Out on the terrace, under a starry sky, the Unknown raised Miss Grayson’s hand to his lips, and held it there a long moment. She shivered a little, and her eyes widened.
‘Take off the mask!’ He spoke little above a whisper. ‘Oh – no!’ she said, and drew her hand away.
‘Ah, don’t deny me!’ An arm slid round her shoulders, and deft fingers sought the mask’s string over her ear.
‘You – you must not!’ Letty said faintly, and put up her hand to stop his against her hair.
But the string was untied, and the mask fell. Her hand was caught and held; she lay back against the Unknown’s shoulder, and felt his other hand gently forcing up her chin.
It must surely be a mad dream from which she would awaken soon. She looked up and saw only glittering eyes behind the blackness of the mask, and the hint of a smile in the moonlight. The arm tightened about her shoulders; the hand beneath her chin pressed more insistently, and the Unknown bent his head till his lips found hers.
The spell held for a moment; then she quivered, and made a fluttering movement to be free. The Unknown sank on one knee, and lifted the hem of her gown to kiss. ‘Forgive me!’ he said. ‘I may never have the chance again, Letitia.’
She stood poised for flight, but his words kept her still. Half timidly she stretched down her hand to him. ‘Oh, do not!’ she said. ‘I think we are both mad to-night.’
He came to his feet, and stood holding her hands between his. ‘But you will remember.’
‘I shall see you again?’ It was a forlorn petition.
‘Who can say? This I promise: if ever you are in danger, or in need of a champion you will see me, for I shall come to you then.’ He stood for a moment, silhouetted by the silver light against the deep blue sky; then once more he bent, and, turning her hand upwards, pressed a kiss into the palm. ‘Adieu, ma belle; you will not forget.’
He moved swiftly to the low parapet that walled the terrace in; looked over an instant, and placing his hand on the top, vaulted lightly over, down into the silent garden a few feet below.
She ran forward, and peered over the low wall. There was no one in sight, but she thought she heard an echo of his adieu borne back to her on a soft wind.
Nine
Mohocks Abroad
It seemed Robin was well satisfied with the night’s work; his sister visited him as he lay sipping his chocolate in bed next morning, and cocked a quizzical eyebrow. Robin smiled sweetly, but volunteered no confidences. He went to call upon Miss Grayson later in the day, but although Letty was delighted to see her dear Kate, she was a little abstracted, and had but a few words to say of the ball. Yes, it had been very amusing; she wished Kate had been there. Yes, she had danced with a number of gentlemen. It was a pity Mr Merriot had chosen to wear crimson.
Robin went off with a smile playing about the corners of his mouth. He was constrained to drive out visiting with my Lady Lowestoft, and went, smothering a yawn.
Prudence – she was beginning, she thought, to feel more of a man than a woman – strolled round to White’s, and found Mr Walpole there reading the Spectator. Mr Walpole was graciously pleased to exchange a few words; he had a small flow of tittle-tattle at his tongue’s tip, and announced his intention of retiring to Strawberry Hill. He protested that these late nights in town were harmful to his constitution. He raised supercilious brows at the sight of Mr Markham entering the room, and retired once more behind the Spectator.
Mr Markham bowed to Prudence, and went to write letters at a table against the wall. Prudence stood talking to one Mr Dendy, and was presently tapped on the shoulder.
‘Here’s your man, Devereux!’ said the voice of Sir Francis Jollyot.
Mr Devereux came up with his mincing gait. ‘’Pon my soul, so ’tis!’ He swept a leg, flourishing a scented handkerchief. ‘I am but this instant come from Arlington Street, where they told me you had walked out. I have to beg the honour of your company at a small gathering I have a mind to hold to-night. A little game of Chance, you understand.’ He held up a very white finger. ‘Now don’t, I implore you, don’t say me nay, Mr Merriot!’
Prudence smothered a sigh. ‘Why, sir, I confess I had purposed to spend this evening with my sister,’ she began.
‘Oh, come now, Merriot!’ expostulated Jollyot jovially, ‘you must not deny me my revenge!’
‘To be sure, I live in a most devilish outlandish spot,’ said Mr Devereux mournfully. ‘But you may take a chair: you know you may take a chair. ’Pon rep, sir, I do positively believe an evening spent at home is vastly more fatiguing than a quiet card-party. ’Pon my honour, sir!’
There was nothing for it but to show polite acceptance.
Mr Devereux was wreathed in smiles. ‘To tell you the truth, sir, I’ve had a devilish ticklish task to find anyone free to-night,’ he said naively. ‘Fanshawe’s engaged; so’s Barham. Molyneux goes out of town; Selwyn’s in bed with a trifling fever.’
Over against the wall Mr Markham stopped writing, and raised his head.
‘I’m overwhelmed by the honour done me,’ said Prudence ironically.
The irony went unperceived. ‘Not at all, my dear Merriot. Oh, not in the least! I shall see you then, at five? You can take a chair, you know, and be there in a trice.’
‘As you say, sir. But I think I have not the pleasure of knowing your address.’
Mr Devereux simpered elegantly. ‘Oh, a devilish inconvenient hole, sir! I’ve apartments in Charing Cross.’
‘Ah yes, I remember the street now,’ Prudence said. ‘At five o’clock, sir.’
Mr Devereux beamed upon her, and airily waved one languid hand. ‘Au revoir, then, my dear Merriot. You will take a chair, and suffer not the least inconvenience in the world. An evening at home – oh no, ecod!’ He drifted away on Jollyot’s arm, and the rest of his sentence only reached Prudence as a confused murmur.
Mr Markham went on with his writing.
Prudence walked slowly back to Arlington Street, and remarked to Robin, on his return, that she was in danger of wearing herself away to skin and bone.
Robin was bored. ‘Heigh-ho, would I were in your shoes! All this female society gives me mal-à-la-tête.’
‘Give you my word these card-parties and drinking bouts will be the death of me.’
Robin swung an impatient foot. ‘Does it occur to you, my dear, that events have not transpired precisely as they were planned?’ he inquired with a rueful look.
‘It has occurred to me many times. We meant to lie close.’
‘Oh!’ My Lady Lowestoft was arranging flowers in a big bowl. ‘But the bon papa planned it thus, my children. I was told to present you to the world.’
‘Egad, we owe it to the old gentleman, do we?’ said Robin. ‘I might have known. But why?’
‘Settlement, I think he judged it wisest. You escape remark this way. That is true, no?’
‘I suppose so. But the impropriety of Prue’s conduct – oh lud, ma’am!’
‘Consider only the impropriety of your own, my child!’ chuckled my lady.
‘I do, ma’am, often. But as regarding this charming réunion to-night, Mistress Prue, you’ll be pleased to take a chair, and eschew the Burgundy.’
‘Behold the little mentor!’ Prudence bowed to him. ‘Rest you content, my Kate.’
The evening was like a dozen other such evenings. There was dinner, and some ribald talk; cards, with the decanter passing from hand to hand, and the candles burning lower and lower in their sockets. Prudence made her excuses soon after midnight. Her host rolled a blear eye towards her, and protested thickly. Prudence was firm, however, and won her way. A sleepy lackey opened the front door for her, and she stepped out into the cool night air.
The street was deserted, but she knew a chair might be found at Charing Cross, a few sco
re yards away. She swung her cloak over her arm, and walked in that direction, glad of this breath of clean air after the stuffiness of the card-room.
It may have been that never quite dormant watchfulness in her that warned her of danger. No more than fifty yards up the street she felt it in the air, and checked her pace slightly. There was a shadow crouched in an embrasure in the wall a few steps further on – a shadow that had something of the form of a man. She slid a hand to her sword hilt, loosening the blade in the scabbard. She must walk on: no use turning back now. A little pale, but steady-eyed as ever, she went forward, her fingers closed about the sword hilt.
The shadow moved, and behold! there were two other shadows springing up before her. There was a flash of steel as she wrenched the sword free from the scabbard, and for a moment the shadowy figures held back. The moment’s hesitation was enough to allow her to get her back against the wall, and to take a sure grip on the cloak over her left arm. Then there was a hoarse murmur, and the three rushed in on her with cudgels upraised.
Her rapier swept a circle before her; the foremost man jumped back with a curse, but the fellow to the right sprang in to aim a vicious blow at Prudence’s head. The rapier shot out, and the point struck home. Came a gasp, and a check: the cloak, unerringly thrown, descended smotheringly over the wounded man’s head, and there was at once a tangle of cloth and hot oaths.
Prudence made lightning use of this momentary diminution in the number of her assailants, parried a blow aimed at her sword arm, sprang sideways a little, and lunged forward the length of her arm. There was a groan, and the sword came away red, while the cudgel fell clattering to earth.
She was breathless and panting; this could not last. Even now the third man had got himself free of the cloak, and was creeping on her with it held in his hand. She guessed he meant to catch at her blade through it, and her heart sank. She thrust shrewdly at the man before her, and staggered under a blow from a cudgel on her left. She was nearly spent, and she knew that a few moments more must end it.
Then, from a little way down the street came a shout, and the sound of a man running. ‘Hold them, lad, I’m with you!’ cried the newcomer, and Prudence recognised the voice of Mr Belfort.
He fell upon her assailants from the rear, and there was swift and bloody work done. With a howl the man Prudence had first wounded went running off down the street, one hand clipped to his shoulder. His flight was a signal for the other two to follow suit. In another minute the street was empty, save for Prudence and the Honourable Charles.
Mr Belfort leaned panting on his sword, and laughed hugely. ‘Gad, see ’em run!’ he said. ‘Hey, are you hurt, lad?’
Prudence was leaning against the wall, dizzy and shaken. The shoulder which had sustained the blow from the cudgel ached sickeningly. With an effort she stood upright. ‘Naught. A blow on the shoulder, no more.’ She swayed, but mastered the threatened faintness, and bent to pick up her cloak. Her hand shook slightly as she wiped her sword in its folds, but she managed to smile. ‘I have – to thank you – for your prompt assistance,’ she said, trying to get her breath. ‘I rather thought I was sped.’
‘Ay, three to one, blister them,’ nodded Mr Belfort. ‘But white-livered curs, ’pon my soul. Not an ounce of fight in ’em. Here, take my arm.’
Prudence leaned gratefully on it. ‘Just a momentary breathlessness,’ she said. ‘I am well enough now.’
‘Gad, it must have been a nasty blow!’ said Mr Belfort. ‘You are shaken to bits, man. Come home with me; my lodging is nearer than yours.’
‘No, no, I thank you!’ Prudence said earnestly. ‘The blow – struck an old wound. I hardly heed it now.’
‘Tare an’ ’ouns, but that’s bad!’ cried Mr Belfort. ‘Really, my dear fellow, you must come to my place and let me look to it.’
‘On my honour, sir, it’s less than naught. You may see for yourself I am quite recovered now. I shall not trespass on your hospitality at this hour of night.’
He protested that the night was young yet, but not to all his entreaties would Prudence yield. They walked on together towards Charing Cross, the Honourable Charles still adjuring Prudence at intervals to go home with him. ‘By gad, sir, these Mohocks become a positive scandal!’ he exclaimed. ‘A gentleman mayn’t walk abroad, damme, without being set upon these days!’
‘Mohocks?’ Prudence said. ‘You think they were Mohocks, then?’
‘Why, what else? The town’s teeming with ’em. I was set on myself t’other day. Stretched one fellow flat!’
Prudence thought of the words she had caught as she had come up to the embrasure. A rough voice had growled: ‘This is our man, boys.’ She said nothing of this, however, to Mr Belfort, but assented that without doubt the men had been Mohocks, intent on robbery.
‘A good thing ’twas I left Devereux’s rooms directly after you,’ said Mr Belfort. ‘But that Burgundy, y’know – demned poor stuff, my boy! There was no staying longer. How a man can get drunk on it beats me. Look at me now! Sober as a judge, Peter! Yet there’s poor Devereux almost under the table already.’
They parted company at Charing Cross, where Mr Belfort saw Prudence solicitously into a chair. She was borne off west to Arlington Street, and set down safely outside my lady’s house.
A light burned still in Robin’s room. Sure, the child would never go to bed until she was come home. She went softly in, and found Robin reading by the light of three candles.
Robin looked up. ‘My felicitations. You escaped betimes.’ His eyes narrowed, and he got up. ‘Oh? What’s toward, child?’ he said sharply, and came across to Prudence’s side.
She laughed. ‘What, do I look a corpse? I was near enough to it. But there are no bones broken, I believe.’
The beautifully curved lips straightened to a thin line; Prudence saw her brother’s eyes keen and anxious. ‘Be a little plain with me, child. You’ve sustained some hurt?’
‘No more than a bruise, I think, but oh, Robin, it hurt!’ Again she laughed, but there was a quiver in her voice. ‘Help me to come out of this coat; ’tis on my left shoulder.’
The shoulder was swiftly bared and an ugly bruise disclosed. There came a soft curse from Robin. ‘Who did it?’
‘Now, how should I know? Charles spoke of the Mohocks.’
Robin was searching on his dressing table for ointment, and came back to her with the pot in his hand. As he smeared the stuff lightly over the bruise, he said remorsefully: ‘’Tis I who was at fault. I should have seen to it you had my lady’s chaise out.’
‘Oh, no harm done, as it chances. But there were three of them and I was all but sped. Then Charles came running up, and there was an end of it.’ She slipped her shirt up again over her shoulder. ‘Thanks, child. I would you had seen my sword-play. I am sure it did you credit.’ She paused and looked at the guttering candles. Her tone changed, and became serious. ‘I have a notion they were creatures of Markham’s set on to beat me.’
‘Markham’s?’ Robin set down the ointment.
‘I know of no one else with a grudge against me. They were not common Mohocks.’ She told him what she had heard.
He strode to the window and back again, frowning. ‘I think this is where we make our bow,’ he said at last.
‘Devil a bit!’ was the cheerful response. ‘For the future I shall remember to take a chaise; that’s all there is to it.’
‘I had rather see you safe in France.’
‘I won’t go.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, do you turn stubborn?’
‘As a mule. We go down to Richmond with my lady to-morrow, and the Markham may think that I’ve gone into retirement on account of my mauling. He should be satisfied. I await the old gentleman, for I’ve a curiosity to see what his game is.’ She got up, and stretched her long limbs, wincing at the pain of her bruised shoulder.
‘Get you to bed, Robin.’ She went out, yawning.
They were gone on the morrow down to my lady’s house at Richmond. My lady was loud in her exclamations of horror at what had befallen Prudence, but Prudence could chuckle now that all was over, the while Robin sat in frowning silence. His petticoats began to irk him.
Mr Markham heard of the affair at White’s, from the lips of Mr Belfort. He professed himself all concern, but his friend Lord Barham, drawing him aside, said with a snigger: ‘So that’s a score settled, eh, my buck?’
‘It’s not,’ said Mr Markham curtly, and scowled.
‘Gad, I’d give something to know what you have against the young sprig!’ said his lordship. ‘It’s a conceited puppy, ecod! I’ve a mind to give it a trouncing myself.’
Mr Markham saw Sir Anthony Fanshawe, idly twirling his quizzing-glass, and rather testily requested his noble friend to guard his tongue. Sir Anthony continued blandly to survey the pair. Mr Markham strode off, rather red about the gills.
Sir Anthony turned to Mr Belfort, standing in a circle of his acquaintances. ‘Well, Charles, have you been fighting with the devil’s emissaries?’ he said genially. ‘What’s this I hear of Mohocks?’
‘Three of them, right in the middle of town, if you please!’ said Mr Belfort. ‘Thunder an’ turf, but it’s a crying disgrace! I’m saying to Proudie here that measures ought to be taken.’
Sir Anthony took out his snuff-box, and shook back the ruffles from his hand. ‘Oh, were you attacked?’ he inquired.
‘Not I. ’Twas young Merriot they set upon, as he came off from Devereux’s last night.’
The strong hand paused for a moment in the act of unfobbing the snuff-box. The sleepy eyes did not lift. ‘Indeed?’ said Sir Anthony, and awaited more.
‘Three to one, the ruffians, and lucky I chanced along, for the lad’s not over strong in the sword arm, I take it. Game enough, but he was soon blown.’
‘He was, was he?’ Sir Anthony took snuff in a leisurely fashion. ‘And – er – was he hurt?’
The Masqueraders Page 8
