Джорджетт Хейер - The Masqueraders

At White’s in St James’s my Lord Barham played at faro, and informed my Lord March genially that he hoped to give the pettifogging lawyers all the proofs they needed of his identity at the end of the week.

In the big house in Grosvenor Square Mr Rensley nursed his wound and speculated on the results of the meeting to be held in this very room, a few days hence.

At Richmond Robin drove out with my lady to drink a dish of Bohea, which he detested, that Prudence might be alone to receive Sir Anthony Fanshawe when he arrived.

She sat in the library, overlooking the river, and tried to interest herself with a book. But the book could not hold her attention; she must ever be harkening for the sound of coach wheels.

It came at last. She was woman enough to cast a glance at the big mirror hanging over the fireplace. The mirror showed a handsome young gentleman in a powdered wig. A slightly disordered neck-cloth had to be adjusted; Prudence bent her eyes once more on the book.

A lackey opened the door; she looked up and saw a scared expression on his face, not unmixed with curiosity. She kept her finger in the book; she was at once on the alert, completely mistress of herself.

“Sir — two men! ...” The lackey did not seem to know what next to say.

Prudence’s eyes went past him, and rested inquiringly on the two soberly clad individuals who had entered the room. Leisurely she crossed one booted leg over the other; inwardly she was thinking fast, but no signs of it appeared in her face.

She knew what these visitors had come for; it did not need for them to show her the warrant they held. She looked at it with raised brows, and then at the two men. She seemed to be faintly amused, and slightly at a loss. “What a’ God’s name is all this?” she asked.

“Warrant for arrest,” said one of the men succinctly. “Alleged murder of Gregory Markham, Esquire, of Poynter Street, Number Five.”

The grey eyes widened in surprise, and travelled on to the second man, who seemed apologetic. “Dooty!” he said, and stared at the ceiling, and coughed.

Prudence wondered where John was. Obviously she was to be taken to town under arrest, and something must be done to liberate her, and that speedily. Egad, who would have thought it? This bade fair to mean her unmasking, and then what? Lord, but the old gentleman had bungled this! Or had he? To be honest, her presence at the duel had not been a part of his plan. Nor, if one thought of it had he planned the bringing of Miss Letty back to town. Well, this was what came of deviating from his orders by so much as a hair’s breadth. And what to do now? If John had seen these harbingers of disaster, he would be off to my lord at once, and — faith, one had trust in the old gentleman!

“Am I to understand I’m supposed to have killed Mr Markham?” she inquired.

The leader of the two pointed silently to the warrant. It was not for him to elucidate these mysteries.

“Good God!” said Prudence. “Well, what do we do now, gentlemen?”

“If you’ll send for your hat and coat, sir, we’ll be off to London,” said the spokesman.

“Must do our dooty!” said his fellow hoarsely. “However unpleasant!”

“Certainly gentlemen,” agreed Prudence. She turned to the waiting lackey. “Fetch my hat and coat, Stephen. And apprise my lady and Miss Merriot upon their return of this ridiculous mistake. You will tell Miss Merriot to be in no anxiety on my account. I shall be back again almost at once, of course.”

The lackey went out; the apologetic gentleman whispered diffidently the word “Sword!” The spokesman nodded. “Not wishing to offend, your honour, but it won’t do to wear a sword.”

“I am not wearing it, gentlemen.”

They perceived that this was so. “Thank you, sir. And of course, pistols ...”

Prudence got up. “Pray search me. It’s not my habit to carry pistols on my person.”

She was assured again that no offence was intended; a perfunctory hand felt her pockets; the gentlemen professed themselves satisfied, and the hoarse member begged pardon, and resumed his study of the ceiling.

Prudence remained standing by her chair, awaiting her hat and cloak. The officers of the Law stayed by the door, sentinel-fashion. Prudence looked meditatively out of the window that gave on to the garden and the river.

Her eyes were indifferent, and returned to the contemplation of her captors. But there was hope in her breast, for she had seen John.

The lackey came back with her hat and cloak, and beribboned cane. Out of the corner of her eye Prudence saw that John had disappeared. Unhurriedly she repeated her message to Robin, and laid the coat over her arm. She shook out her ruffles, put on her point-edged tricorne, and professed herself in readiness to start. She was conducted into the hall, past peeping servants, and out to the waiting coach. She entered it, and seated herself in the far corner, perfectly at ease. The two officers got in after her, and sat down, one beside her, and one opposite. The two steps were drawn up, the door shut. The coach moved ponderously forward. God send Robin did nothing foolhardy.

In my lady’s stables, in desperate haste, John was buckling the saddle-girths of a fine chestnut mare. She was saddled and bridled in a space of time that would have made my lady’s coachmen gasp, and led out into the yard. A groom coming out of the harness-room, with a straw between his teeth, stared, and wondered where John might be off to. John said curtly he had a message to deliver, and was off before the groom could utter another word. That stolid person was left gaping. One moment John was there, in the yard, with a mettlesome mare under him; the next, he simply was not. He had vanished out of the gate before one was aware of him moving at all. The groom thought that he must be in a hurry, and continued to chew, ruminatively, his straw.

Having caught a glimpse of the sober coach’s equally sober pace, John had little doubt of reaching London far ahead of it. The mare was fresh; she desired nothing better than a good gallop. John left the road for the fields, and gave her her head.

It was a short cut. He would pass the coach without the men on it seeing him, and could join the road again further on. Then for my Lord Barham, with all possible speed, and back again to hold Master Robin in check.

John could see no way out of the present dilemma, but he never saw the way in any crisis: he could only obey instructions. He had not the smallest doubt that my lord would at once perceive a way. The greatest anxiety, once my lord was informed, must be Master Robin’s behaviour.

John knew quite enough of this young gentleman to picture all manner of foolhardy deeds. Certain, he must hasten back to Richmond with all speed.

The mare was covering the ground in a long, easy gallop. John came on to a cart-track he had been making for, and turned down it. In a little while the cart-track joined the road; John reined the mare into a canter, easing her for a space. A strip of close turf bordered the road; he pressed on to it, and the mare, nothing loth, quickened to the gallop again.

John began to consider the time. Judging by the long shadows it was nearly dusk, and Mistress Prue must not be left to spend the night in captivity. And where should he find my lord at this hour? There came a worried look into the square face: John foresaw much waste of time spent in search of his master. Unconsciously he pressed his knees closer to the mare’s flanks. He was well ahead of the coach, but there was not a moment to be lost.

The road turned a corner; there was a horseman in sight, trotting along the strip of turf towards John. John pulled the mare in a little, anxious to attract no attention, and she slackened to a canter.

He would have passed this other rider without a glance, but of a sudden the big roan horse was pulled across his path, barring the way, and he heard the voice of Sir Anthony Fanshawe.

“Well, my man? Well? Whither away so fast?”

The mare had been brought perforce to a standstill. John looked into that handsome, lazy face, and spoke urgently. “Let me pass, sir. I must get to his lordship.”

The eyes were keen and searching. “Yes?” said Sir Anthony. “And wherefore?”

“It’s Miss Prue!” John said in an agony of impatience. “She’s taken by the Law for the killing of Mr Markham! Now will you let me pass, sir?”

The large hand on the bridle had tightened; the indolent air was gone. “Less than ever, my man. When was she taken? Come, let me have the whole story, and quickly!”

“She’s on the road now, sir, behind me! I must get to my lord.”

“We won’t trouble his lordship,” said Sir Anthony. “This is my affair.”

John looked doubtful. The large gentleman had a masterful way with him, but John was inclined to trust to no one but my lord. He waited.

Sir Anthony passed his riding whip absently down the neck of his horse. His eyes looked straight ahead, and they were frowning. After a moment he turned his head, and spoke. “Yes, I think we might compass it, John,” he said placidly. “Have you a mind to a fight?”

John smiled grimly. “Try me, sir! You’ll stop the coach?”

Sir Anthony nodded. “I hope so. How many men?”

“Two inside — naught to fear from them. There’s the coachman on the box, and a man with him.”

“Four.” Sir Anthony was unperturbed. “Possibly a pistol in the coach.”

“There’d be one in the holster, maybe. But Miss Prue’s inside and she has all her wits, sir.” John looked at the large gentleman in some awe. From the first he had felt respect for Sir Anthony, but he had not thought that he would undertake such a lawless venture as this quite so calmly. John was of the opinion that he might well be a good man in a fight, provided his size did not make him slow.