Masqueraders Read online

  Mr Markham laughed indulgently. ‘You’ll soon get over that when we are married, my dear. Won’t you care for me a little when I give you this letter to burn?’

  She stretched out her hand. ‘Give it to me now, sir, and indeed, indeed, I shall never think hardly of you again!’

  ‘On our wedding day,’ said Markham. ‘Not before, but just as soon as my ring is on your finger.’

  ‘It will never, never be there,’ she declared, bursting into tears.

  It took Mr Markham twenty minutes to convince her that she was sending her papa to the gallows-tree by such unreasonable behaviour. She struggled and wept; she cried that she would tell papa all about it, and he would talk to my Lord Bute, and all would be well. Mr Markham said that it would not be in my Lord Bute’s power to assist Sir Humphrey, even if he wanted to, which was hardly possible. Sir Humphrey had written treasonable matter in this letter. Surely Letty knew what that meant?

  She did; the very thought of it drove the blood from her face. Desperately she cast around in her mind for some source of help.

  Mr Markham thought it well, since she struggled so, to extemporise a little. ‘When I leave this ball to-night,’ he said, ‘this letter goes into a friend’s keeping. If anything were to happen to me it would be published at once, and if, in a week from now you and I are not on the road to Scotland I myself shall take it to the proper quarters. You will be sorry then that you would not lift a finger to save your father!’

  It seemed she was a monster of selfishness. Where, oh where was the Unknown in the Black Domino, who had said that he would come again in her hour of need? Nothing but a dream. Here was herself only, and Gregory Markham, who had become hateful to her. She could see no road out of the trouble, saving the one he pointed out to her. Almost she went down on her knees to him, imploring his mercy. He used some endearing terms in his reply, but she could see that behind all his soft address he was quite adamant.

  She declared she would tell papa; Mr Markham pointed out the immediate and evil consequences of such an action. She saw them; she was induced to believe that to tell anyone would bring disaster upon the house of Grayson. She capitulated, and while he outlined a plan of flight to her, she sat wondering whether she would have strength enough, and courage, to stab him on the road to Scotland. She thought if there were pistols in the coach she could brave the dreadful explosion and shoot her lover, and steal the letter from his person. What would happen to her after that she had no notion, but she expected it would be all very awful.

  Something of these murderous designs Mr Markham read in her face: he saw enough in those brown eyes, ordinarily so soft, to make him decide to have no pistols placed anywhere within his bride’s reach on the journey to Scotland.

  Letty was taken back into the ballroom, and claimed by a young man of fashion. It struck this not very observant youth that she was out of spirits, and he ventured to inquire the cause. Letty confessed to a headache, and began to chatter and laugh at once, as though to refute her own statement. The laughter might be forced, even hysterical, and the chatter somewhat irrelevant, but the young buck was quite satisfied.

  Letty found Miss Merriot and Fanshawe quite close to her in the set, and redoubled her efforts to appear gay and unconcerned. As the dance closed she saw Miss Merriot looking rather closely at her, and was inspired to whisper: ‘Oh Kate, I have a monstrous bad headache! It makes me feel sick.’

  ‘My dear,’ Miss Merriot said instantly, ‘you should be at home and in bed. Will you have me go and find your aunt?’

  ‘I hate to go away early from a ball,’ Letty said, ‘but my head is dreadfully bad.’

  She was promptly swept off under the wing of Miss Merriot to find her aunt. Sir Anthony was left to await the return of his partner, and strolled away to where my Lord Barham stood by the wall.

  ‘No, Clevedale, my dancing days are done,’ my lord was saying. ‘I am now a spectator only…Well, my dear Fanshawe? But what have you done with your lovely partner? Surely I saw you with the beautiful Miss Merriot but a moment since?’

  ‘She has deserted me, sir,’ Sir Anthony replied. ‘Miss Grayson has the migraine, and Miss Merriot has taken her off to find her aunt.’

  ‘Indeed?’ said my lord, and proffered his snuff-box. Mr Markham’s late exit with Miss Letty had not escaped that eagle eye.

  A gentle touch on his sleeve made Sir Anthony turn round. Prudence stood at his elbow, and smiled shyly as he looked down at her. ‘Have you lost my sister, sir? I saw you a while back flirting prodigiously with her. It’s a sad piece, I believe.’

  Sir Anthony walked apart with her. ‘It is,’ he agreed. ‘How came you by so impertinent a brother, my dear?’

  Prudence chuckled. ‘You’ve met the old gentleman, Tony. Don’t you perceive the resemblance? Robin is a rogue.’

  ‘I’m of the opinion he’s a young hothead. I asked him to-night, as the thought occurred to me, whether he knew anything of a Black Domino, calling himself l’Inconnu.’

  ‘And does he?’ asked Prudence innocently.

  ‘It’s in my mind,’ said Sir Anthony slowly, ‘that you’re a fitting pair. Is there nothing of the rogue in Peter Merriot?’

  ‘Oh, sir, it’s a most sober youth.’

  Came the rustle of silks; Robin swirled down upon them, gracefully fanning himself. ‘What, my Peter! You’ll make a third, will you? I vow, ’tis unkind in you!’

  ‘I must have a care for your reputation, child. You conduct yourself monstrously when I’m not by.’

  Robin cast a languishing glance up at Fanshawe. ‘Sir, my Peter must think you a sad rake. And here was I thinking you meant marriage!’

  ‘I think,’ said Sir Anthony, ‘that you stand in need of birching, young Hop o’ my Thumb.’

  Robin feigned alarm. ‘Oh Prue, have a care! That is the second time you have heard the mountain talk of offering violence to a poor female.’

  ‘What did you call me?’ demanded Sir Anthony, pricking up his ears.

  ‘My tongue – oh, my luckless tongue!’ Robin hid behind his fan. ‘Only a mountain, dear sir. Would you have me call you a mole-hill?’ A laughing pair of eyes showed above the fan. To any who might chance to be watching it seemed as though Miss Merriot was still flirting disgracefully with Sir Anthony Fanshawe. ‘’Tis a term of endearment I have for you: no more, believe me.’

  Sir Anthony’s eyes were twinkling. ‘My dear,’ he said to Prudence, ‘if it weren’t for you I would expose this shameless boy. You’ll permit me to take him in hand when he comes out of this masquerade.’

  She shook her head. ‘I must protect my little brother, Tony. You see what a pert madcap he is. Give you my word, he would be lost without his big sister. You had better abandon us, you know.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Robin besought. ‘What amusement should I have left to solace me if I no longer saw the respectable Fanshawe caught in the toils of a set of adventurers? Does it not go against the grain, my dear sir?’

  ‘No, midget, it tickles my sense of the ridiculous. All that goes against the grain with me is to see Prue in a dangerous position, and to watch you courting Letty Grayson. What do you hope for there?’

  ‘The old gentleman assures me that I am also Tremaine of Barham,’ Robin answered lightly. ‘What do you make of that, O mountain?’

  ‘Very little,’ said Sir Anthony. ‘As for the filial respect you do not show to your father –’

  ‘Prue, did I not say it was all propriety? My very dear sir, I reserve all my respect for my so eminently respectable brother-in-law. The old gentleman is not in the least respectable. If you had had the doubtful pleasure of knowing him for as long as I have, you would realize that.’

  ‘I might, of course,’ Sir Anthony conceded. ‘But so far, the more I see of him the more I feel that he is a person to be treated with considerable respect, and �