The Masqueraders Read online

  Prudence shook her head. ‘Ah, sir, you should have been put at the head of it,’ she mourned. ‘The Prince would be at St James’s to-day then.’

  My lord was forcibly struck by this view of the case. ‘My child, you have intuition,’ he said seriously. ‘You are right. Yes, beyond all doubt you are right.’ He sat lost in meditation, planning, they knew, great deeds that might have been.

  They exchanged glances. My lady sat by the window, chin in hand, raptly gazing upon the old gentleman out of her narrow eyes. There was nothing to do but to wait for him to come out of his trance. Robin sat back in his chair with a shrug of fatalism; his sister continued to sling one booted leg.

  My lord looked up. ‘Dreams!’ he waved them aside. ‘Dreams! I am a great man,’ he said simply.

  ‘You are, sir,’ agreed Prudence. ‘But we should like to know what you plan now.’

  ‘I have done with plans and plots,’ he told her. ‘I am Tremaine of Barham.’

  There seemed to be no hope of getting anything more out of him. But Prudence persevered. ‘So you have told us, sir. But can you prove it to the satisfaction of Mr Rensley?’

  ‘If Rensley becomes a nuisance, Rensley must go,’ my lord declared, with resolution.

  ‘Murder, sir?’

  ‘He will disappear. I shall see to it. It need not worry you. I arrange all for the best.’

  ‘I wonder whether Mr Rensley will see it in that light?’ said Prudence. ‘Does he acknowledge you, sir?’

  ‘No,’ admitted his lordship. ‘But he fears me. Believe it, he fears me!’

  Robin had been sitting with closed eyes, but he opened them now. ‘I grant you this much, sir: you are to be feared.’

  ‘My Robin!’ My lord flung out a hand to him. ‘You begin to know me then!’

  ‘I’ve a very lively fear of you myself,’ said Robin frankly. ‘Give me audience a moment!’

  ‘Speak, my son. I listen. I am all attention.’

  Robin looked at his finger-tips. ‘Well, sir, the matter stands thus: we’ve a mind to turn respectable, Prue and I.’ He raised his eyes. His father’s expression was one of courteous interest. ‘I admit we don’t see our way clear. We wait on you. To be candid, sir, you pushed us into the late Rebellion, and it is for you to extricate us now. I’ve no desire to adorn Tyburn Tree. We came to London under your direction; we stayed for you here, according to the plan. True, you have come as you promised you would, but in a guise that bids fair to compromise us more deeply still. We don’t desert you: faith, we can’t, unless we choose to go abroad again. But we’ve an ambition to settle in England. We look to you.’

  The old gentleman heard him out in smiling silence. At the end he arose. ‘And not in vain, my children. I live but to settle you in the world. And the time has come! Listen to me! I answer every point. For the Rebellion, it is simplicity itself. You cease to exist. You vanish. In a word, you are no more. Robin Lacey – it was Lacey? – dies. Remains my son – Tremaine of Barham! I swept you into the Rebellion it’s true. In a little while I have but to stretch out a hand, and you are whisked from all danger. Have patience till I make all secure! Already I announce to the world the existence of a son, and of an exquisite daughter.’ He paused. Applause – it was clearly expected – came from my lady, who clapped delighted hands. His eyes dwelt upon her fondly. ‘Ah, Thérèse, you believe in me. You have reason. Not twice in five hundred years is my like seen.’

  ‘The world has still something to be thankful for,’ sighed Robin. ‘It’s all very fine, sir, and I had as lief be Tremaine of Barham as Robin Lacey; but how do you purpose to arrive at this promised security?’

  ‘That I do not as yet know,’ said his lordship. ‘I make no plans until I see what I have to combat.’

  ‘You realize there’s like to be a fight, sir?’

  ‘Most fully. There are maybe some few will know me from foreign days. Those I do not fear. They are less than nothing.’

  ‘And,’ interrupted his son, ‘there may be also some few will know you from Scottish days. What of them?’

  ‘They too are less than nothing,’ said my lord. ‘Who would dare to seek to expose me?’ He laid stress on the last word; it seemed fitting. ‘What man knows me among the Jacobites whom I do not know? Not one! I have some papers in my possession make me dangerous beyond the power of imagination.’

  ‘Jacobite papers?’ said Robin sharply. ‘Then burn them, sir! You are not, after all, Mr Murray of Broughton.’

  My lord drew himself up. ‘You suspect me of infamy? You think that Tremaine of Barham turns informer? You insult me! You, my son!’

  ‘Egad, sir, let us have done with heroics. I’m to suppose you keep your papers for some purpose.’

  ‘You may consider them as a Sword of Damocles in case of necessity,’ said my lord. ‘There is only one thing that I fear. One little, significant scrap of paper. I shall overcome the obstacle.’

  ‘Paper? You’ve set your name to something? Where is it?’ demanded Robin.

  ‘If I knew, should I fear it?’ my lord pointed out.

  ‘It seems to me, sir,’ said Prudence slowly, ‘that there is a Sword of Damocles poised above your head as well.’

  ‘There is, my child. You perceive that I conceal nothing. But it is my fate to be victorious. I shall contrive.’

  The grey eyes widened. ‘“I contrive,”’ said Prudence softly. ‘Do you know, sir, you puzzle me.’

  ‘It has ever been my motto,’ the old gentleman pointed out triumphantly. ‘It is the word of the Tremaines. Consider it, my daughter! Consider it well! I take my leave of you now. You will find me in lodgings at Half Moon Street – close by my loved ones. I have come, and your anxieties are at an end.’

  ‘It is in my mind that they are only just beginning,’ said Prudence ruefully.

  My lady got up to lay a hand on his lordship’s sleeve. ‘You do not take possession of your fine town house yet, no?’ she inquired.

  ‘In time, Thérèse, in good time. There are legal formalities. I do not trouble myself with lawyers!’ This was once more in the grand manner. My lord beamed upon his children. ‘Farewell, mes enfants ! We meet again later.’ He kissed my lady’s hand, and was gone with a click of red heels on the wood floor, and the wave of a scented handkerchief.

  Twelve

  Passage of Arms Between Prudence and Sir Anthony

  They were left to stare at one another. My lady showed an inclination to laugh. ‘Well, my children? Well?’ she demanded.

  ‘I’m glad you think so, ma’am,’ bowed Prudence.

  ‘Oh, what’s to be done with the man?’ Robin said impatiently.

  Prudence walked to the window, and stood looking out into the sunny street. Her voice held some amusement. ‘My dear, I take it the question is rather what he will do with us.’

  ‘Can you make head or tail of it?’

  ‘Not I, faith.’

  ‘Ay, you preserve your placidity, don’t you?’ Robin said.

  She laughed. ‘What else? If we fall, why then, we must. I see no way of preventing it. Alack, I haven’t the trick of coaxing the old gentleman into sense.’

  ‘There is no way. We’re treading another of his mazes, and the devil’s in it that we’ve no choice. For myself, if the old gentleman would be a little plain with us I’m willing enough to play this game out. But I would know where I stand. We ply him with questions, and what answer have we? Why, that he’s a Tremaine of Barham, forsooth! What to do with a man who can say naught but what is assuredly a lie?’

  ‘I think he believes it,’ Prudence remarked, twinkling.

  ‘Of course he believes it! He always believes in his own inventions. I’ll swear therein lies his success. Lord, it’s a wonderful old gentleman!’

  My lady brushed her hand lightly across