Джорджетт Хейер - The Masqueraders

“La, my dear, how can you say so?” marveled Miss Merriot, seeing the large gentleman’s grey eyes calm and bored. She rose with an air, and swept a curtsey. The gentleman must not be allowed to dominate the room thus. It seemed he had the way of it. “Make your leg, child,” she threw over her shoulder at Peter. “We are under observation.”

The sternness about Sir Anthony’s mouth vanished. He smiled and showed a row of very even white teeth. He bowed with easy grace. “Madam, your most obedient! Sir, yours!”

Mr Merriot took Miss Letty by the hand. “Permit me to restore to you Miss Grayson, sir,” he said, ignoring an indignant protest from the lady.

Sir Anthony showed no desire to receive Miss Grayson, who looked him defiantly between the eyes. He smiled still, but he did not offer to take her hand. “You should be whipped, Letty,” he said pleasantly.

Miss Grayson flushed. “’Deed, sir, and did you bring your cane for that purpose?” she demanded.

“No, my dear, but I should be happy to benefit you that far.”

Peter Merriot was amused, and permitted his chuckle to be heard. “Faith, it’s a stern suitor.”

“You are — very rude — and — and — and hateful!” declared Miss Grayson, outraged.

Sir Anthony laid down his cane and his hat, and began to take off his greatcoat. As one who had no further interest in Miss Grayson he took out his snuff-box, unfobbed it, and held it out to Mr Merriot. His hand was very white and finely shaped, but it looked to have some strength. “Sir,” said he, smiling sleepily for all his grey eyes were alert beneath their rather heavy lids, “you will permit me to thank you on behalf of my friend, Sir Humphrey Grayson, for your services to his daughter.”

Mr Merriot helped himself to a pinch of snuff. Grey eyes met grey; the humorous look played around Mr Merriot’s mouth. “Lud, here’s a solemnity!” he said. “I am Miss Grayson’s servant to command.”

Miss Grayson forgot her dignity. “Tony, ’twas wonderful! His sword was out in a trice, and I thought he was about to run that odious Markham right through the body, but just as it was too monstrously exciting for words the point seemed to flash upwards and the hilt caught Markham on the chin.” She demonstrated with a small fist to her own pretty chin. “He went down like a stone,” she ended dramatically. Her glance fell on Miss Merriot by the fire. “And Miss Merriot too was splendid, Tony, for she pretended to swoon in Markham’s arms.”

Mr Merriot looked down at his sister something quizzically. “My dear, I eclipse you,” he murmured. He turned again to Sir Anthony. “Thus we mourn our departed suitor. Now where did you find my man John?” He began to pour wine, and handed one glass to the large gentleman.

“At Stilton,” Sir Anthony replied. “Just before I saw my friend Mr Markham. He was endeavoring to hide a chaise and horses which — er — aroused my suspicions. He was induced to confide in me.”

Mr Merriot looked meditatively at that square handsome face. “I wonder why?” he said, for he knew his John.

A singularly attractive smile crossed Sir Anthony’s face. “My charm of manner, sir, I believe,” he said.

There came a laugh from Miss Merriot. “I begin to have a kindness for the large gentleman,” she remarked to the room at large. “And you met the so dear Mr Markham, sir?”

“Hardly, madam. I had rather say I saw the so dear Mr Markham pass me in a cloud of — mud, I believe.”

“I wonder, did he see you?” Miss Merriot’s eyes were bright with laughter.

“I am almost persuaded that he did,” said Sir Anthony.

“Then I take it we are not to expect his return?” Miss Merriot cocked a knowing eyebrow.

“I hardly think so, madam,” said Sir Anthony placidly.

Miss Merriot looked at Miss Grayson. “Why, child, I like the large gentleman, I protest,” she said. “Pray, sir, have you dined?”

“So far I have not had the time, madam, but I have reason to hope the landlord is preparing dinner for me at this moment.”

Mine host himself came in most opportunely then, with the serving maid behind him, carrying a loaded tray. A fresh cover was laid, a roasted chicken placed before Sir Anthony, and a fresh bottle uncorked.

“You permit, madam?” Sir Anthony bowed towards Miss Merriot.

“Pray, sir, be seated. You will be ravenous.”

“I confess I hate to miss my dinner,” said Sir Anthony, and began to carve the chicken. “There is something of me to maintain, you see,” he added, with a twinkle, and a glance cast down his noble bulk.

Miss Grayson cut in on Miss Merriot’s laugh. “Food!” she ejaculated scornfully, and tapped an impatient foot. Sir Anthony paid no heed. “Well, Tony, you are come nigh on a hundred miles to rescue me, as I suppose, and now have you nothing at all to say but that you have missed your dinner?”

“That thought has been absorbing me for the last twenty miles,” said Sir Anthony imperturbably.

“And me in peril!” cried the affronted Miss Grayson.

Sir Anthony raised his eyes from the chicken and looked coolly across at her. “Oh, were you in peril?” he inquired. “I came merely to put an end to an indiscretion, as I thought.”

“Peril! At the hands of such a Monster!” Miss Grayson was indignant. “I wonder, sir, that you need ask.”

Sir Anthony poured wine for himself and Mr Merriot. “My dear Letty,” said he, “you have so frequently assured us that Mr Markham is a model of all the virtues that I did you the honour to respect your judgment.”

Miss Grayson turned scarlet, and looked as though she were about to cry. “You didn’t, Tony! You are just being — disagreeable. And he’s not a model of virtue! He is an odious brute, and — and so are you!”

“Tut, child, the gentleman’s hungry, and will be the better for his chicken,” said Mr Merriot.

“I am not a child!” flashed Miss Grayson, and was off in a swirl of skirts to Miss Merriot’s side. From the shelter of Miss Merriot’s arm she hurled a tearful defiance. “And I would sooner go to Gretna with that Monster than marry you, Sir Tony!”

Sir Anthony remained unmoved. “My dear Letty, if this piece of absurdity was to escape my attentions, believe me it was not in the least necessary. So far as I am aware I have never asked you to marry me. Nor have I the smallest intention of so doing.”

This pronouncement brought Miss Grayson’s head up from Kate’s shoulder. In round-eyed astonishment she gazed at Sir Anthony, busily engaged with the wing of a chicken.

“I have to suppose,” said Miss Merriot sharply, “that the gentleman is an original.”

Mr Merriot turned away to hide a laughing face. “These family arrangements — !” he said.

“But — but Papa says — ” began Miss Grayson. “Why, Tony, don’t you want to marry me?”

“I do not,” said Sir Anthony.

Miss Grayson blinked, but she did not seem to be offended. “Why don’t you?” she asked with naive curiosity.

At that Sir Anthony looked up, and there was a twinkle in his eyes. “I suppose, Letty, because my taste is at fault.”

“Well!” Miss Grayson digested this in silence. She disengaged herself from Kate’s arm, and went slowly to the table. Sir Anthony rose at her approach, and received one little hand in his large one. “Tony, will you tell Papa?” she asked.

“I have told him, my dear.”

“How did he take it?” asked Miss Grayson anxiously.

“Philosophically, child.”

“I am so glad!” said Miss Grayson, with a relieved sigh. “If you don’t want to marry me, Tony, I can go home with a quiet mind. And I can even forgive you for being so disagreeable.”

“And I,” said Sir Anthony, “can finish my dinner.”

Miss Merriot called “Come in!” to a scratching on the door. Came Mr Merriot into the big bedroom, and walked across to the fireplace where Kate stood. Mr Merriot cocked an eyebrow at Kate, and said — “Well, my dear, and did you kiss her good-night?”

Miss Merriot kicked off her shoes, and replied in kind. “What, are you parted from the large gentleman already?”

Mr Merriot looked into the fire, and a slow smile came, and the suspicion of a blush.

“Lord, child!” said Miss Merriot. “Are you for the mammoth? It’s a most respectable gentleman, my dear.”

Mr Merriot raised his eyes. “I believe I would not choose to cross him,” he remarked inconsequently. “But I would trust him.”

Miss Merriot began to laugh. “Be a man, my Peter, I implore you.”

“Alack!” sighed Mr Merriot, “I feel all a woman.”

“Oh Prue, my Prue, it’s a Whig with a sober mind! Will you take it to husband?”

“I suppose you will be merry, Robin. Do you imagine me in love on two hours’ acquaintance? Ah, you’re jealous of the gentleman’s inches. Said I not so?”

“My inches, child, stand me in good stead. I believe it’s the small men have the wits. My compliments on the sword-play.”

“At least the old gentleman taught me a trick or two worth the knowing,” placidly said the lady, and pulled up her coat sleeve to show a stained shirt. “The last glass went down my arm,” she said, smiling.

Her brother nodded. “Well, here’s been work enough for an evening,” he remarked. “I await the morrow. Give you good-night, child, and pray dream of your mammoth.”

“In truth I need a mammoth to match me,” said Madam Prudence. “Pray dream of your midget, Robin.”

She went away humming a snatch of an old song. It was apparent to her that her brother frowned upon the morrow, but she had a certain placidity that went well with her inches, and looked upon her world with calm untroubled eyes.