‘That was not what was in my mind, sir,’ said Prudence dryly.
Sir Anthony smiled down at her. ‘My dear, I know, but I may take care of myself. Don’t worry over my safety. I am to wait: you’ll none of my help. Well, I said that it should be so, and I abide by my word. But things must be the same between us, if only to avert suspicion. You will visit me as frequently as ever. My Lord Barham can trust me.’
My lord waved his hand. ‘Implicitly, my dear Fanshawe! Are you not to be a second son to me? I can even applaud your forethought. Certainly my daughter visits you the same as ever.’
Observing a troubled crease between Prudence’s brows, Sir Anthony said softly: ‘And Prudence herself has naught to fear from me, neither exposure nor importunities. I remain her friend Tony.’
‘Admirable,’ nodded my lord. ‘You are all delicacy, sir.’
Prudence looked up into the square face, and smiled mistily. ‘Indeed, Tony, I think so,’ she said.
Twenty
Ingenuity of my Lord Barham
Robin had, perforce, to wish his sister joy of her conquest. He perceived her to be troubled, an unusual state of mind with her, and abandoned the teasing note. ‘To be honest, my dear, I was wrong in under-rating the mountain. What happened last night?’
She told him, choosing her words carefully, he thought. ‘He caught my wrist,’ she ended, ‘and bore it downwards. I knew then, of course. There was no more to say. I know when it is time to have done with lies.’ She pushed back the ruffles from her hand, and inspected the wrist closely.
‘What, do the marks still linger?’ Robin was inclined to be indignant.
‘No. I thought they did,’ she said inconsequently. ‘He asked my name; I told him. He guessed that I was the old gentleman’s child. The rest is nothing.’
Robin let that pass. He fell to playing with his rings. ‘I’m of the opinion he’ll have you, Prue.’
She smiled at that, but the smile died. ‘I don’t like it, Robin. It was very well to play this part when none knew the truth, but now – he knows, and – do you understand at all?’
‘Certainly, child. You might leave your part. He offers you a change.’
She turned her head. ‘Oh, and you thought that I would take it, did you not?’
‘No, my Prue. I thought you would not,’ Robin grinned. ‘For myself I don’t mind the large gentleman. For all his respectability there’s some humour in the man. I’ve a notion he doesn’t approve of your little brother. We shall see.’
The Honourable Charles, appearing then to claim Mr Merriot, there was an end to further discussion. Prudence went off with Mr Belfort. Later in the day she met Sir Anthony at White’s club. She knew a momentary embarrassment, but something in Fanshawe’s demeanour banished it. He walked home with her, and if she had dreaded some love-making, that fear was quickly dispelled. He was as he had said he would be, her very good friend. It was only when she had parted from him that she realised how possessive was the gentleman’s attitude. He seemed to consider that she belonged to him already. She pondered the question thoughtfully, and arrived at the conclusion that perhaps he had reason.
My Lord Barham, when he left Arlington Street, sauntered back to his lodgings in great good-humour. He had no objection to Sir Anthony having complete knowledge of the masquerade; so slight a deviation from the original plan was not enough to perturb his lordship. That quick brain was busy with the fitting of Sir Anthony into my lord’s machinations. He reflected with a pleased smile that John, the unbelieving, should see how even a big man with sleepy eyes should dance to his piping.
My lord came to his rooms in Half Moon Street to find that a visitor awaited him. My lord’s valet took his hat and cane, and murmured the name of Markham. My lord listened with a head gently inclined in interest, and went into his dining-room, smoothing a wrinkle from a satin sleeve.
Mr Markham arose at his entry, and bowed slightly. My lord smiled with the utmost affability, and put up his quizzing-glass. ‘My friend of Munich days!’ he said softly. ‘How I am honoured!’ His eyes dwelt lovingly on Mr Markham; there was no reading in them the smallest hint of what thoughts were passing swiftly across that subtle mind. ‘But sit down, my dear Mr Markham! Pray sit down!’
Mr Markham obeyed this injunction, and was silent while the valet set wine and glasses on the table. My lord’s white hand hovered over the Burgundy decanter; my lord looked inquiring.
‘I won’t drink, I thank you,’ said Mr Markham.
‘But positively I insist!’ My lord was pained. ‘You will permit me to give you some claret.’
Mr Markham watched the valet go out of the room. ‘You must guess I’ve come upon business,’ he said curtly.
‘No; but no, my dear Markham. I thought you had come to recall old days,’ said his lordship. ‘I never occupy myself with business. You cannot interest me in such a subject. Shall it be claret or Burgundy?’
‘Oh, claret, then!’ Mr Markham said impatiently.
‘I am quite of your opinion,’ nodded my lord. ‘Burgundy is the very King of Wines, but it was not meant to be taken in the morning.’ He handed his guest a brimming glass, and poured another for himself. ‘To your very good health, my dear sir!’
Mr Markham made no answer to his toast. He drank some of the wine, and pushed the glass from him. ‘I venture to think, my Lord Barham, that the business I am come upon will interest you vastly,’ he said.
My lord re-filled his glass. ‘I am sure if anyone could interest me in such a subject, it must be you, dear Markham,’ he said warmly.