know your voice! Surely I know your voice?’
She put up her hands to untie the strings of her mask. ‘I knew yours,’ she said simply. ‘You – you are always rescuing me from the consequences of my folly, sir!’
He found himself gazing into the sweetest face he had ever beheld. It was heart-shaped, possessed of a pair of smiling grey eyes, which met his shyly yet frankly, and of a tender, generous mouth. Oblivious of the porter’s bored presence, he grasped her hands, ejaculating: ‘You! Oh, my little love, where have you been hiding yourself? I have searched everywhere for you! Such a zany as I was never to have discovered even your name!’
She blushed, and her gaze fell. ‘I don’t know yours either, sir,’ she said, trying to speak lightly.
‘I am Giles Wrexham. And you?’
It meant nothing to her; she replied: ‘Ruth Welborne. I have not been in hiding, only, when I met you before I was still in mourning for my father, and so, you see, I have not till now gone into society. Did you indeed look for me?’