Джорджетт Хейер - The Masqueraders

Prudence mentally consigned Sir Humphrey to perdition: it seemed he would be an added complication. The fewer people to know of Miss Letty’s escapade the better for that sprightly lady, but Prudence reflected that there were mysteries and secrets of her own enough to keep close without the addition of another’s. She evaded my lady’s questions. She claimed no acquaintance with Sir Humphrey, but believed Sir Anthony Fanshawe had solicited his kindness on her behalf. My lady was left to make what she could of this; Prudence went downstairs to the room looking out on to the street that was used for morning callers.

There arose at her entrance a tall thin gentleman with stooping shoulders and a limp. He wore the powdered wig of Fashion, but neglected to paint his face. The brown eyes, not unlike Miss Letty’s own, held some trouble. He had the look of a man prematurely aged by ill-health.

The gentleman bowed to Mr Merriot, leaning the while on his cane. Mr Merriot returned the bow and was swift to pull forward a chair for the visitor. “Sir Humphrey Grayson, I believe? Sir, you honour me. Will you not be seated?”

A certain grimness about Sir Humphrey’s mouth vanished as his glance took in Mr Merriot. The young gentleman had a great air of Fashion, but practised what Sir Humphrey had come to believe an old-fashioned courtesy towards the elder generation. He took the chair offered, with a passing reference to a gouty foot. There was a slight squaring of the bent shoulders: it was evident this elderly gentleman had little relish for his visit. “Mr Merriot, I believe you must know the reason of my being here,” he said bluntly. “Let me be plain with you. My daughter has put me in your debt.”

A stiff-backed old man; one must perforce pity the hurt to his pride. Prudence made swift answer. “Why, sir, I protest, there is no need for such talk! Do me the favour of letting a very trifling service be forgot!”

There were further signs of thaw. “Bear with me, Mr Merriot. You must do me the honour of accepting my very heartfelt thanks for your rescue of my daughter.”

“Why, sir, there is nothing to all this. My part was played but a bare half-hour before Sir Anthony came upon us. He would have settled the business as quickly had I let be. Pray let us not speak of it! I am happy to have been of service to Miss Grayson. Or thank my sister, sir, whose quicker wits devised the little plot.”

Sir Humphrey permitted himself to smile, and to incline his head. “I do indeed desire to render my thanks to Miss Merriot. My foolish daughter can talk of naught else but that same plot. At least allow me to compliment you on a tricksy piece of sword-play.”

Prudence gave her rich chuckle. “An old ruse, sir, but useful. I trust Miss Grayson finds herself none the worse for her adventure?”

“Rest assured, sir, my daughter is incorrigible.” But a reluctant smile went with the words.

“Why, sir, it’s a child, after all, with a child’s desire for a romantic venture.”

“It might have led to a most damaging scandal, Mr Merriot.”

Prudence discerned some anxiety in Sir Humphrey’s eye, and made haste to reassure. “All fear of that must be at an end with you sir; of that I am certain. None save Sir Anthony and ourselves can know aught of the matter.”

There was again a bow. “My daughter should count herself fortunate in meeting so discreet a friend in her trouble,” said Sir Humphrey.

This punctilious grandeur became oppressive. Prudence conceived the happy thought of sending a message up to Robin. Sir Humphrey professed himself all desire to lay his compliments before Miss Merriot. Black Pompey was sent running to Robin’s chamber, and in a little while Robin came, all powdered and patched and scented; a fair vision in pale blue taffeta. No girl, Prudence thought, could appear lovelier.

There was a curtsey, a few gliding steps towards Sir Humphrey, and a delicate hand held out. Sir Humphrey bowed low over it, and a faint crease crept between Prudence’s brows. It seemed to her unseemly that the old courtier should kiss her graceless brother’s hand. She met Robin’s dancing eyes of mischief with a look of some reproof. Robin sank into a chair with a billow of stiff silks. “Sir Humphrey, this is too kind in you, I protest! Miss Letty spoke of your love of seclusion. There was no need for this visit. No, no, sir, you shall not thank me for the other night’s work!” A fan was spread, but a laughing pair of eyes showed above it. “Spare my blushes, sir! Conceive me fainting in the arms of the Markham! Oh lud!”

Prudence might retire into the background; Robin had the situation well in hand. She sat down on the window seat, and was at leisure to admire her brother’s adroitness. For some reason he seemed bent upon the captivation of Sir Humphrey. Prudence could guess the reason. Faith, more complications brewing. But it was unseemly again that Robin should ogle so elderly a gentleman. Lord, what a clever tongue the child had!

Indeed, talk ran merrily between the two in the middle of the room. Robin seemed to have the knack of inducing a stiff-necked sire to unbend. Within ten minutes he might count Sir Humphrey very much his friend, and dare even to touch lightly on the subject of Miss Letitia’s indiscretion. There came no rebuff: only a word or two sufficient to show the worried state of Sir Humphrey’s mind.

Robin put by the fan of painted chicken-skin. With a pretty air of coaxing and of deference he cooed softly: “An impertinence in me to speak of the matter at all, dear Sir Humphrey. Forgive me!” He was assured of Sir Humphrey’s forgiveness, nay, more, of his attention. “Well, well!” Madam Kate smiled confidentially upon him. “I own to some few years more than the child can boast, I believe. Perhaps I may whisper a word or two.”

Sir Humphrey begged the favour of Miss Merriot’s advice. Prudence, by the window, was forgot. There was no doing anything; she could but sit by while Robin became as outrageous as the fit prompted him. Lud, but they were plunging deeper and deeper into the morass!

Robin was dropping dulcet words of advice into a father’s ear. Let him not coop Miss Letty up so close; sure, it was a high-spirited child only in need of a little amusement. Too young?  — Oh, fie, never think it! Take her out into the world; let her make her curtsey to Society. By no means take her back to Gloucestershire; that were fatal. So it went on, somewhat to Prudence’s amusement. Robin had a mind to pursue the acquaintance, then? Snared by a pair of pansy-brown eyes, ecod!

The amusement fled before the next words. Sir Humphrey made bold to solicit Miss Merriot’s kindness for his daughter. His sister was, perhaps, not an enlivening companion for so frivolous a child as his Letitia. He should think himself more than ever in her debt if Miss Merriot would take Letty a little under her wing.

“Now how to escape that?” thought Prudence.

But it seemed that Robin had no desire to escape the imposition. There were professions of the utmost willingness; he pledged himself to wait upon Miss Grayson the very next day.

“The rogue!” thought Prudence, and said it aloud as soon as Sir Humphrey had taken his ceremonious leave of them.

Robin laughed, and dropped a mock curtsey. Surely the devil was in the boy today.

“Lord, child, let us be serious. What are you pledged to now?”

“To be a friend to the little dark beauty. I’m all alacrity.”

“It’s evident.” His sister spoke dryly. “I believe it won’t serve, Robin.”

Robin raised one mobile eyebrow. “What’s this? You’ve nervous qualms, my Peter? Faith, I thought there were no nerves in you. I stand in no danger of discovery that I can see.”

“None, child. You’re incomparable,” Prudence said frankly. “You’ve more female graces than ever I could lay claim to, even in my rightful petticoats. I believe my sense of propriety is offended.”

Came a flash into the blue eyes, and a head thrown up a little. “Oh, do you doubt me? Merci du compliment!”

Prudence was unmoved. “Ay, that’s the old gentleman in you. It’s a fine gesture.”

The chin came down; the mouth tightened a moment, then relaxed into a laugh. “You’d enrage a saint, Prue. Well, let us have it.”

Memories of the night’s reflections chased one another across Prudence’s mind. “It’s trickery. You become an impostor.”

“I became one when I entered first into these damned uncomfortable clothes, child. Are you answered?”

Impossible to put those hazy ideas into verbal form. “I suppose so,” said Prudence slowly. “Do you know, I begin to dislike myself?”

Robin looked at her, then put an arm about her waist. “Well, say the word. I’ll take you to France, and we’ll ha’ done with all this.”

“You’re a dear, Robin. No, I chose this road, and we’ll stay.”

“I’ve a notion it may lead to some end. Play it out, my dear. Trickery it is, but we harm none.” Prudence looked sceptical. “Oh, you are thinking of the Grayson child! Never doubt me.”

“I don’t doubt you. But she thinks you are a woman, and there are things she may say you should not be hearing.”

“Do you think I cannot stop her? ’Tis I shall lead the talk. Be at rest, Prue.”

“And if she discovers the truth?”

“I don’t fear that.”

There seemed no more to be said. “We brave it to the end, then. Well, I’m content.”

My Lady Lowestoft made no idle boast when she declared that all the world might be seen at her rout that evening. The world, as she knew it, was the Polite Society of the day; and Polite Society chose to venerate her ladyship. She had the felicity of seeing her salons filled to overflowing. Downstairs there were refreshments laid out in the dining-room; angel cakes, and ratafie; strange French concoctions and some of the late Sir Roger’s best Burgundy; sweetmeats of every known variety and French champagne, sparkling in the glasses, to go with them. There was a card room also, spacious enough to hold some few tables with comfort. Those who wished might escape from the chatter and the scraping of the fiddles in the saloons above, to seek a little quiet diversion here with a dice-box. My lady was fond of all games of chance herself, but her duties as hostess kept her tonight in the main rooms, where people came and went, gathered into knots for conversation, separated again to greet a new arrival, or lent an indulgent ear to the fiddlers scraping away at the back of the room.

Robin, in his character of Miss Merriot, was kept near my lady. He had chosen to array himself in shades of rose pink. A necklace lay on the white skin of his chest, and a bracelet enclasped one rather sinewy arm. If there could be found aught whereat to cavil in his appearance it must be those arms. They lacked the dimpled roundness necessary for beauty. Elsewhere no fault could be detected. The fair hair was piled up on top of his head, lavishly powdered, and decorated with a jewelled ornament; the face below was pink and white as any girl’s, with blue eyes dreamy under delicately pencilled brows, and a nose many a reigning toast mighty envy. A black riband round the throat served to emphasise the creamy whiteness of the skin; the waist, thanks to John’s lacing, was trim enough, and the foot peeping from beneath the hem of a flowered petticoat sufficiently small to escape notice. Maybe it was fashioned on the large size for so dainty a lady, but a high heel disguised a possible fault.

There could be no fault found either in his deportment. Standing a little back from the crowd, Prudence watched him with a critical eye. He had several times before donned this woman’s garb, but never for so long a stretch. She had coached him to the best of her ability, but well as she knew him could still fear some slip. She had to admit knowledge of him was deficient yet. Sure, he might have been born to it. His curtseys were masterpieces of grace; the air with which he held out a hand to young gallants so consummate a piece of artistry that Prudence was shaken with silent laughter. He seemed to know by instinct how to flirt his fan, and how to spread his wide skirts for the curtsey. Apparently he might be left safely to his own devices. His sister withdrew her gaze from him, reflecting that she would give much to hear what he was saying to the beautiful Miss Gunning standing beside him. If the spirit of mischief did not carry him away there was naught to be feared in his bearing. Prudence turned away, and came upon my Lady Lowestoft, in gay talk with Mr Walpole, who, since he lived so close, was naturally a late comer.