Unmasked

33

Unmasked

    Sir Noël had found his way without difficulty to the back of the ballroom’s small stage. There a scene of chaos had met his eyes, but he had not expected anything else and, ignoring it, had grabbed the arm of a small, harried-looking fellow half out of a Pierrot costume and demanded fiercely: “Where is Miss Chalfont?”

    From that point on, things had not gone as he had expected.

    Billy Quipp retorted, equally fiercely: “’Oo’s asking?”

    “If it is any business of yours, my good man,” replied the baronet, chiselled nostrils flaring, “I am her fiancé.”

    “Ho, are yer? Well, in the first place, we ain’t never heard of no Miss Whatsit, here. And in the second place, fiancy or not, you can sling yer ’ook, because we’re BUSY!” snarled Billy Quipp.

    Sir Noël was not to know it, but this speech was not as guileless, despite the tendency of the aitches to come and go, as it sounded. The artless Cherry had told Mr Perseus Brentwood, Mr Emmanuel Everett and Grandpa Brentwood a lot more of herself and her concerns, on the journey down, than she had realised she was doing. True, no-one had revealed her real surname to the little comic, but then, no-one had needed to: Billy Quipp was far from stupid and he had immediately realised this fancy town buck must be the man who was pursuing their little blue shepherdess. –He had received a somewhat slanted version of the true state of affairs between the almost-affianced couple, rather understandably.

    “You most certainly know her, she—” Sir Noël broke off, recollecting belatedly that just possibly Lady Benedict might have shown some discretion, unlikely though it seemed, and perhaps the ladies were not using their true names. “She was the shepherdess in the blue,” he said tightly. “Take me to her at once.”

    “No fancy town buck gets to see none of our young actresses in their dressing-room, Mr Brentwood’s is not that sort of company,” returned Billy Quipp with satisfaction. “Clear orf afore I have yer thrown out on yer ear, you cheeky devil!”

    Sir Noël attempted to brush past him. Billy Quipp was far stronger than he looked, being accustomed to throw his body into all sorts of impossible-seeming contorted positions in rôles such as Pierrot, A Clown, Puck, and so forth, and he immediately leapt upon him, twisting one arm up behind his back before the younger man knew what he was at.

    “Let me GO!” he shouted, very red, attempting to throw him off. “How dare you!”

    Billy Quipp knew that he had not the brute strength to pinion a tall, strong, fit young man for long, and he looked round for help. It was swiftly available: Mr Everett appeared. He was in spangled tights and shirtsleeves, but without the mask, and carrying a potted palm. He was followed by Alfred, in breeches and breastplate, lugging a gold-painted chair which would shortly become Mr Brentwood’s throne. (In the persona of the Neighbouring King, True Father to Mrs Angela, naturally.)

    “Oy! Over ’ere!” the comic gasped.

    Mr Everett set the palm down without haste. “Ah,” he said thoughtfully, looking Sir Noël up and down. “What have you caught here, Billy? A wolf on the prowl for our lambs?”

    “That’s right, Mr Everett, he’s after our Miss Chypsley!” he gasped.

    “Tell this insolent fellow to release me at once, or it will be the worse for all your company,” ordered Sir Noël tightly.

    “Commanding manner, has he not, Billy Quipp? But heated with it, it, very heated. One could not use that combination in too many rôles. Unsympathetic, is it not?”

    “Yes! Give us a hand, Mr E.!” gasped Billy Quipp, as his prisoner began to struggle violently.

    “You—Alfred!” said Mr Everett loudly.

    Jumping, Alfred set down the chair. “Yessir?”

    “This buck has come prowling after Miss Chypsley: hold him, will you— Ah, would  you!” snarled Mr Everett, leaping upon Sir Noël just as he tore himself out of the little comic’s grasp.

    Swiftly Alfred grabbed the baronet from behind, pinioning both his arms. Mr Everett stepped back, smoothing his extremely crumpled shirt with a dandified air.

    “This is intolerable! Miss Chalfont is my fiancée: I demand you let me see her!” cried Sir Noël fiercely, attempting to struggle.

    Alfred’s grip tightened; the baronet gave a gasp of pain. –It was never to be clear whether Alfred Weddle had in fact had recognised Sir Noël Amory. Those who later had leisure to ponder the matter would reflect that it was possible he had not; for while he was serving at the house in Lymmond Square, the Baldaya household had not known Sir Noël. On the other hand, the Square’s servants generally knew all of the business of each household...

    “There are several ways we could settle this,” said Mr Everett in a dreamy tone. “You could just clear off with your tail between your legs, my fine bucko.”

    “Yes!” agreed Billy Quipp on a vicious note. He lifted his foot suggestively but Mr Everett said hurriedly: “Don’t kick him, Billy. Or least, not just yet. Let’s see if he’ll go quietly.”

    “I shall not leave until I see Miss Chalfont,” said Sir Noël grimly. “Release me at once. This whole matter will be reported to Sir Jeremy Foote.”

    “We players, sir,” said Mr Everett with a courtesy so immense that it was entirely insulting, “are indifferent to the whims and fancies of such persons as Sir Jeremy Foote: our presence here is in the nature of a favour to the gentleman. Other commitments must call us immediately to the great metropolis.”

    “Sir Jeremy is a magistrate,” said Sir Noël through his teeth, making the mistake of attempting to argue with Mr Everett, as that astute person immediately perceived, on the actor’s terms: “and will very smartly see you insolent fellows thrown into gaol!”

    “Is he, indeed? Then doubtless he will not wish to be seen to persecute the defenders of innocent maids who find themselves in danger from the unwanted attentions of town bucks.” the actor replied with great, if lugubrious, enjoyment.

    “She is my FIANCÉE!” shouted Sir Noel, struggling anew. That sturdy English yeoman, Alfred Weddle, increased his grip, and Billy Quipp, Mr Everett’s instructions notwithstanding, kicked the baronet viciously in the calf.

    When the struggle was over, Mr Everett, who had stood apart from it looking mildly amused, the which did nothing to improve Sir Noël’s temper, said calmly: “You have, of course, exchanged tokens with this Miss?”

    Billy Quipp gave a terrific snort.

    “We are ENGAGED!” he shouted.

    “They ain’t no such thing, Mr Everett, sir, don’t you go for to believe ’im! After ’er virtue, he be!” cried Billy Quipp shrilly.

    “Well?” said Mr Everett coolly to Sir Noël, not betraying by so much as a flicker of his long, expressive mouth that he was trying not to laugh.

    “I— We have not actually— She has no ring, if that is what you— RELEASE ME, you insolent fellow!” he shouted.

    “I was going to say,” replied Mr Everett calmly, “that if you don’t shove off of your own accord,”—the which phrase he enunciated with relish, but in perfect Standard English—“we shall have to do something about it.”

    Sir Noël opened his mouth to shout at him again, but Mr Everett swiftly stuffed his handkerchief into it. “Quick, now, Billy Quipp,” he said mildly: “binding and gagging.”

    Rapidly Billy Quipp produced a further kerchief, to bind roughly round Sir Noël’s mouth and prevent his spitting the gag out, and then the appropriate ties and cords to truss his arms and legs.

    Mr Everett looked thoughtfully at the result.

    “’E won’t get out of them knots in a hurry!” said Billy Quipp proudly.

    “No,” agreed Mr Everett, as Sir Noël grunted and endeavoured fruitlessly to kick. “I wonder if he be suffocating? –No matter. And now, I think, it had better be that merry scene you wot of from the Windsor play. I saw that very hamper somewhere not two minutes since.”

    A large wicker hamper was, indeed, discovered nearby. Not without difficulty, Alfred, Mr Everett and Billy bundled the struggling Sir Noël into it. Then they closed the lid and did up the straps. And Billy sat down upon the hamper, for good measure.

    “Can you hear anything?” asked Mr Everett.

    Billy winked. “I can from ’ere, aye. Sort of muffled... grunts?”

    “I can’t hear nothing, sir,” said Alfred hoarsely.

    “Nor I,” agreed Mr Everett, straight-faced. “Splendid. We’ll leave him there for the nonce, and decide what to do about him later. Now, bustle about, lads, the stage won’t set itself!”

    Nan and Ruth, neither of whom had had to change, had seen it all. Once Sir Noël had disappeared into the hamper, Nan seized Ruth’s arm and whisked her away to a quiet corner of the little back passage which ran between the stage area and the rooms being used as dressing-rooms. They looked limply at each other.

    Eventually Ruth managed to croak: “Did my ears deceive me, or did Mr Everett actually mention, in so many words, The Merry Wives of Windsor?”

    “Yes!” gasped Nan, giving way all of a sudden and going into helpless hysterics. Ruth gave a muffled shriek, clapped her hand over her mouth, and immediately joined her.

    “I—adore—heem!” gasped Nan, when she could speak.

    “Yes,” said Ruth, mopping her eyes. “Oh, dear! But goodness gracious, dear Nan, Sir Noël Amory is not, after all, nobody. Are the actors not taking a tremendous risk in thus protecting Cherry from him?”

    “Een protecting also the performance,” noted Nan drily. “Though I would do Billy Quipp, at least, the honour of believing hees motives were entirely pure. –Don’t look like that, my dear, eet ees part of Mr Everett’s appeal that hees mind ees quite undoubtedly devious enough to perceive that een thees eenstance the way of gallantry lay along the path of expediency!”

    “Yes,” said Ruth faintly, gulping.

    “I weell see that no harm comes to them because of eet,” said Nan firmly.

    “I fear that Sir Noël will be very angry, however.”

    “Pooh, let heem be!” she said gaily “Come along, I can hear Mr Brentwood shouting, the ladies must be taking up their positions for the tableau. And do not dare to neglect your mask!”

    Ruth had pulled it down below her chin. “I shall put it back before the scene begins, but the nose-piece presses so,” she murmured.

    Nan’s own mask was in her right hand. “Quite! –Oh, good gracious, he ees shouting dreadfully, what can be wrong?” she hissed.

    Ruth shook her head silently, as they re-entered the backstage area. And became instantly rooted to the spot. Mr Brentwood was not shouting at the ladies of Sir Jeremy’s house party. He was shouting, certainly. But he was shouting at—

    “Papa!” she gasped in horror, her hand going to her heart.

    Mr Brentwood appeared very heated indeed: Lord Curwellion, on the other hand, looked very cold. Cold but furious.

    “Ha! So it was you, you accursed little slut,” he said between his teeth.

    “Fellow, I warn you, you are asking to have your teeth thrust down your throat!” cried Mr Brentwood with a threatening gesture.

    “Mr Brentwood, do not provoke heem,” said Nan in a trembling voice, looking around for help. Alas, Mr Everett was not visible: the only person present was Grandpa Brentwood, seated upon Sir Noël’s wicker hamper, looking bland. “He ees reckoned the greatest swordsman een London.”

    “The Portuguese bitch: so you are involved,” said his Lordship grimly. “I should have trusted my instincts and had you followed from the moment I found out you and your brother deal with that damned lawyer.”

    “Perhaps you should have, sir, for een that case you would have discovered that Ruth has been perfectly safe all along, and more protected then she would have been een her own home!” flashed Nan, going from very pale to very red.

    “Ah!” said Grandpa Brentwood with immense approval.

    Lord Curwellion thereupon called Lady Benedict a very rude word indeed.

    “Here!” cried Mr Brentwood indignantly, taking a threatening step towards him.

    The baron turned on him with a snarl, and the stout actor, blenching, backed off.

    “Get over here,” his Lordship then said through his teeth to his daughter: “you’re coming home with me. And before you’re a day older, my girl, I’ll have a doctor to you, and by God, if you’ve let any of these filthy fellows lay a finger on you, I’ll strangle you with my own hands!”

    “I said: she has been perfectly safe all the time, for she has been weeth me!” cried Nan, tears starting to her eyes. “She ees not going anywhere weeth you, and you shall not force her to marry horrid old Pom-Pom while I have breath een my body!”

    “Then you shall very shortly have no breath in your so-charming body,” returned Lord Curwellion, producing a small silver-mounted pistol from his coat pocket.

    Ruth gasped, and took an involuntary step backwards, Mr Brentwood made a choking noise, and Grandpa Brentwood let out a strangled yelp.

    “Vairy well, shoot me,” cried Nan, “and you weell have Sir Jeremy and all his party down around your ears een a trice, and horrible lord or no, you weell hang for eet! And Ruth weell never marry Frédéric von Maltzahn-Dressen, and—and you weell be served out!”

    “Logical,” said his Lordship nastily, showing his teeth. “If incorrect in its first assumption. I shall not shoot you, Lady Benedict, for I can think of several much more long-drawn-out fates which I may yet be able to give myself the pleasure of offering you. But I shall certainly shoot my slut of a daughter, if she does not immediately accompany me.”

    “You won’t, you know,” said a deep, lugubrious voice from behind him, and Mr Everett, stepping out from between two concealing wings of scenery, placed a pistol to Curwellion’s temple.

    His Lordship’s arm had jerked up instinctively; he made to swing round, thought better of it, and stood very still.

    “Just stand back, everybody,” said Mr Everett mildly.

    “Shoot ’im dead, Emmanuel Everett!” called Grandpa Brentwood with an evil chuckle.

    “You are asking for the gallows, fellow,” said his Lordship between his teeth.

    “I think not. For there is not one person present who would not swear to a tragic misunderstanding: before you could declare yourself and your mission to us, sir, we came upon you apparently threatening two defenceless young ladies with a firearm, and I had no recourse but to use mine.”

    “Which you were quite fortuitously carrying ready-loaded upon your person,” noted his Lordship through his teeth.

    “It is Emmanuel Everett’s habit to do so,” said Mr Brentwood, beginning to recover himself.

    “Always carries ’is pistol, does Emmanuel Everett, aye!” cackled Grandpa Brentwood.

    “Aye, that he do: the whole company can swear to that!” chirped Billy Quipp, on a sudden going from a greenish-white state of immobility where he had been stopped in his tracks beyond the potted palm, to a state of perky insolence. He came out from behind the palm. “Lor’, and I said to Mr Everett meself only t’other day: ‘Mr E., if you goes for to carry that there ’orse pistol round with you like that, there could be a nasty accident!’”

    “That ees vairy true, and een fact several of the ladies and I myself heard you say eet, Mr Quipp,” said Nan, giving Lord Curwellion a very nasty look indeed, “and eendeed, I fear there may yet be a vairy unfortunate accident. –Could there not be, Mr Everett?” she ended hopefully.

    “Good for you, Missy!” cackled Grandpa Brentwood. “Red blood in ’er veins, that one,” he remarked approvingly to no-one in particular.

    Mr Everett’s long mouth had twitched infinitesimally, but his voice was as lugubrious as ever as he replied: “That could have unfortunate consequences, Miss Black. It might be better if we disposed quietly of his person.”

    “I am here in legitimate pursuit of my daughter; you will find the law is very much on my side, fellow, and you and all your filthy friends will be lucky if you merely suffer transportation for life,” said Lord Curwellion grimly.

    “Percy, I hope you are taking note, for I mean to use his every word and gesture when I next play Sir Jasper Rakewell in your Innocence Betrayed,” said Mr Everett, unmoved.

    “Lumme, Mr E., I knowed as he reminded me of someone!” cried Billy Quipp, getting above himself. “Come on, let’s shove ’im in a ’amper!”

    “Exact, Billy Quipp. Another hamper—or possibly trunk—is indeed called for,” Mr Everett agreed with something approaching animation, nay, even geniality, in his lugubrious voice.

    Sniggering, Mr Quipp vanished into the wings.

    “WHAT? You will pay an you attempt any such assault, you scoundrel!” shouted his Lordship. “I’ll see the lot of you at the end of a rope for this day’s work! –Tell the fools that is no idle threat, you disobedient little bitch!”

    “Yes,” said Ruth limply. “Tuh-truly my Papa is—is a bad man, sirs.”

    “And a-trying to force the poor little lamb into a distasteful marriage!” cried Mrs Hetty, abruptly appearing from behind a flat.

    “Yes, that is perfectly correct,” agreed Cherry, appearing in Mrs Hetty’s wake.

    “We quite understand both the legal position and the implications  of your warning, my dear Miss Smith. Pray say no more,” said Mr Everett courteously.

    “Most certainly. And fear not, my dear: we shall be as silent as the grave,” Mr Brentwood assured her, very nearly his fruity self again.

    “Thuh-thank you,” she quavered limply.

    “Ruth,” began her father, “you are doubtless too stupid and too ignorant to be aware of it, but as your legal guardian I have rights over you, which if these people try to stop me exercising—”

    “Do you have a kerchief?” said Nan in a low voice to Mr Brentwood.

    The actor-manger handed her a flag-like one with a flourish. Nan stepped forward and crammed it viciously into Lord Curwellion’s mouth just as he was finishing “—they will end in Newgate!”

    “Newgate to you, too, you horrible person,” she said with satisfaction, grabbing the pistol out of his hand and stepping back.

    Immediately Grandpa Brentwood went into a prolonged cackling fit.

    “Well done, Miss Black. Now, keep well out of his reach,” said Mr Everett, giving his Lordship an admonitory prod in the temple with the horse pistol, “and hand it to Mr Brentwood. –And be damn’ careful, Percy, it’s cocked!” he said urgently.

    Wincing, Mr Brentwood took the pistol from Nan and made it safe.

    “Don’t move, fellow,” said Mr Everett mildly to Lord Curwellion.

    Abruptly his Lordship raised both hands to the gag. Emmanuel Everett, looking as cool as a cucumber, lifted his pistol, reversed it with a rapid, practised movement, and brought the butt crashing down on the baron’s head.

    His Lordship slumped to the floor and lay very still.

    “Huzza!” cried Nan, clapping her hands. Immediately Grandpa Brentwood, cackling, joined in.

    “Hush,” said Mr Brentwood feebly, recalling where they were—though fortunately Sir Jeremy’s musicians were paying a lively tune at the foot of the stage. “Mind, I am with you. He was asking for it, Emmanuel Everett.”

    “Mm. Though possibly I should have waited for real provocation. But we have a play to finish. And even the crowd of amateurs we have tonight cannot surely be much longer in appearing on the scene.’

    “I thought I heard some coming,” said Mr Corin Cowper hoarsely, poking his head out from behind a large flat. “Is it safe?”

    “It were never unsafe since the moment Emmanuel Everett set his foot upon the scene!” said Mr Brentwood indignantly. “And certainly not whilst you was lurking in behind there, you worm!”

    “Don’t say that, Mr Brentwood,” said Cherry, taking Mr Corin’s hand. “I was petrified: I was sure the horrible man would turn and shoot dear Mr Everett before anyone could prevent him!”

    “That thought had crossed my mind,” Mr Everett allowed.

    “Then why deed you not tell one of us to take hees pistol earlier?” cried Nan.

    “Because, dear ma’am,” he said with a superb bow, “I was hoping very much that it had not also crossed his.”

    “Emmanuel Everett is, and has always been, a master of tactics,” said Mr Brentwood with weighty approval.

    “Tactics? Why, you are a veritable Wellington, sir!” cried Nan.

    “I would thank you kindly for the compliment, Miss Black,” said the incorrigible Mr Everett, sounding more lugubrious than ever, “were it not that I have it on excellent authority that you maintain that His Grace of Wellington is not the greatest tactician of our time.”

    “Oh, dear: I’m afraid that was me!” gasped Ruth.

    Mr Everett’s cool grey eyes twinkled. He had been afraid that, “bad man” or not, the soi-disant Miss Smith might become overset at the sight of her father’s unconscious form prone, though sadly not weltering in his blood, on the ground before them. Apparently not.

    Billy Quipp and Alfred had now dragged up a large black trunk. The unconscious form of Lord Curwellion was rapidly trussed and inserted into it. The trunk was then corded and locked. Grandpa ‘Brentwood, cackling, got up from Sir Noël’s hamper and sat upon it.

    Nan and Ruth looked limply from hamper to trunk, and from trunk to hamper again. Then they looked at Mr Everett.

    ‘The play’s the thing,” said that lugubrious personage smoothly. “We shall sort out—er—everything,” he said with a quick glance at Cherry—“afterwards.”

    “Of course!” cried Cherry, clapping her hands. “Mr Everett, you were wonderful!”

    The other two Graces were no longer capable of speech. They merely exchanged limp glances.

    “’Sh all very well,” said Mrs Hetty Pontifex„ some time later, through Sir Jeremy Foote’s excellent roast chicken, “but what now, me loves?”

    “I do wish I had seen it all,” said Mrs Lily Cornish on a wistful note.

    “And I!” cried Cherry fiercely.

    Mr Everett here quietly removed the glass which held the dregs of the claret that Mrs Lily had, injudiciously it was felt by some, offered the false Miss Chypsley as a sustainer on her being apprised of her admirer’s whereabouts. Cherry had drunk two big glassfuls of it, though declaring it to be “rather strong.” She had then gone into whoops, rather than hysterics. Not all of those present were entirely sure that this was a good thing. Well, at the precise moment it could not but be good: they did not particularly want a Grace in floods of hysterical tears all over Sir Jeremy’s supper. Eating it in the servants’ hall though they were.

    Mr Brentwood swallowed the remains of a raised pie. “We must first make good our escape from these—er,”—he gave the servants’ hall a look of disdain—“less than hallowed portals.”

    “Easy!” said Billy Quipp immediately.

    “As my esteemed colleague and, if I may be permitted to say so, friend,” said Mr Brentwood, inclining his head at the little comic with immense solemnity, “so rightly observes, easy. –Pardon,” he added weightily, after a tremendous belch.

    “Billy, for the Lord’s sake, could you not have kept him off the brandy?” said Mr Everett in exasperation.

    Mr Quipp was seated beside, or more accurately in the shadow of, Mr Brentwood’s bulk. “Who, me?” he retorted, as Mr Brentwood raised the brandy decanter solemnly, shook his head at it gravely, and poured the last drops into his glass. “I ain’t got magic powers, Mr E.!”

    “Nor yet a magic potion!” squeaked Cherry with a loud giggle.

    “Nor magic juice, neither,” agreed Mr Quipp, winking at her. Miss Chypsley immediately collapsed in gales of giggles. At her elbow Mr Corin Cowper looked resentfully at Mr Quipp but could think of nothing, either witty or blighting, to say.

    “But how shall we manage eet?” said Nan in a low voice to Mr Everett. –He was at her elbow. Nan was not sure if it were by accident or design: it was certainly by no design of hers. But by now she was not prepared to take anything the lugubrious Mr Everett either said or did at its face value.

    “Lor’, Miss B., that won’t be no problem!” cried Billy Quipp before Mr Everett could open his mouth. “We’ll just load everythink onto the waggon, and be orf!”

    “Like as if nothing had happened,” elaborated Mrs Hetty on a sorrowful note, picking up the now empty brandy decanter. “If it ain’t an unladylike enquiry, where has—hic! Pardon.—Where has all the brandy gorn?”

    “To its usual place!” squeaked little Miss Fever Falconrigg brilliantly.

    At this unexpected sally Mr Brentwood’s entire company, the lugubrious Mr Everett not excepted, immediately collapsed in gales of giggles. The actor-manager alone remained unmoved. He raised his fork, possibly under the impression it was a quizzing glass, and eyed Miss Falconrigg severely through it. Miss Falconrigg collapsed in giggles. Mr Brentwood shook his head at her very slowly, bent forward, also very slowly, laid the head upon the table, and began to snore.

    The giggles abated.

    “Lumme,” said Mrs Lily numbly. “I didn’t think as he were that far gorn.”

    “I did!” piped Miss Hermy Cornish.

    “Shut your mouth, you,” retorted her mother genially. “Here, put this in it.” She pushed a small cake into the little girl’s mouth. Surprised but not unwilling, Hermy began to chew it.

    Mr Quipp emitted a smothered snigger but said: “Aye, well, it ain’t unusual; only who, if it ain’t askin’ too much, is goin’ to get ’im onto the waggon?”

    “The stout Alfred will carry him,” said Mr Everett, unmoved.

    “Mr E., that bumpkin’s as full of claret as a h’egg be full o’ meat!” he objected.

    Mr Everett shrugged. “Alfred!” he said in stentorian tones.

    Alfred Weddle leapt where he sat. “Yessir!”

    “Stand up!” boomed Mr Everett.

    Alfred Weddle stood up.

    “I rest my case,” said Mr Everett magnificently, with a flourish of his hand.

    Kindly Mr Quipp explained across the table to Miss Black: “Mr Arthur Argumint, in Justice Redeemed, or The Wicked Barrister.”

    “It’s gorra—hic!—nun in it,” added Mrs Hetty before Nan could gather her wits to reply—or even smile, really.

    “She’s gorn into the convent because—um—never mind,” said Mr Quipp, catching Mr Everett’s suddenly glacial eye, and subsiding.

    Nan cleared her throat. “Er—well, Alfred seems quite—quite steady. You may sit down, Alfred!” she said loudly.

    Obediently the footman sat.

    “The question my esteemed colleague was proposing,” Mr Everett explained kindly to her: “was, if I may be permitted to adventure my humble interpretation—”

    “Stop eet,” said Nan unsteadily.

    Smoothly Mr Everett continued: “—was, I venture to suggest, whether one Alfred be capable of hefting an inert Percy.”

    Nan bit her lip hard and made a strangled noise.

    “No,” said Mrs Cornish definitely. “It’d take two of ’im. Though I don’t deny as he is a fine-looking young fellow.” She eyed the now blushing Alfred Weddle hungrily.

    “Put that down, Lily,” said Mr Everett sternly.

    Nan gave way entirely and went into whoops.

    “Here you all are!” said a pleased tenor voice, as the actors loaded their belongings onto their waggon.

    “Help!” gasped Cherry, dropping the bundle she was carrying.

    Captain the Honourable Charles Burns grinned happily at her. “Allow me.” Politely he bent and picked the bundle up. “Terribly good fun, was it not?” he added on a wistful note.

    “Yes. You—you looked very fine in your robes,” said Cherry feebly, not daring to look two yards to her right, where Sir Noël’s hamper was moving in an agitated manner and making muffled noises.

    Mrs Hetty Pontifex came up, looking unconcerned, and sat down, still looking unconcerned, upon the hamper. She was wearing a cloak: she spread it negligently around her, draping it over the hamper. Cherry gulped.

    “I say, Mrs Hetty, you all did splendidly well!” beamed the young man. “I don’t know how you all manage to be so many characters and make ’em all different!”

    “That puts it succinctly,” noted Mr Everett, strolling up to them and laying a casual hand upon Mrs Hetty’s plump shoulder. “I thank you on behalf of the company, sir.”

    “Er—not at all,” said the Captain, eyeing him warily.

    “I wonder if you would add to your goodness by giving our stout Alfred a hand with this hamper?” continued Mr Everett smoothly. “It is rather heavy.”

    Captain the Honourable Charles, as Mr Emmanuel Everett was quite aware, had not ventured into the obscurer regions of Lancewood Hall in order to assist the actors with their luggage. He was evidently considerably taken aback, but consented with a good enough grace.

    Cherry watched numbly as Alfred and the Captain got Sir Noël’s hamper onto the actors’ waggon and secured it there.

    “That only leaves the trunk, Mr E.,” said Billy Quipp.

    Captain the Honourable Charles had become stimulated by his exertions. “Well, come along, then, where's this trunk?" he said cheerily, rubbing his hands.

    “We cannot thank you enough, Captain Burns,” said the false Miss Black limply, as the trunk containing Ruth’s papa was at last corded onto the trap, and Cherry and Ruth, with defiant looks upon their faces, mounted into the vehicle and sat upon it.

    “Not at all, ma’am,” he replied with a meaning look. “A pleasure to serve a lady, if I may say so; and you may rest assured, ma’am, that I shall never breathe a word. H.R.H. in person, if I may say so, has privily spoken to me upon the subject.”

    Nan closed her eyes, wincing, for a fleeting moment. “Eendeed?”

    Captain the Honourable Charles stepped back and bowed with a flourish, laying one hand to his heart. “Oh, indeed. Silent as the grave, your La—ma’am!”

    Numbly Nan mounted onto the trap and took the reins. “Come along, Alfred, you may sit weeth me.”

    “Yes, me Lady!” he gasped, scrambling up.

    Nan did not correct him. It was by now blindingly evident that the majority of Sir Jeremy Foote’s guests must know who one Grace had been. She could only hope that Lord Curwellion had been the only one to have recognised his daughter. And Sir Noël the only one to have... Quite.

    Mr Everett came up to the trap’s side. “We shall meet at Philippi,” he said with immense courtesy, removing the hat he was not wearing, and bowing low.

    Nan replied grimly: “That plumed hat you have just removed ees scarcely fitted to a Roman meelitary camp, sir.”

    Mr Everett’s long mouth quivered. “I stand corrected, ma’am. Er—where shall we three”—there was the slightest of emphases on the “three”—“meet again?”

    “Tomorrow. At Sunny Bay House,” said Nan grimly. “Goodnight, Mr Everett!”

    She drove off before she could lose her temper, or go into strong hysterics. Or both.

    Behind her, the lugubrious Mr Everett was heard to break into laughter.

    “He’s laughing!” gasped Ruth.

    “Help!” gasped Cherry.

    Forthwith they collapsed in mad giggles.

    Nan gritted her teeth, and drove.

    Lamps were burning in the downstairs rooms of Sunny Bay House as they drew up on the sweep. This was not what Nan had expected to see: she licked her lips.

    Before anyone could dismount from the trap, the front door opened.

    “Where the Devil have you BEEN?” shouted Dom at the top of his voice.

    “Dom—”

    “Do you know what TIME eet ees?” shouted Dom at the top of his voice. “Eet ees past three een the MORNING!”

    “Dom, we have only—”

    “By GOD!” shouted Dom at the top of his voice as Ruth jumped down from the trap. “What the Devil have you dragged Miss Smeeth eento?”

    Cherry jumped down, looking defiant, and took Ruth’s hand. “It was not Nan’s idea at all, Mr Baldaya, so you need not shout at her!” she cried. “It was more my idea than anyone’sh, so if you mus’ shout, shout at—hic! Me,” she finished unsteadily.

    “By GOD, you have been letting Miss Chalfont DREENK!” he shouted.

    “It was only a glash of CLARET!” shouted Cherry angrily. “An’ if you wish to know, Sir Noël himself once gave me some! An’ leave her ’lone, she has buh-been suh-so good to me!” she wailed, suddenly bursting into snorting sobs.

    Nan thrust the reins into the numb hands of Alfred Weddle, and jumped down. “Dom, you do not know—”

    “No, but I eentend to find out!” he said fiercely. “Get eendoors thees eenstant!”

    “Eet was merely a harmless amusement,” she said, very weakly indeed. “And—and eef eet went wrong, eet was nuh-not—”

    “NOT YOUR FAULT?” roared her brother terribly.

    “I suppose eet was, really,” she said weakly.

    “Get EEN!” he shouted. “—Oy! You, Alfred! Take that trap round to the stable!”

    Nan looked wildly at the trunk. “But Dom—”

    “Or do you weesh me to beat you out here?” said her brother through his teeth.

    “Dom, Lord C. ees een that trunk!” cried Nan desperately.

    “By God, you’re DRUNK!” he roared.

    “No! Eet’s true!” she cried.

    “Yes, it is true, Mr Baldaya.” said Ruth in a trembling voice, patting the sobbing Cherry’s back.

    “WHAT?”

    There was a tingling silence.

    “Falstaffian,” noted a deep voice solemnly from the hallway.

    “That,” said Nan, taking a deep breath, “ees vairy nearly the last straw!”

    Lewis lounged out onto the sweep, looking vague. “Are you acquainted with the lighter works of the great English dramatist, Dom?”

    “My God, eet ees not we who are drunk!” cried Nan furiously.

    “On the contrary. We have spent an exhausting day battling a head wind in the Channel, and have barely had the chance to refresh ourselves with a pint of indifferent ale—between us,” he noted acidly, “and a dish of kitcheree.”—Ruth was heard to gulp, even over Cherry’s continued sobs.—“Miss Norrington, take Miss Chalfont indoors. You will find your father’s cousin in the sitting-room.”

    Obediently Ruth led Cherry gently indoors, just managing not to gulp again as Colonel Vane elaborated mildly: “Eating kitcheree and pickled samphire.”

    The burly, untidy man sitting by the fire eating kitcheree and pickles did not look in the least like Lord Curwellion. Ruth, supporting the now sniffling Cherry, paused in the doorway and looked at him doubtfully.

    “Hullo,” he said mildly, looking up. “Would one of you be my cousin’s daughter?”

    “Yes,” said Ruth, swallowing hard. “I collect you are Major Norrington, sir?”

    “Yes. I’ve forgotten your name. Not Charlotte, is it?”

    “No, that was my mother’s name,” she said faintly. “I’m Ruth, sir.”

    “Oh, yes: Ruth; I recall now: old Aunt Norrington brought you out to Reading to review my troops. You must have been... five or so? You wore my hat,” said Ursa Norrington placidly, helping himself to more pickles.

    “Why, yes!” cried Ruth, her face lighting up. “I remember!”

    “Mm. –Want some?”

    “No, thank you, sir, we have had supper.”

    “Good. –Glad you ain’t the sniffler,” he noted.

    “Um—this is Miss Chalfont, sir. She—she has sustained a shock.”

    “I gathered from the shouting that you all have,” said Major Norrington calmly.

    “Um—yes. Sir, I’m afraid we’ve done something very dreadful!” she burst out.

    “Oh? Come over to the fire.”

    Limply Ruth came. She pushed the sniffling Cherry onto the sofa, and gave her her own handkerchief.

    “Sit,” said Major Norrington.

    Limply Ruth subsided onto the sofa beside Cherry.

    “You haven’t shot my Cousin Curwellion, have you?”

    “No.”

    “Pity. Not that I’m in a hurry to inherit the damned title, mind you. But the world would be well rid of him. What have you done, then?”

    “We—we have locked Papa up in a big trunk,” faltered Ruth

    “That’s a start,” he allowed placidly.

    Cherry blew her nose hard, and sat up. “And we have shtrap’ Sir Noël up in a hamper!” she said fiercely.

    “On principle?” enquired Major Norrington, unmoved.

    Suddenly Ruth gave a little choke of laughter. “No!”

    He winked, but did not smile. “Why, then?”

    “Um—it’s difficult to explain. He—um—he was pursuing Cherry—Miss Chalfont.”

    “He ish a prude an’ a mean pig!” said Cherry fiercely.

    “Prudes don’t generally pursue innocent young maidens. Not in my experience,” returned Major Norrington calmly,

    “He ish a beast an’ he would have stopped me being in the PLAY!” she shouted.

    “Then he entirely deserved hampering.”

    “Sir, she—um—is not herself!” said Ruth desperately.

     “Brandy?” replied her father’s cousin, raising an eyebrow.

    “Claret,” said Ruth limply.

    Major Norrington ate kitcheree and pickles placidly. “How long has Cousin Cur been in the trunk?”

    Ruth swallowed. “Um—a few hours, I suppose.”

    “Mm. And was he conscious when he went into it?”

    “Well, um, I don’t think so, because Mr—I mean someone—had hit him on the head!” she gulped.

    “I’d like to shake Someone’s hand, in that case,” he owned.

    Out on the sweep Lewis’s mentioning the kitcheree to Ruth had provoked Nan into shouting at the top of her lungs. “That ees the LAST STRAW! You may be eenterested to hear, Colonel Vane, that you weell find her FATHER een thees black trunk of Mr Brentwood’s!”

    “She’s drunk!” said Dom angrily. “Eegnore her, sir!”

    Lewis Vane merely said calmly to Lady Benedict: “Dead?”

    “No!” she said crossly. She paused. “Though I suppose eet ees too much to hope that he may have suffocated by now. He was certainly alive when we put heem eento eet.”

    “Ah. And who is Mr Brentwood?”

    “Eegnore her, Colonel: she’s drunk, I tell you!”

    “I am not drunk, Dom Baldaya: do not judge others by your own conduct!” warned Nan grimly. “Mr Brentwood ees an actor-manager, sir.”

    “Ah.” There was a short pause. “Would he by any chance be an acquaintance of Miss Lucy Fisher’s?” asked Lewis delicately.

    “By God!” choked Dom, turning purple.

    “He ees, and that ees how I first met heem, yes, but she ees not here!” cried Nan crossly. “And eet was a harmless amusement: we had no notion that horrible persons such as Sir Noël Amory and Lord Curwellion would even be there!”

    “Ah. –I collect that your sister and her lady guests have been taking part in some sort of theatrical performance,” said Lewis smoothly.

    Dom choked.

    “Foote’s annual summer thing, was it? You had best come inside and tell us the whole, Lady Benedict,” Lewis continued smoothly. “For I collect that we may be required to—er—tidy up a few loose ends?”

    Nan gave him an angry look, brushed past him, and hurried inside.

    Major Norrington wiped his mouth with a napkin and sat back in his chair with a sigh, admitting: “I needed that. –That pretty Portuguese boy will marry you, you know,” he added.

    Ruth turned scarlet. “No!” she gasped.

    “Well,” he said, scratching his head, “I’d say he’s a mite too young, as yet. Not much character, either. Bit weak.”

    “That is not true, Cousin Norrington,” said Ruth grimly.

    “Mr Baldaya has been mos’ shupportive an’—and won’ful an’—an’ not what you shaid,” said Cherry, her lips trembling. “Whoever you are!”

    “Hush. He is my father’s cousin,” said Ruth, squeezing her hand. She took a deep breath. “Major Norrington, I do not need to marry anyone, thank you. If I may not live with you, then I—have other resources.”

    “That’s a lie, but I concede it’s a gallant one,” said Ursa Norrington calmly. “Of course you may live with me, Charlotte—I mean Ruth: no question. Just thought you might prefer being married to a pretty young fellow to living in my house. –Haven’t got a house, actually,” he noted.

    Ruth gulped. “No. I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’m being a terrible nuisance, sir.”

    “Rubbish. Have to live somewhere. Could buy this place, I suppose. Stamforth would give it me, out of course, but trust me, I won’t let him get away with that!”

    “Nuh-no. Do you know him, then, sir?” she said faintly.

    “I deed not know that Sunny Bay House belonged to Lord Stamforth,” said Nan in surprise from the doorway.

    “Whole damned place as far as the eye can see belongs to him,” replied Major Norrington calmly. “You’re the boy’s sister, hey? You have a great look of him.”

    “Yes, I am Lady Benedict. How do you do, Major Norrington?” replied Nan with an effort.

    The Major got up, and bowed. “I’d get that one off to bed,” he said in a lowered voice, nodding at Cherry.

    “Um—yes. Rani!” cried Nan.

    The ayah hurried in with a lamp and after a brief discussion with her mistress, which the Norringtons did not understand but which they grasped without difficulty included considerable reproving of Lady Benedict’s conduct, Cherry was led off to bed.

    On the sweep Lewis looked thoughtfully at the trunk upon the trap, not speaking.

    Dom took a trembling breath. He strode up to the trap, looking grim. “Alfred, what do you know of all thees?”

    “Sir, I dunno nothing! Mr Everett, he said as ’ow we ’ad to put ’im in the trunk, sir! Hic! Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” he ended mournfully.

    “I would not enquire further, at this juncture,” said Lewis in a low voice, coming up to Dom’s elbow.

    “No. Uh...” Dom cleared his throat uncomfortably.

   There was a twinkle in Lewis’s eye, but he said gravely: “Best get the trunk inside, I think.”

    “Er—aye. RICHPAL! Get out here, EKDUM!”

    Richpal and Alfred between them had little difficulty in lugging the trunk inside.

    Swallowing a grin, Lewis took Dom’s arm. “Come along.”

    “Look, sir, I’m damned sorry,” he said miserably.

    “Nonsense, my dear boy! I have never had so much fun in my life!” he said with a laugh.

    Smiling feebly, Dom accompanied him back indoors.

    “How do you like the house?” asked Major Norrington, waving Nan to a seat.

    “Thees house? Well, eet ees small. But we have been comfortable here. Eet’s a vairy warm house, sir,” she said limply.

    ‘‘Good. Nice outlook, hey? Should you care for it, Ruth?’

    “Wuh-well, yes, very much, sir,” she faltered.

    “Good. Then I’ll tell Stamforth he can either sell it to us or lease to us, but he’s on no account to give it to us!’ said Major Norrington with a chuckle.

    “Do you know heem so well, then?” asked Nan feebly.

    “Of course. Thought you knew that?”

    “Er—no. I suppose you might ask heem tomorrow, then,” she said weakly.

    “Ask him now,” he corrected calmly. “—That flat-bread stuff your Rani made us was not half good.—Lewis, how much will you take for the house?

    Lewis replied calmly from the doorway: “I’ve knocked it down; I thought I mentioned it?”

    “What? Not that damp dump, y’fool! This house! Sunny Bay House! Ruth would like to live in it.”

    —Ruth and Nan were gaping at him.

    “One peppercorn every quarter day,” said Lewis with the utmost solemnity.

    “Knew the fellow would try something like that on,” said Ursa Norrington to his cousin’s daughter.

    “But Major Norrington, you meestake! Eet ees not bees house!” cried Nan.

    “Out of course it is. Oh, was you thinkin’ you had it off that other fellow? Sotheby, was that it? Brother of the fellow what owns Ainsways. Very decent sort of man. No, no, he was used to lease it for the summer off Lewis’s uncle. You wrote him; he wrote Lewis’s agent; agent contacted Lewis—the old uncle was on his deathbed by this time, y’see; Lewis wrote back ‘Let the damned place to anyone Sotheby says;’ so he does it.”

    There was a stunned silence.

    “I’ll give you a decent sum for it,” said Major Norrington firmly. “If you prefer a lease, that’s all right. Very sound principle, never !et property go out of the family. Bear that in mind, Ruth. Where m’father made his big mistake.”

    “Ursa, dear fellow, that will do.” murmured Lewis, looking at Lady Benedict’s face.

    “What eet ees, Major,” said Dom helpfully from the doorway, as Lewis moved quietly into the room to stand before the fireplace, “you are mixing up two fellows here, y’see. Colonel Vane’s old uncle deed pop off. But that don’t mean Colonel Vane owns Sunny Bay House, that’s the other fellow.” He came and and sat down on the sofa beside Ruth. “That trunk ain’t made a sound,” he said to her in a low voice.

    “I— No. Good,” said Ruth distractedly. “Mr Baldaya, I very much fear that—that you and Nan have—have been labouring under a misapprehension.”

    Nan was very pale. “No,” she said tightly.

    “You must have been, if you think some other fellow owns Sunny Bay House,” said the Major.

    Dom began in a kindly tone “No, no, Major: y’see—”

    “Dom, just a moment,” said Lewis quietly.

    Dom stopped, and looked at him doubtfully.

    “I own Sunny Bay House. I am Lord Stamforth,” said Lewis Vane firmly.

    Nan got up, her jaw trembling. “Then eet was a pack of lies!”

    “Certainly not.”

    “You are a great landowner, and you led me to believe that all you would eenherit from thees old uncle was a tumbledown country house and a load of debts!” she cried furiously.

    “I own a great deal of land, yes. Most of it is in very poor heart, and a very great deal of it is heavily mortgaged,” said Lewis steadily.

    “Pooh! We have seen for ourselves that eet ees splendeed farming land hereabouts!”

    “The arable land in the immediate neighbourhood is not typical. It does look in good heart at the moment, yes, as it has been a good year. It has not been well managed, however. But the majority of the Vane lands raise sheep, and those farms are overgrazed; they have been overstocked for years and let to tenant farmers who are concerned only to squeeze the last groat out of them. The farm labourers live in shocking conditions. Which I am about to remedy.” Lewis took a deep breath. “I also own a deal of property in London. Disgraceful slums, in the main, which I am pulling down and replacing. And as you saw, Dom, I had to pull down the house at Stamforth Castle which my Uncle Peter was used to live in. Your delightful scheme for a neat, square house facing into the central courtyard will have to wait for quite some years, I fear, Lady Benedict. In terms of available cash, I am certainly not a rich man. I did not deceive you in that regard.”

    “How the Hell much did the old man mortgage, Lewis?” asked Major Norrington with kindly curiosity.

    Lewis’s mouth tightened. “Everything he could. And the family plate seems to have disappeared.”

    “Well, if he sold off that hideous gold set what Queen Anne was reputed to have ate off, good luck to him!”

    “What deed he do weeth the money?” asked Dom, very puzzled. “Thought you said he lived much retired?”

    Lewis sighed. “Yes. There were debts dating from his father’s time—he was a gambler. But then, so also was Uncle Peter, in his youth. And my Cousin Philip was expensive.”

    “Hussar. Very dashin’ sort of fellow, poor Philip,” Major Norrington explained to the company.

    “I see. So the duns came down upon the old man?” said Dom with sympathy.

    “Mm. After he was incapacitated,” Lewis admitted, gnawing on his lip. “Had he allowed it, I would have taken over the reins of the property then, but—”

    “The old man wouldn’t hear of it. Too proud,” explained the Major, shaking his head. “Runs in the family,” he added drily.

    “Thank you,” said Lewis levelly. “I do not think I have any cause to be proud, at the moment. –Please sit down again, Lady Benedict. I apologize for having deceived you. It was not done entirely wilfully.”

    “Rubbeesh,” she said tightly.

    Dom scratched has curls, eyeing his sister dubiously. “Don’t go flying up eento the boughs, Nan. Eet will be one of those theengs what the whole of Society knows, so no-one theenks to mention eet. Well, take hees connection, Lady Mary Vane!” he said brilliantly.

    “What of her?” replied Nan through her teeth.

    “A Narrowmine, ain’t she? But I never knew, y’see, and so I open my great mouth and say to her I had heard the new Lord Blefford were a great improvement on hees curmudgeon of a father. Wrong theeng to say entirely: out of course he were her father, too.”

    “Oh, Mr Baldaya!” cried Ruth with great sympathy.

    “Ruth, I warn you, that may be a fabrication,” said Nan grimly.

    Ruth looked dubiously at Mr Baldaya.

    “True as I sit here,” he said, grimacing. “Said eet to her at a dashed rout party. We ees standin’ weeth Wilf Rowbotham and Henri-Louis, y’see, and there’s a steecky silence. Then Wilf ups and—”

    “DOM!” shouted Nan furiously. “Be silent! We are not talking about Lady Mary Vane! –And mark, thees may steell be a fabrication!” she added angrily to Ruth.

    “It’s very circumstantial,” said Major Norrington.

    “Dom’s lies are,” said Nan. “Not unlike yours,” she added pointedly to the new Lord Stamforth.

    “I don’t think I told you an actual lie, Lady Benedict.”

    “That makes eet worse. When I theenk of that day at the castle—!” Words failed her.

    Lewis swallowed. “I wished to tell you, but—”

    “There was nothing STOPPEENG you!” she shouted.

    Dom cleared his throat. “Y’know how eet ees, Nan, when a fellow’s let eet run on for—”

    “Be silent!’

    Dom subsided glumly.

    “You have made an utter fool of me, my Lord, and I suppose I deserved eet,” said Nan grimly. “Dom has already reproved me for not asking after your uncle. I suppose I never gave you the chance to speak. But do not theenk that that excuses you: you are not eencapable, and you have free weell. I shall vacate Sunny Bay House as soon as I can. Eef you are steell here een the morning, I do not weesh to set eyes on you. Goodnight, Lord Stamforth.” She swept out.

    “Oh, Lor’,” said Dom ruefully.

    “The ‘free will’ bit was a nasty knock,’” admitted the new Lord Stamforth, after a moment.

    “That ees her all over, Colonel,” said Dom sourly. “Damnation! I mean, my Lord.’

    “Don’t be an idiot,” returned his Lordship mildly. “Er—well, for myself, I feel as if I’ve had about enough for one day.”

    “Aye. The Major damned nearly overturned the boat,” said Dom gloomily to Ruth.

    “Oh, no!’” she gasped.

    “Fortunately the Colonel—dammit, Stamforth—knows what he ees about een a small boat.”

    “It is not that Ursa does not know what he is about,” said Lewis mildly. “It is just that he takes unacceptable risks.”

    Ruth looked dubiously at the placid-seeming Major.

    “Aye: what eet ees, there never was a fellow whose looks and manner more belied heem,” Dom explained kindly.

    “I see,” she said faintly.

    “So as I was saying, personally I am for my bed. But there is the small matter of Lord Curwellion,” said Lewis on a dry note.

    “Leave him where he is,” advised Curwellion’s cousin without interest.

    “Sir, he may suffocate,” said Dom uneasily.

    “I’ve thought of that,” agreed Ursa Norrington. “Then we wrap him in a sack, and take him out at night in the boat. We come back without the sack.”

    Dom swallowed.

    “Ursa, the man is the girl’s father,” murmured Lewis.

    “No, that’s all right, my Lord,” said Ruth, going very pink. “The only thing is, if Papa were to disappear, there would be a hue and cry.”

    “Can’t imagine who’d miss him,” objected his cousin.

    “Ursa,” said Lewis on a note of finality: “I think questions would be raised if you walked into White’s saying happily: ‘Hulloa, and by the by, I’ll be living at Curwellion Hall in the future.’”

    Regrettably, Dom broke down in sniggers at this.

    Ruth smiled a little, but agreed: “That is very true. There would be immense complications, and if any suspicion were to fall on you, Major, it would be too dreadful.”

    “So what shall we do with him?” said Lewis calmly. “That is, assuming he refuses to resign his daughter to you, Ursa?”

    The Major shrugged, and rubbed his unshaven jaw. Dom chewed on his lip, frowning.

    Eventually Ruth said: “Perhaps we should think about it tomorrow. The footmen took the trunk upstairs. For the moment, could he not simply stay in one of the little attic rooms?”

    “The vairy theeng!” cried Dom. “I’ll get Richpal to take that piece of wood off the door.”

    Lord Curwellion was duly released from the trunk in one of the tiny attic rooms, Lewis himself standing by with a pistol in his hand. His Lordship emerged very ruffled, but and able to stagger to his feet. He glared at Lewis over the gag.

    “Looks a bit blue,” said Dom detachedly. He removed the gag.

    “You!” spat Curwellion viciously. “I might have known: if the Portuguese bitch were involved, you were bound to be in it, Stamforth!”

    “A flattering assumption,” said Lewis drily. “We intend you no harm, Curwellion. I gather your present plight is the result of the ladies’ panicking. Will you accept our offer to pay for your daughter’s freedom?”

    Lord Curwellion swore at him.

    “Fluent,” said Dom admiringly.

    “Ruth may have a home with me, Cousin,” said the Major. “You won’t need to worry about her being a charge on your purse. And she’s been quite safe: been with Lady Benedict since a couple of hours after she walked out of her home.”

    Lord Curwellion swore at him, too.

    Dom shrugged, and replaced the gag.

    There was a tiny, narrow bed in the room, and a washstand with the usual appurtenances, but that was all. The window was very small but a determined man could probably have got out of it, if he did not mind risking his neck. The Major himself checked his cousin’s bonds on the strength of it. Those around the ankles did not seem to his satisfaction: after a moment’s thought he attached the ankles firmly to the iron bedstead.

    “I’ll sleep next-door,” he decided, stretching and yawning.

    “No—” began Dom.

    “Excellent,” said Lewis firmly. “And Richpal may guard the door, I think.”

    Richpal salaamed deeply, and took up his post immediately.

    “Major, that leetle bed’s not long enough for a man of your height,” objected Dom.

    “Then I’ll take the floor,” said the Major.

    “He’s used to far worse conditions,” said Lewis firmly, taking Dom’s elbow. “Come along. You, too, Miss Norrington. He cannot escape: Ursa has ears like a cat.’

    Ruth accompanied them silently down to the first floor. “My Lord,” she began, taking a deep breath.

    “Miss Norrington,” said Lewis on a weary note, passing his hand across his face, “I think I know what you are going to say. Pray do not. I embroiled myself in this tangle of my own free will.” He gave her a dry look.

    Ruth and Dom both gulped.

    “Quite,” said Lewis drily. “I shall not fight your father, nor allow Ursa or Dom to do so.”

    “I don’t fear heem,” said Dom, scowling horribly.

    “Dear boy, he would spit you like the Christmas goose before the salute was scarce over,” said Lewis, yawning. “We shall think about it all tomorrow, as Miss Norrington so sensibly suggested. Goodnight,” he said firmly, going off to bed.

    Ruth and Dom looked at each other uncertainly.

    Timidly she ventured: “Mr Baldaya, I cannot thank you enough for all you’ve done for me.”

    “Wasn’t me, mainly,” said Dom modestly,

    “Yes, it was. I can never express my gratitude. And—and you must promise me,’’ said Ruth, looking into his face with tears in her eyes, “that you will not fight Papa!”

    “Er—may come to that,” he said with an uneasy grin.

    Ruth’s nostrils flared. “It will not, for you also have free will, Mr Baldaya! Would you get yourself killed, all for a silly social convention that prescribes that a gentleman must not refuse a fight?”

    “Well—uh—honour and all that,” fumbled Dom.

    “That is nonsense. True honour must lie in continuing to live one’s life for—for those who love you,” she said, descending from the general to the particular rather suddenly.

    “Er—yes,” said Dom uncertainly. “I do grasp your point.”

    “Believe me, my father is not worth the sacrifice of your life, Mr Baldaya!”

    “Well, no-o... Look, eet may not be sensible, I grant you, but— Well, ladies don’t understand such theengs,” he said uncomfortably.

    “NONSENSE!” shouted Ruth. “I demand your promise you will not fight him!”

    “Well, I don’t want to, y’know. Vairy well, then, I promeese.”

    Ruth nodded, her eyes suddenly full of tears. She tried to smile, but could not. Dom watched numbly as she hurried off to her bedroom.

    He went into the room he was once again sharing with Lewis. “Women,” he said heavily.

    “She is in the right of it. And for the Lord’s sake, stop talking and go to sleep.”

    Silently Dom got into bed and blew his candle out.

    After quite some time he said into the dark: “Look, sir, don’t tell me eef you’d rather not, but why the Devil deed you do eet?”

    “Do what?” replied Lewis wearily.

    “Deceive Nan,” he said glumly.

    Lewis sighed. “It was entirely accidental. I assumed she must know of my relationship to the head of my family.”

    There was a short silence.

    “Thought so,” said Dom glumly. “Never get her to see eet, though.”

    “No. I admit that later, when it dawned she could not know, I did not undeceive her.”

    “Aye, but why? I mean, for the Lord’s sake, sir! There’s old Wayneflete with that damned place in Warwickshire, and Q.-V. with hees cursed yacht, and that naval bore, Jerningham, he’s a warm man, and—”

    “I will not compete for her on THOSE TERMS!” he shouted.

    For a moment the little bedroom rang with silence.

    “Ssh: wake the brats,” said Dom feebly. “Uh—Lor’. Well, theenk I see. Want her to love you for yourself, not for what you possess, that’s eet, ees eet not? Norrington was right: you ees proud, all right. Only—uh—what good can eet do you? What I mean—”

    “Just go to sleep,” said Lewis wearily.

    Dom subsided.

    Lewis lay awake for a long time, glaring into the dark. What a fool he was! The stupid deception had served no purpose whatsoever: why in God’s name had he gone on with it? But he could find no answer to this save the one he had given Dom. And that Dom had so rightly interpreted as springing simply from pride. Hell. What a fool. He might have known she would be furious with him once he was unmasked. Oh, God. What a damned mess.