‘To hell with the claret! What will you give for this document, my lord? What’s it worth, eh? A man’s life?’
My lord shook his head decidedly. ‘If you want that for it, take it elsewhere, my dear Markham.’
Markham stowed it safely away. ‘With your leave, sir, we’ll ha’ done with this foolery. I know you for Colney. I hold a paper that would send you to the gallows-tree. Come out into the open, sir, and be plain with me. I’ve no animosity towards you; I wish you no harm. But you’ll pay well for the letter.’
My lord rose, and made a fine gesture. ‘I perceive that you would be a friend indeed. I embrace you! We understand one another.’
‘As to that,’ said Markham, rather bewildered by this sudden effusion, ‘I am neither your friend nor your foe. But I hold you in the hollow of my hand.’
‘You do, my dear Markham, you do! And if I were given the choice of a hand to be held in, I should choose yours. My word for it, sir, my solemn oath!’
‘I might have taken this paper to Rensley,’ Markham went on, disregarding. ‘I thought of it; I weighed it well. I decided it was more vital to you to get the paper than Rensley. And I came as you see.’
‘A master-mind!’ said my lord. ‘I drink to it.’ He did so, with considerable flourish. ‘You must accept my homage, Mr Markham. I descry in you a shrewd brain. I venerate it; we were made for each other. Rensley could never have given you what I can give you. My dear friend, I have something which might have been designed expressly for you. But still you don’t drink.’
Mr Markham tossed off the wine, and set his glass down again. ‘You’re mighty pleased over it,’ he remarked.
‘I am, sir. You have divined me correctly. I could embrace you.’
‘It is not your embraces I want, my lord.’
My lord smiled wickedly. ‘But do I not know it! It is Letitia Grayson’s embraces you crave, my dear Markham.’
Mr Markham choked and swore. ‘Curse it, what do you know of Letty Grayson?’
‘Very little, sir, but I shall hope to know more when she is Mrs Markham. I drink to that happy day.’
A gloomy look came into Mr Markham’s face. ‘You may spare your pains: it’s far off.’
‘No, no, my friend, it is close at hand!’ said my lord radiantly.
Mr Markham looked suspicious. ‘What do you know of it? You are off at a tangent. I’ve come to sell you your own treasonable letter, not to talk of Letty Grayson.’
My lord sat down again. ‘My friend, I will show you a sure road to Miss Letty,’ he promised.
‘I wish there was such a road,’ Markham said. The truth was Miss Grayson’s dimpled loveliness haunted him almost as much as did Miss Grayson’s golden fortune.
‘There is,’ said my lord. ‘But it is known only to me. Let us be plain – you did wish me to be plain with you, did you not? Well, my dear Markham, at first I thought, no: I will not show my Munich friend the road. But then, sir, then I fell in love with your wit. You remember that I was impelled to compliment you. You seem to realize that I might not be quite all I pretend to be. I admire that perspicacity. Then you assured me that you had no animosity towards me. I was struck by this, sir: I was amazed. I saw in you a friend: I changed my mind. I will put into your hands a certain means of winning Letitia Grayson. You might be away to Gretna in a week, if you chose.’
‘H’m!’ said Mr Markham sceptically. ‘That’s to play the same game twice. With Fanshawe on my heels, as he was before. No, I thank you.’
‘I myself will keep Fanshawe away,’ announced my lord. ‘You will stop only to change horses; you arrive at Gretna –’
‘And Letty refuses to marry me. Very pretty.’
‘You have it quite wrong,’ said my lord. ‘She goes willingly. You are married; she becomes mistress of her mother’s fortune on that day. You are at once rich, and a happy bridegroom.’
Mr Markham’s eyes glistened. It was an attractive picture, and he could not resist dwelling on it for a space. ‘You seem to know a devilish lot about the Graysons,’ he remarked.
‘I do, my friend, as you shall see. I know she becomes mistress of a charming fortune on the day she marries, with or without Sir Humphrey’s consent. You must be master of it. I am determined on it.’
‘But how?’ demanded Mr Markham.
My lord arose, and went to where a locked desk stood. Mr Markham watched him open it, and saw him take a bundle of papers from a hidden drawer, and select one from the bundle. My lord came back with it in his hand, and spread it for his visitor to read. A smile of simple triumph illumined his countenance.
Mr Markham read with knit brows. It was a letter from Sir Humphrey to a man Markham did not know. It was vague in tenour, but there were references to the ‘Prince’, and a half promise to render assistance in the ‘venture to be attempted’, if the Prince would come without foreign aid into England. Mr Markham sniffed. ‘The old dog!’ he said. ‘That wouldn’t send him to Tyburn. He’s a friend of Bute’s. He never lifted a finger in the Rising, and they’d never touch him.’
‘But would the little Letty see that with the same quickness, my friend? Your brain leaps to it, true, but do you rate her intelligence as high as yours? I cannot allow it to be so.’
A dim scheme began to form itself in Mr Markham’s brain. ‘I’ll take it,’ he said suddenly.
‘You shall, dear sir. And I will take that letter you keep in your cunning pocket. It’s all so delightfully simple.’
‘That won’t quite do, I’m afraid,’ said Mr Markham. ‘I want more for it than that. I’ll see the colour of your money, my lord.’
My lord folded the paper. He was still smiling. ‘It would disappoint you, my friend. It is just the same colour as everyone else’s. And you never will see it.’
‘I shan’t, eh? You prefer me to take my letter to Rensley?’
‘Infinitely,’ said my lord. ‘You won’t see the colour of his money either. You must look ahead, my friend; you must look far, and consider the situation well. You have not thought on it deeply enough. I am not Lord Barham yet. You have your doubts of me; you are a very clever man, Mr Markham; I felicitate you. I am not going to tell you whether my claim is true or not. There is not, perhaps, the need. You seem to understand me so well, my dear sir. Now, you want a large sum for your letter. You realize, of course, that unless my claim is just, I can have nothing approaching it. All I have lies in the letter I hold, and I offer it to you. I can give no more.’
This speech of my lord’s had an uncomfortable effect on Mr Markham. My lord appeared to admit an imposture, which was not now at all what Mr Markham wanted to have proved. He looked warily, but decided to ignore the hint. ‘You can give me a written promise, my lord. You haven’t thought of that, have you?’
‘I have not. You always contrive to understand me. It is a delight to me, for so few people do! I have a great objection to parting with my money; I do positively abhor the very thought of it. Rather than contemplate it I would relinquish my claim, and vanish!’
Mr Markham’s expression changed. ‘What?’
‘Yes, my friend, yes. You understand me yet again. Refuse my offer; take your letter to Rensley – What happens?’
Mr Markham was looking at him with a fascinated eye. ‘Well, what does happen?’ he asked.
‘Why, only that I am as though I had never been. There will no longer be a rival claimant to the estates. I shall have gone, and Rensley will be Viscount Barham without need of letters, or of any assistance whatsoever. You see, you must think ahead, Mr Markham; you must visualize possibilities.’
It was quite evident that Mr Markham was visualizing this particular possibility. ‘You wouldn’t do it,’ he said.
‘But of course I should! I am not a fool, my dear Markham. I do not say that I have your brain, but still I am not a fool. I
f you walk out of this room with the paper still in that pocket of yours – you must show me how that is contrived – what can I do but fly the country? I am in the hollow of your hand, as you so aptly phrased it.’
Mr Markham began to entertain doubts of the truth of this. It had certainly seemed true enough at the outset, but things were taking an unfortunate turn. ‘I know very well you don’t mean to give up your claim. You’ll pay, safe enough!’
‘Still you follow me,’ admired my lord. ‘I have an ardent wish to pursue my claim, and certainly I will pay. But within reason, my dear Markham, within reason! I give you my paper, and – unless you are a man of very clumsy address, which I will not, nay, cannot believe – you are bound to prevail with Miss Letty. You become thus the master of the fortune you require, and I am rid of a menace. That talk of written promises – no, no, my dear sir, it’s not worthy of you! I, who am not even sure yet of the success of my claim, am to purchase your paper from you at the cost of fresh documentary evidence? You cannot, I beg you will not believe me to be so big a fool! Credit me with a preference for a free gamester’s life to a bound Viscount’s.’ He ended on a little laugh. His arresting eyes were glowing with a light of triumph.
There fell a silence. Bit by bit the force of my lord’s argument sank deep into Markham’s brain. He cursed himself for not having taken his paper to Rensley, and made sure of a snug ten thousand pounds. He began to see that he had snatched at a shadow. His glance fell on the paper that my lord held between his thin fingers. Involuntarily he started to form plans for its use. Certainly it had some value. Miss Letty would not be hard to terrify with threats; he could find the opportunity. She was worth more than ten thousand pounds, to be sure, if the scheme worked.
He pondered moodily, and realized that the letter and the chance it held was all that he could now hope to gain out of the affair. He began to arrive at the discovery that somehow or other it was he who seemed to be in the hollow of my lord’s hand. ‘You’re a damned trickster!’ he said.
‘You pain me,’ my lord said reproachfully.
Mr Markham relapsed into silence. If he did snare Letty – Gad, she was a dainty piece! – there might still be something to be got out of my lord. Even a verbal accusation could be unpleasant and might lead to disaster. He reflected that if he had Letty he would no longer be in need of large monetary assistance. Still, it would be useful to hold that weapon; to feel it to be within his power to squeeze my Lord Barham – if this smiling man were indeed Tremaine, though it now seemed doubtful. He perceived that his lordship had omitted to follow his own advice of looking far ahead, and smiled inwardly. He would take that letter in exchange for the one he held, and if he got Letty – well, he would be fairly satisfied, for after all, he wanted her, had always wanted her, even apart from her fortune. If he failed, if she would not be frightened by a threat to expose her father, then my lord would find he had not bought his dear friend’s tongue, though he might have bought his letter. ‘I’ll take it!’ he announced.
‘You are always so wise,’ said my lord. ‘It is a pleasure to have to do with you, sir.’
The exchange was effected. Mr Markham refused an offer of more claret brusquely, and strode off in the wake of my lord’s man.
My lord remained standing by the table, one hand resting lightly upon it, and the smile curling his lips. He heard the front door shut behind Mr Markham, and he listened to the heavy footsteps growing fainter and fainter in the distance. He raised his head then, and laughed softly to himself, in exquisite enjoyment. His man, returning to clear away the wine and the glasses, looked at him in some surprise.
‘Henry,’ said my lord. ‘You are fortunate. You serve a master of infinite resource.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Henry stolidly.
My lord looked at him, but it is doubtful whether he saw him. His gaze seemed to go beyond. ‘I am a great man,’ he said. ‘Oh, but I am a very great man!’
‘Yes, my lord,’ said Henry.
Twenty-one
Proceedings of Mr Markham
The element of uncertainty made the prize not quite all Mr Markham had hoped for, but since it was all he had been able to get, he determined to make the most of it. An evening spent in plan-making restored him to satisfaction and good humour. He thought he saw his way clear. No thought of the light in which his conduct might possibly be regarded crossed his mind. Probably he held to the maxim that all was fair in love and war. Certainly no reflection of Miss Grayson’s feelings in the matter troubled his head, or abated one jot of his new cheerfulness. If he thought about the affair from her side at all, he considered that she would very soon settle down to the married state, especially since she had, not so long ago, fancied herself in love with him. This time there would be no Merriots to interfere in what was no concern of theirs; he would not even take the risk of alighting for so much as a bite of supper, until well out of reach of London, but speed on towards Scotland with no more stops than the changes of horses would necessitate.
Had Mr Markham heard my Lord Barham’s laugh, he might not have felt quite so sanguine; and had he heard my lord giving sundry instructions to a respectable middle-aged servant he might have entertained serious doubts as to my lord’s good faith. My lord said quite a lot to this man on the subject of coaching stages, and at the close of that interview the unresponsive servant had orders to keep an eye not only on the movements of Miss Grayson, but also to discover what horses were ordered at the first stage on the North Road, for what date, and by what gentlemen. The servant received these instructions impassively, and seemed to foresee no difficulties ahead of him. The truth was that he had performed far harder tasks for my Lord Barham. It would not have appeared from his demeanour that he either understood or approved his orders, but he had nothing to say beyond a resigned: ‘This is more of your devilry I suppose, my lord.’
Far from resenting this familiar form of address, my lord was flattered, and admitted the impeachment, adding a rider to the effect that it was a positive masterpiece of subtlety, whereupon the servant grunted, and went off.
But Mr Markham had no knowledge of this transaction, and he had no suspicion of foul play. All the foul play in the business was to be performed by himself, though it is doubtful whether he phrased it quite so candidly.
He foresaw few obstacles: this time there should be no hitch. The only difficulty, and that a small one, was to gain a hearing with Miss Grayson, and a little careful espionage soon disclosed an opportunity. Miss Grayson was to be present at a ball in town for which Mr Markham might quite easily procure an invitation. With the help of a friend this was contrived, and midway through the evening, Mr Markham was presented to Miss Grayson by a kindly hostess.
There was no aunt to play dragon, for the elder Miss Grayson had joined the rest of the dowagers in the card-room. Even Miss Merriot was away at the other end of the long room, flirting outrageously with Sir Anthony Fanshawe. Letitia, unskilled in the dealing of snubs, blushed fiery red, hesitated, stammering over a refusal to dance, and found that the kindly hostess had gone away to supply other young ladies with eligible partners. Very cross, Letty blurted out: ‘I do not want to dance with you, sir!’
It seemed that Mr Markham had no desire to dance either. He wanted to talk to Letitia.
‘You know very well I don’t want to have anything to do with you,’ said Letty, still very red.
‘Don’t be so unforgiving,’ Mr Markham said. ‘I have something of very great importance to say to you. It can’t be said here. It is a secret and a dangerous matter.’
That sounded prodigious exciting to be sure, but Letty was still suspicious. ‘You will lure me out and abduct me,’ she said.
‘All I ask of you is that you should come into the little ante-room, across the passage, with me. How could I abduct you here? If you don’t come you will regret it all your life. You do not know how weighty a matter it is I
have to disclose.’
Letty reflected that Mr Markham would indeed find it hard to carry her off from a crowded ball against her will, and rose undecidedly to her feet. Anything in the nature of a mystery intrigued her at once. She intimated graciously that she would hear what Mr Markham had to say. Unobserved of the Merriots or of Sir Anthony Fanshawe, she went out with Mr Markham.
She had leisure to repent her action when Mr Markham made his startling disclosure. He allowed her but a glimpse of her father’s incriminating letter, and sat back in his chair watching her with a satisfied smile.
Her big eyes grew round in horrified wonder. ‘B-but my papa is not a Jacobite!’ she exclaimed.
‘Do you suppose anyone will believe that if I show this letter?’ Mr Markham inquired.
‘But you won’t, sir! You won’t, will you?’
Mr Markham leaned forward. ‘Not if you will marry me, Letty,’ he said softly.
She recoiled instinctively. ‘No, no!’
‘What, you had rather see your father’s head adorning London Bridge?’
Letty’s cheeks grew pale at that, and she shuddered. It was impossible not to feel sick horror at the thought. All who lived in London had seen those ghastly sights in the past months. The picture conjured up was terribly real to her. ‘You would not! You would not do such a cruel, wicked thing!’
‘I would do anything to win you, Letty!’ Mr Markham said, with fine lover-like ardour.
‘Papa will never let me marry you!’ cried Letty, cowering away.
‘But could you not fly with me again? We set out once, did we not, my little Letty? It can be done again – this time with a difference.’
‘No, no, I won’t!’
‘Not even to save your father?’ persuaded Mr Markham.
Miss Letty’s bosom rose and fell quickly. ‘If you forced me – if you did such a wicked thing, sir – I should hate you all the rest of my life! Do you want a wife who loathes you?’
Masqueraders Page 18
