Джорджетт Хейер - The Masqueraders

The Unknown had flung off his greatcoat. “Oh, what an unkind spirit!” he mocked in answer to Mr Markham. “But I’m generous: I offer you a fight, a fair fight, when I might shoot you like the dog you are. Come, where’s your sword, sir? Here’s the gracious moon to light us, and witnesses enough to see fair play!”

“Fight a damned cut-throat robber?” cried Markham. “If I’d a cane you should taste of it!”

The Unknown laughed merrily. “Should I, sir? Should I indeed? Keep him covered, madam!”

“I am!” avowed Letty, grasping her pistol tighter than ever.

The Unknown’s weapon was laid aside with his cloak. The plain buff coat he wore followed it, and the scabbard of his sword. “Come, sir, come! Will you not fight for the privilege of keeping the lady and the riches? Or shall I fleece you of all? What, must I call you coward?” Off came the heavy riding boots, and the elegant flowered waistcoat. He stood straight in the moonlight, a lithe figure in a white shirt, with fair hair caught in the nape of his neck, and a strip of black velvet hiding the upper part of his face. A naked sword was in his hand; he shook it in the air, and the steel flashed in the moonlight. “A fair duel, sir, and you are the larger man! Faint heart!” Again he laughed “If I kill you the lady goes free but if you kill me you win all! Shall I rob you as you stand, or will you cross swords with me? Yours is the choice.”

“You kill me, you miserable little dwarf?” Markham cried. “You’ll fight, will you? You’re tired of life! Hand down my sword, girl, this instant! By God, I’ll teach you a lesson, you impudent dog!” He began to strip off his coat as he spoke, and kicked the buckled shoes from his feet.

The Unknown came to the coach door, and reached up a hand for the sword, and spread his fingers a moment for Letty to see the ring.

“I know! Oh, I know!” she whispered, looking down into the face that had haunted her dreams for so many nights past. “Kill him, oh, please kill him!”

“I will,” he promised, and took the sword from her trembling hold.

Mr Markham stood ready now and snatched his rapier from the Unknown’s hand. “You asked for this!” he snarled. “You’ll regret it too late. I’m not a novice with the small sword! On guard!”

There was the briefest of salutes, and the blades rang together. Markham lunged in quarte; Letty had a moment’s sick apprehension and shut her eyes. They flew open the next instant, to see the Unknown disengaging adroitly.

There was no sound on all this deserted heath but the scrape of steel; no movement save of those two figures on the grass, fighting sternly, desperately, with lives at stake.

The silver moonlight flooded the scene, and tinted it with an unreal ghostliness, glinting along the blue-grey blades, and touching the fair head of the Unknown, and the dark head of Markham.

To Letty, standing in the doorway of the coach, it was as a dream. Her wide eyes never left the graceful figure of the masked man; they followed every lightning thrust, and every dexterous parry. He was slight and small indeed, but he seemed to be made of wires, so agile were his movements, so unerring and untiring his arm. To see both men one must feel him to be hopelessly overweighted. Markham had the advantage in height, in reach, and in strength; he was a good swordsman besides, with a quick eye and a steady wrist. He had once killed a man in a duel, Letty knew.

But even to her, ignorant of sword play, it was plain that the smaller and the lighter man had a wizard’s cunning with the rapier. His style was quite different from Markham’s; he was a miracle of swift grace and neat footwork, with a wrist like flexible steel, and eyes like a hawk’s to descry an opening. Fascinated, Letty followed the quick thrust and parry, and she saw the smile still on the Unknown’s lips.

There was a scuffle of blades; Letty’s hands flew to her mouth to press back an involuntary cry; Markham had lunged forward savagely, and for an awful moment Letty thought that his point must go home. But there was a swift parry, and barely had Markham recovered than the Unknown’s sword flashed forward. Forte touched foible, and Letty saw Markham disengage quickly.

She threw a glance round at the second masked man, and saw him intent too on the strange duel. And the pistol in his hand was pointing no longer at the men on the box: it covered Mr Markham. John would have no compunction in shooting if aught befell his young master.

His lesser height and strength did not seem to discompose the Unknown; he showed no signs of tiring; he was fighting still with the same force and cunning; he even seemed to be pressing his opponent. There was a parry, and, it seemed to Letty, two simultaneous lunges. Mr Markham thought he had found an opening, but as he lunged the Unknown’s sword shot out in a time-thrust quicker than the eye could follow, took Markham’s foible in a flickering parry, and passed on without a check to the heart. It was all over in the flash of an eyelid; dimly Letty realised that she had seen a marvellous piece of sword play. The Unknown sprang back, gasping for breath; Markham seemed to crumple where he stood, and fell heavily to the ground.

Letty’s eyes rested on him, full of horror and amazement. Only an instant back he seemed on the point of killing his opponent, and now there he lay, a dark heap on the ground.

The Unknown was on his knee beside him, shutting him from Letty’s view; she stood still, clinging now to the frame of the door. After a minute the Unknown rose, and came to the coach. He was no longer smiling, and Letty saw the sweat glistening on his brow. She held out her hands to be helped from the coach. He put up his, and she sprang lightly down.

“It’s over,” he said. “He was a villain, but he fought well.” He turned, and bent to pick up Markham’s coat. In a moment he had a paper in his hands, and bent his head to inspect it. He turned, and gave it to Letty. “Destroy that, Letitia. You know what it is.”

She hid it in the bosom of her gown. “Oh, thank you! thank you!” she whispered.

He held out his hand. “Remember that I am a highwayman!” he said. “Give me the pearls you wear. I will return them to you very soon now. Can you trust me?”

She unclasped the string. “Trust you! Oh, must you ask?”

He shook his head, smiling faintly, and held out his hand again. She put hers into it, and he bent to kiss it. “I shall come again,” he promised. “And next time you know what I shall demand.”

She nodded; her eyes were shining; she knew neither hesitation nor bashfulness. He would come to claim her; if he chose he might ride off with her over his saddle now.

He had pulled on his boots, and was struggling into his coat. In another few minutes he had leaped into the saddle again, and was bowing low over the horse’s withers. The fair hair was touched to silver by the moonlight; a jewel at his throat winked; and behind the mask Letty thought she saw his eyes gleaming blue. “Au revoir, ma belle!” he said, and straightened in the saddle. “Drive the lady back to town!” he said curtly to the coachman. There was a quick word in a strange tongue for the man with the pistol; the restless horse was wheeled about, the three-cornered hat was waved once to Letty. Then the horse bounded forward, across the heath; the pace quickened to a gallop, and in a few moments both riders had disappeared over the brow of a little hill.

Miss Letty rubbed her eyes; it was so like a dream, so unreal, that she began to doubt her senses. But the pearls were gone from her neck, and a few paces distant a dark figure lay on the ground — a figure that had once been Gregory Markham.

Over the hill, some few yards from the road, which turned sharply that way, Prudence waited beside a light chaise. She was in riding clothes, with her bridle over her arm. The horses had been taken from the chaise; Prudence herself had dismounted, and she was standing in the shadow of a tree, a big coat covering her, and her hat drawn over her eyes. There was a worried look in her face; the fine mouth was close shut, and the grey eyes troubled and anxious. She could never be at ease when Robin danced abroad in this fashion, but long training had taught her to assume a calm she was far from feeling. She would scorn to importune her brother with her fears, but there could be no peace for her until he was come safe back again.

She had not long to wait now before the sound of horses came to her listening ears. In another moment or two Robin had pulled up beside her.

She stepped forward, with eager hands stretched out to touch him, as though she must make sure that way of his safety. He bent in the saddle to grip her shoulder a minute. “Madam Anxiety!”

“All well, child?”

“You see me safe and sound.” Robin swung himself down from the saddle.

“Markham?”

“Just as the old gentleman planned. A good fight.”

“You killed him?”

“Certainly, child.” Robin gave his bridle into John’s hands, and took off his coat. “Well, I must get me into my petticoats, I suppose. Hey-day!”

“I can find it in me to be sorry for the Markham,” Prudence remarked. “I tell the old gentleman it’s a polite murder.”

“Oh, I did not have it quite all my own way, be sure. He had some knowledge of the duello. I might pity him but for his treatment of Letty. That puts him beyond pity. Well, I’ll away to my dressing-room. Put the horses to, John.” He went with a quick stride to a clump of bushes, and disappeared behind it.

Prudence went to help John with the horses. Busy with a cheek-strap, she said: “Did he fight well, John?”