The Masqueraders

by Georgette Heyer

  ‘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.

  Sir Anthony came down out of the saddle, and produced his handkerchief. ‘Have you a muffler, my man? Cover your face to the eyes, and pull your hat well over your nose.’

  John loosened the cloth at his neck. ‘There’s enough of it for two, sir. You’d best wear your greatcoat.’ His glance rested expressively on Sir Anthony’s fine cloth coat.

  Sir Anthony was unstrapping it from the saddle. He was handed a half of John’s generous neckcloth, and proceeded to arrange it to cover the lower half of his face. The greatcoat was buttoned up, and the sword-hilt pulled through the placket. ‘I’ve pistols,’ Sir Anthony said, ‘but I don’t want to make this a killing matter. Break yourself a thick stick: it should suffice.’

  ‘Give me one of your barkers, sir. I’ll do as I did when we held up Mr Markham – fire over the coachmen’s heads. It frightens them so they think they’re killed.’

  ‘My dear good man, do you want every cottager running from miles round to see what the noise means? Threaten a shot if you like, but on no account fire. It is understood?’

  ‘Ay, sir,’ said John, abashed. He went off to find a likely cudgel in the little spinney close at hand. Returning presently with a rough stick of ash, he ventured a piece of information. ‘Miss Prue has her sword-stick, sir. I saw to that. They don’t know it, but she does, and she knows how to use it, too.’

  Sir Anthony smiled a little. Ay, she would know, that cool, daring bride of his. He mounted again, and pushed forward to the spinney. ‘We’ll lie in wait here. It’s as lonely a stretch of road as there is. Now attend to me a moment, John. You can do as you’re told?’

  John, reining in under the trees beside the large gentleman, nodded assent. It was in his mind that there were few who would care to refuse to do Sir Anthony’s bidding.

  ‘I am going to take your mistress down to my sister in Hampshire. I shall want the mare for her, but I’ll throw her up before me on the roan until we’re out of sight. We stop as soon as possible to mount her, and I fear me, John, you will have to walk back to Richmond. You’ll tell Mr Robin what I’ve done, and get him out of the place as soon as may be. Let him know I have his sister safe, and be urgent with him to fly.’ He paused; John nodded. ‘As to my chaise: – You’ll send it on to my Lady Enderby’s. I’d best give you a note for my man.’ Out came tablets: Sir Anthony scrawled a few lines, and gave them to John. ‘You are to be understood to have carried a message to me. Naturally I don’t stay with my Lady Lowestoft when Mr Merriot is not there to play host. I’ve told my man that I may break my journey at the house of a friend, a little out of the way, so there will be naught to wonder at when I don’t join my chaise at the stage to-night. It’s clear?’

  ‘Ay, sir.’ John bestowed grudging praise. ‘You’ve a fine head on your shoulders, sir.’

  ‘I don’t aspire to my Lord Barham’s genius, but I believe I have my wits. As for your mistress – why, you may trust her to me. If she has woman’s clothes with her bring them to Dartrey in Hampshire as soon as may be. She’s done with this masquerade.’

  ‘H’m!’ said John. ‘Mistress Prue has a will of her own, sir, I’d make bold to tell you.’

  ‘I know it full well, my man. But I too have a will.’

  John did not doubt this: the large gentleman looked as though he would carry all before him. Well, it was a man worthy of Miss Prudence, and certain, she would come to no harm while she was in his charge. John said no more, but sat still under the trees, awaiting the coming of the coach.

  There was not long to wait. The clip-clop of the horses plodding stolidly along was heard, and the creak and rumble of the coach. Came a scrape of steel beside John: Sir Anthony’s sword was out, and Sir Anthony’s hand was tight on the bridle. John took a good grip on his cudgel, and awaited the word of command.

  ‘Take them in a charge,’ Sir Anthony said, and pulled the muffler up over his mouth.

  The coach rounded the bend in the road; Sir Anthony drove in his heels hard, and the big roan bounded forward, snorting indignantly. The mare, fidgeting all this time, needed no spur to follow suit; together the two horsemen came thundering down upon the staid equipage journeying so placidly along.

  John followed the large gentleman’s lead as best he might, but he had to admit he lacked that consummate horsemanship. Ahead of the chestnut mare a few paces Sir Anthony came down the centre of the road in a cloud of dust. It seemed as though he must crash full into the horses drawing the coach. So at least the coachman thought. This unfortunate individual had a sudden vision of two horsemen bearing down upon him at a mad, runaway pace, and instinctively dragged his own startled horses up, and tried to get to the side of the road. On and on came the first horseman, nearer, and perilously nearer. Then, even as the frightened men on the box thought collision inevitable, the roan, held so far on a straight course by an iron hand and an insistent knee, swerved off to the right, and was forced back almost upon his haunches, and held rigidly.

  The coach horses were plunging in fright; the coachman had all he could do to hold them. Seeing Sir Anthony swing to the right of the coach, John, all the time on his heels, wrenched the mare to the left. Sir Anthony’s sword flourished horribly near the men on the box; instinctively the one nearest to it shrank from it, throwing himself sideways against his companion, who lurched, still pulling at his reins, towards John.

  The vicious tug brought one of the horses up on its hind legs; confusion reigned between the traces; John brought the nervous mare in close, rose in his stirrups, and struck hard and true. The coachman crumpled where he sat, and came sliding to the floor of the box; his companion caught desperately at the loose rein as the horses plunged forward. The animal that had reared up became entangled in one of the traces, and the confusion was complete.

  Inside the coach Prudence’s two gaolers were taken entirely by surprise. Such an unheard of thing as an attack on a vehicle of the Law, in daylight, and only a few miles out of town did not occur to them as a reason for this sudden stop and commotion.

  The apologetic man opposite Prudence, who had abstained carefully from looking at her till now, brought his eyes round to her, and said with inspiration: ‘Ah! We’ve gone over a pig. That’ll be it.’

  Prudence said nothing at all, but her hand slid to that innocent-looking cane beside her, and closed round its head. She still leaned back in her corner, and there was nothing either in her pose or in her expression to tell her captors that every nerve and muscle in her body was taut and ready.

  ‘That’s no pig, Matthew!’ said the leader of the two. ‘We’ve run into another coach belike.’ He got up
as he spoke, and let down the window. Even as he thrust his head out a great roan horse seemed to spring up from nowhere, and a huge man astride it bent in the saddle and wrenched open the coach door. The result was inevitable. The officer of the Law lost his balance, caught at the door frame to save himself, and received a blow from Mr Merriot which sent him sprawling head foremost down on to the road.

  No sooner had she caught a glimpse of the large figure astride the roan than all Prudence’s air of languor left her. The sword was out of the stick in a flash, and the carved handle caught the chief officer shrewdly between the shoulders. She did not pause to see what befell this unfortunate; she had given him all that was needed to send him tumbling out of the coach. She had one foot on the floor of the coach, and one knee on the seat, and swooped round upon poor Matthew almost before his companion’s misfortunes had reached his intelligence. He gasped out ‘Lordy, Lordy!’ and clapped a hand to his pocket. And there it stayed, for as he turned his head to face his prisoner he found the point of a peculiarly murderous-looking sword about an inch from his nose. Mr Merriot’s arm was drawn back in readiness to thrust; Mr Merriot’s grey eyes were fixed on him with an expression in them which made Mr Matthew goggle with dismay.

  ‘Put your hands up! Quick, or I thrust home through your gullet,’ said Prudence tersely.

  The apologetic gentleman had never had such an experience in all his life. His arrests had never been interfered with in this unpleasant fashion, and he did not know what to do. There was a pistol in his pocket, but his hand had not reached it, and with that sword-point so close he had no intention of groping further for it.

  The point touched his throat. ‘Hands up!’ Prudence said, and made as if to shorten her arm for the thrust.

  Matthew’s hands were raised in shaking haste; Matthew’s eyes were riveted to Mr Merriot’s face, and Matthew’s lips formed the words: ‘Don’t now, sir! don’t. It’s – it’s a hanging matter, and there was no offence meant to your worship. It was all dooty, sir!’

  Sir Anthony’s great bulk blocked the door as he sprang lightly up into the coach. He was a fearsome figure, with the muffler concealing the lower half of his face, his hat drawn over his eyes, and the heavy cloak making him to look even larger than he really was. Matthew began to tremble violently, and rolled a beseeching eye from him to Prudence.

  ‘Right pocket. A pistol,’ Prudence said, still holding the sword to Matthew’s throat.

  There was a deep low laugh, which sounded like a death-knell to poor Matthew; the gigantic newcomer bent and slipped a hand into the pocket indicated. The pistol was soon stowed away in that voluminous greatcoat; to Matthew’s relief the sword point was slightly withdrawn.

  Sir Anthony’s voice was full of amusement. ‘Now, fellow, I’m afraid we must truss you up a little,’ he said. ‘Your muffler’s the very thing.’ The shapely hand divested Matthew of his muffler and neckcloth without ceremony. He offered no resistance. He was twisted round, and in a trice his wrists were bound tightly behind his back with his own neckcloth, and Mr Merriot was winding the muffler round his ankles in a most efficient manner. He was dumped down upon the back seat, and the next moment both the giant and Mr Merriot had jumped down from the coach.

  Prudence pushed the sword back into its stick and looked round wonderingly. The chief gaoler was lying bound at the side of the road; the coachman was groaning and swearing on the floor of the box, as he came to his senses; his mate was clinging desperately to the reins, with a noble attention to duty, and trying, unsuccessfully, to keep one eye on his horses and the other on John, who sat astride the mare, the roan’s rein in his bridle hand, and a pistol in the other. The coach-horses appeared to be hopelessly entangled in the traces, and the coachman, by the looks of it, would be unable to do anything but hold his head for some time to come.

  Sir Anthony hoisted his second captive into the coach and shut the door on him. Under the brim of his hat his eyes were dancing. The one unhurt and unbound man would have his hands full with the frightened horses for quite a considerable time.

  Sir Anthony moved to the roan’s side, and swung himself up, taking the bridle from John. He gathered it up short in his left hand, and reached down his right to Prudence. ‘Put your foot on mine,’ he said, ‘and up with you!’

  She flung her coat up first, sent her sword-stick spinning into the ditch, and stretched up her hand to clasp Sir Anthony’s. She came neatly up into the saddle before him, and got her leg over without fuss. A strong arm girdled her about, and the roan, stamping and sidling, was given his head. In a few minutes they were in the spinney, trotting briskly through, then out in the open fields, with the road lost to sight.

  ‘My dear, my dear, you’re surely mad!’ she said, but her fingers clasped his. ‘You should not – you should not, Tony – for me!’

  Came only a little laugh from behind her, and a tightening of the hold about her waist.

  ‘Lord, your unfortunate horse!’ said Prudence. ‘I believe I’m no featherweight.’

  ‘He’ll bear us both for as long as I need,’ Sir Anthony said. ‘We bear southwards, John, and leave you by Easterly Woods.’

  ‘Ay, sir,’ John answered, pulling the muffler down from his face.

  Prudence turned her head, and smiled at his stolid countenance. ‘Tell Robin, John. Oh, but how he would have delighted in this.’

  ‘I’m like to find him bent on some madness,’ grunted John.

  Easterly Woods came into sight; in a few minutes they were under the spreading beeches, and the horses were pulled up.

  Sir Anthony sprang down and lifted Prudence from the saddle. She had an odd delight in this masterful treatment of her, though she could have come down easily enough by herself. For a moment as he held her she looked down into his eyes, and saw them alight with laughter, and something else, more deep than that. She was set lightly on her feet, and for an instant caught his hands in hers. Then she turned and pulled her coat from the roan’s saddle.

  ‘You remember, John?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ John was holding the mare in readiness for Prudence.

  She came to him, and took the bridle. She had very little doubt of her destination now. ‘You’ll keep Robin safe, John?’

  ‘Ay, trust me, mistress.’

  The twinkle crept up. ‘What, will you leave me to the large gentleman?’

  ‘I will,’ said John, and exerted himself to say more. ‘And I’d not wish you in better hands, Miss Prue. You’ll do as he says, and come to no harm. Up with you!’

  She put her foot into his hand, and was flung up into the saddle. Beside her Sir Anthony sat on the roan again.

  ‘Good luck to you, sir,’ John said. ‘You don’t need to fret over Master Robin, mistress.’

  ‘Get him away to-night,’ Sir Anthony said, and reached down his hand. ‘It was a good rough and tumble, John.’

  John flushed unwontedly, and after a moment’s hesitation gripped the outstretched hand. ‘It was, sir. Goodbye, sir.’

  The roan was pressed forward to the mare’s side; together they moved forward through the wood.

  Twenty-eight

  Exit Miss Merriot

  Easterly Woods lay but two miles, across country, from my Lady Lowestoft’s house, and John covered the distance swiftly. He came to the house by the river as the lamps were lit, and found my lady waiting in the hall, and Sir Anthony’s chaise in the drive outside. He pulled off his hat and spoke before my lady could open her mouth. ‘I took Mr Merriot’s message to Sir Anthony, my lady,’ he said in a voice loud enough to carry to the listening lackeys by the door.

  My lady’s black eyes snapped. ‘Yes?’ she said. ‘And he said?’

  ‘I was to tell you, my lady, he would not think of troubling you by coming here since Mr Merriot was took off. I’ve a note for his man.’

  ‘Bah, it is
a mistake the most absurd!’ cried my lady. ‘Mr Merriot will return at once! Where does Sir Anthony go?’

  ‘He did say, my lady, he would turn off to visit a friend,’ John answered. He remembered the mare, and added apologetically: ‘The mare cast a shoe, my lady, and I made bold to leave her with the smith.’

  My lady nodded. Her eyes searched John’s face, but could read nothing therein. ‘Your mistress is in a sad way,’ she informed him, with considerable meaning.

  ‘Yes, my lady? Should I give the note to Sir Anthony’s man?’

  ‘Do so at once, of course. Then come to put up a change of clothes for Mr Merriot. You must take them to him on the instant. To snatch him away in that fashion with never a moment to pack a valise – affreux !’ She swept round, and went off up the wide stairs.

  John stayed but to give Sir Anthony’s note to his man, and followed my lady to Robin’s room. He entered without ceremony and found his young master in coat and breeches, pulling on his top-boots.

  ‘For the love of God, John, will you make him listen to reason?’ besought my lady.

  Robin’s fair face was set in uncompromising lines. He threw my lady an impatient glance. ‘Oh enough, ma’am, enough! Do you suppose I shall sit here while my sister’s hailed off under escort?’

  John shut the door behind him. ‘She’s safe, sir.’

  Robin’s hands left tugging at his boot. ‘What?’

  ‘Sir Anthony has her, sir. He’s ridden off with her into Hampshire, and he bid me tell you he would keep her safe.’

  My lady gasped. Robin turned in his chair to face John. ‘Good gad!’ he said. ‘The mountain! But how, man, how?’

  John became quite animated. ‘Sir, you couldn’t have done it better! No, nor my lord either. There’s a coach well on the way to London with two men trussed up inside it, the horses kicked over the traces, and the whole in an uproar.’ He laughed at the thought of it.

  My lady sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Sir Anthony did this?’ she said incredulously. ‘Never!’