Masqueraders (36 page)

‘I don’t believe it!’ Rensley said, and went quickly up the ladder. He found the book, and pulled it out. A moment he fumbled with the clasps. The leaves parted naturally at the Fifth Ode. Mr Rensley stood staring down at the book.

Every head was turned his way. ‘Is it there?’ demanded Mr Clapperly.

‘You were told of this!’ Rensley burst out, and flung the book violently to the ground. A drawing fluttered across the room, and was pounced on by Mr Fontenoy.

Instantly everyone save my lord went to peep over Mr Fontenoy’s shoulder. ‘It is certainly Robert Tremaine,’ Mr Fontenoy said. He looked from it to my lord. ‘And there is—a likeness.’

‘Why, damme, sir, the eyes and nose are exact!’ cried Clevedale.

Mrs Staines ventured to speak. ‘’Deed, sir, but you have a look of Master Robert.’

‘My good Maggie, you ought to know that I am Master Robert,’ said his lordship. ‘I perfectly remember you.’

She stared. ‘You do know my name, sir. But your lordship will pardon me—it is so long ago, and you’ve changed, my lord.’

‘So it would appear,’ said his lordship. ‘I said I should satisfy you, gentlemen.’

‘Pardon, sir,’ Mr Brent interposed. ‘It seems a proof certainly. But we must not forget that you might have been told of this.’

‘How?’ inquired my lord. ‘No one but myself knew of it.’

‘I am assuming, sir, for the moment, that you are not Tremaine.’

‘An impertinence,’ said my lord. ‘But I suppose I must forgive it. Pray continue. The legal mind is very wonderful.’

‘And if—I only say if, sir—you are not Tremaine, you might have heard this from the man himself.’

My lord looked at him in blank astonishment. It was Clevedale who spoke. ‘Lord, what in the plague’s name would Tremaine tell such a secret for?’

‘It is a possibility, my lord: I do not say a probability.’

‘This is all quite ridiculous,’ said my Lord Barham. ‘Moreover I am becoming weary of it. I bring you papers, and you say I stole them. I show you where I hid my own portrait, years ago, and you say I was told of it. I show you a ring, and you say I stole that. What a pity it is I have no birthmarks! Or would you say that I had stolen them as well? It is a very good thing that I brought my friend Mr Fontenoy. And here is Mr Clapperly as well may remember a little about me.’

‘Vividly, sir.’ Mr Clapperly inclined his head.

‘Then I am sure you will remember the circumstances of my departure, all those years ago?’

‘I do, sir.’

‘Then I beg you will correct me if I should err in my tale. It is quite short.’ He offered snuff to Clevedale. ‘My own mixture, Clevedale. You will like it. Well, gentlemen, you know that I was never at one with my father: he could not appreciate the genius that was in me. I disliked my brother only less than he disliked me. He hated me, I believe, but he would not have chosen to set you in my shoes, cousin, in spite of it. He was, after all, a Tremaine. I was no doubt a wild youth. I can remember incidents here and there—but no matter. I overspent my allowance with amazing regularity. I shall be careful to put no limits to my son’s income. Then I committed the indiscretion of falling in love with a lady called Maria Banstead. She was the daughter of a farmer.’

‘Near Barham,’ nodded Mr Clapperly.

My lord looked ironically across at him. ‘Your memory fails you, sir. Not in the least near Barham. She lived at Culverly, on the estate of my aunt Johanna’s husband. I was, I admit, young, and possibly hot-headed. But I have never regretted my marriage. An incomparable creature! I led her a sad dance I fear me. I eloped with her secretly, and went to France, just as soon as I heard that I had been thrown off by my indignant family. That is my story, gentlemen. Is it true?’

It was admitted to be true. My lord indicated the clerk with a wave of his hand. ‘Tell your clerk, Brent, to call my man in. He is in the hall.’

‘Certainly, my lord. Go, Fawley.’ It was the first time he had addressed my lord by his title and Rensley flushed as he heard him.

The clerk went out, and a moment later John stood in the doorway.

Everyone looked towards him, since it seemed he had been called for some special purpose. But my lord’s eyes were on Mrs Staines’ face. ‘He does not change much with the passing of time, I believe,’ he said.

Mrs Staines was staring. The colour left her face, and she put up a hand to her ample bosom. ‘Johnny!’ she faltered. ‘Oh, dearie, dearie, am I dreaming?’

Burton was incredulous. ‘It’s never our John!’ he gasped. ‘Bless my soul, but it is really yourself, John?’

‘Ay, it’s me,’ John said grimly and sustained the shock of having his sister cast herself on his chest. ‘Well, Maggie, how do you, eh? Remember where you are, lass!’

Mrs Staines was quite oblivious of her surroundings. ‘Oh, Johnny, to think of you come back to us after all these years! Snakes, and I scarcely knew you, dearie, you’ve grown so grey! Sam, do you know your brother?’

Mr Samuel Burton gripped Mr John Burton’s hand. ‘Well, John!’ was all he could find to say.

‘Did you ever learn to master the bay mare?’ John asked grinning.

It appeared to be an old jest. Samuel shook with laughter. ‘Lordy, John, to think you’d remember that! Ay, I was naught but a stripling then, and the mare the tricksiest piece—well, to think you’d remember!’

Surprise had held the others spellbound, but Mr Brent recovered himself. ‘Mrs Staines, do you recognise this man?’

‘Oh, the legal mind!’ murmured my lord.

‘Why, of course I do, sir! It’s our John, who went off years ago soon after Master Robert.’ She turned again to her brother. ‘And you’ve been with him all the time! Eh, and we never thought of it! But you was always saying you’d be off to Americky to try your fortune, Johnny, and we made sure you’d gone there.’

Mr Brent put a question no one thought needful. ‘Is this gentleman Viscount Barham?’ he said.

John looked scornful. ‘Ay, of course he is,’ he answered. ‘Is there ever another would have that nose but a Tremaine?’

‘You have been with him all these years?’

‘I have, sir, and a pretty dance he’s led me.’ John smiled grimly at my lord. ‘Many’s the time I’ve told his lordship I’d be off home again. But we Burtons have always served Tremaine.’

There was a long silence. Mr Brent was slowly putting his papers together; Mr Clapperly smiled knowingly at his son; Rensley stood staring at the floor.

‘Cousin,’ said my lord. ‘I trust you are at last satisfied.’

‘There is no more to be said, my lord,’ said old Mr Clapperly.

My lord picked up his hat. ‘In that case I will take my leave of you. I should like my house at the end of a week, if you please. Brent, you will make the arrangements necessary, and put my terms before Mr Rensley. I hope he will not find me ungenerous. Clevedale, your arm!’

CHAPTER XXXI

The Honourable Robin Tremaine

People flocked to offer their congratulations to my Lord Barham, and to tell him how delighted they were that his claim—which they had always felt to be true—had been successfully proved. He received these visitors with his usual smile, and deprecated the suggestion that he had made a most handsome settlement on his cousin Rensley. How this news got about no one knew, for certainly Rensley said nothing about it. Rensley went abroad almost immediately, for his health. He cherished no kind feelings whatsoever towards my lord: he even talked wildly of bringing an action against him. Mr Clapperly dissuaded him from so foolish a proceeding, and ventured to say that my lord had behaved towards the usurper with positive magnificence.

So my Lady Lowestoft thought, and wondered at it. My lord waved a lofty hand. ‘I am Tremaine of Barham,’ he said. ‘A lesser man might have shown meanness.’

‘You are superb, Robert,’ she told him.

‘Certainly,’ he said.

In due course my lord took possession of his house in Grosvenor Square, and travelled down to Barham for a day or two, to warn the servants there of his coming later with guests. To his friends he announced that he did but await the advent of his children to proceed in state to the Court.

If he had been sought out before he was now inundated with invitations from all sides. He spent not a single evening alone: either he went out, or he gave select card parties in his own house. A great many mammas courted him blatantly in expectation of the arrival of his son; Mr Devereux told his friend Belfort that since that aunt of his
showed every promise of being immortal he had a good mind to try his luck with the Honourable Prudence Tremaine. Charles Belfort opined that she would have a squint, or a face scarred by small-pox. He said that with the exception of Letty Grayson all heiresses were ill-favoured. Mr Belfort had been very much put out by the defection of Peter Merriot, and could still talk of little else. He had no interest, he said, in my Lord Barham’s children.

It was not many days before a post-chaise, piled high with baggage, came to the house in Grosvenor Square, and drew up before the door. A slight young gentleman sprang out, followed by a French valet. One of my lord’s servants opened the door to this young gentleman, and inquired politely who he might be. The young gentleman said briskly: ‘My name’s Tremaine. I must suppose I am expected.’

Indeed, it seemed so, for there was at once a bustle made. The numerous valises and boxes were brought into the house; a footman came bowing to inform Mr Tremaine that his lordship was unfortunately out, but should be sent for in a trice, to White’s.

Mr Tremaine refused this offer. Having drunk a glass of excellent Burgundy, brought by yet another footman, he announced his intention of setting forth himself in search of his father. Faith, one must face everyone sooner or later; then a’ God’s name let it be at once!

One of the lackeys at White’s escorted Mr Tremaine to the card room, and stood for a moment by the door looking round for my lord. Robin paused beside him, holding his hat under his arm, and his handkerchief and snuff-box in the other hand. Several people looked up, wondering who the handsome young stranger might be. Mr Belfort, dicing with Devereux and Orton, said:—‘Gad, that’s a devilish modish wig! Who is it?’

Sir Raymond looked round and met Robin’s eyes. ‘I don’t think I know him,’ he said hesitatingly. ‘Yet—there’s something faintly familiar in his face.’

Mr Devereux put up his glass. ‘’Pon my soul, Bel, that’s a monstrous pretty fashion of lacing he has to his coat! A prodigiously modish young buck, I protest!’

At the next table Mr Troubridge said:—‘Who’s the stranger? I seem to have seen that face before. A handsome boy, and carries himself well. A little arrogant, perhaps.’

Certain, Robin carried himself well, and had his trim figure well set off by a marvellously cut coat of dark blue cloth. He appeared to have been travelling, for he wore top boots, highly polished, on his small feet, and a sword at his side. His coat was heavily laced with gold, tight across the shoulders and at the waist, and spreading them into wide skirts, silk-lined, the cuffs very large and turned back almost to the elbow to show a profusion of Mechlin ruffles. His waistcoat, a dozen men of fashion noted at once, was of the very latest style; the lace at his throat was arranged to fall in cascades down his chest, and there was a sapphire pin glinting in it. His wig, at which Mr Belfort, an expert in these matters, had exclaimed, must have come direct from Paris; the hat under his arm was richly edged with finest point. His blue eyes were cool; his mouth, though delicately curved, was firm enough; when he turned that arrogant profile towards Mr Troubridge that gentleman said with greater emphasis than before:—‘Gad, yes! A remarkably handsome boy. A pity he is not taller.’

The lackey had perceived my lord over by the window, and pointed him out now to Robin. Robin went forward between the tables, and stood at his father’s elbow. ‘Sir.’

My lord was playing picquet with my Lord March. He looked round and exclaimed. ‘My Robin!’ He threw down his cards and sprang up. ‘My son!’ he said joyously.

Robin stood bowing deeply before his father. ‘I’ve but this instant arrived, sir.’ His lips brushed the back of my lord’s hand punctiliously. ‘I found you from home, and came to seek you here. You permit?’

My lord clasped his arm. ‘And I am from home when my Robin arrives! My Lord March, you will allow me to present to you my son?’

‘So this is your son, is it, Barham?’ My lord nodded in a friendly fashion to the grave young gentleman bowing so gracefully before him. His lordship was not, after all, so very far removed from Robin’s age, but he had the manner of a man of forty. ‘A very pretty youth, Barham. And are you just come from France, Tremaine?’

‘Just, sir.’

‘I dare swear you have all the latest fashions at your finger-tips then. Is it true they are wearing ear-rings in Paris?’

‘I have occasionally seen them, sir. At balls a single ear-ring is considered in some circles
de rigueur
.
’

By this time nearly everyone in the card room had realised that the modish stranger must be my lord’s long looked-for son. Sir Raymond Orton said that it accounted for the familiarity of his face, and went to be introduced.

My lord presented his son with justifiable pride, and had the satisfaction of seeing him borne off to dice at Orton’s table. Mr Belfort and Mr Devereux received him with kindness, and made him welcome. He protested that he had no right to be in the club at all, but was told that that was nonsense. In a day or two he would of course be made a member. He was found to be well-versed in the ways of the world, and could tell an entertaining tale. Mr Belfort enrolled him promptly in the numerous ranks of his intimates.