The Brown Mask, Page 2

  CHAPTER II

  BARBARA LANISON

  As the coach rolled heavily homewards towards St. James's Square, LadyBolsover speedily recovered from her anxiety concerning her niece; shedid not even reprimand her for getting lost in the crowd, and seemed totake no interest whatever in the gentleman who had come to the rescueand had not waited to be thanked. He could have been no person ofconsequence, or he would not have neglected the opportunity of bowingover her hand. She talked of nothing but the trial and the excellentmanner in which her friend Judge Marriott had conducted it. Some of hiswitticisms she remembered and repeated with such excellent point thather niece shuddered again as she had done when they fell from thejudge's lips.

  "It was altogether horrible," said the girl. "I wonder why you made mego."

  "Judge Marriott's wit horrible!" exclaimed Lady Bolsover. "Pray do notsay so in company, or you will be taken for a fool."

  "I meant the trial--the whole thing. Why did we go?"

  "Would you be altogether out of the fashion, Barbara?"

  "Such fashion, yes, I think so."

  "Ah, that's the drawback of living in the country," was the answer. "Allone's morals and manners smell of the soil, and a woman's attainmentsare limited to the making of gooseberry wine and piecrusts. I was ofthat pattern myself once, but, thank heaven! I married wisely andescaped from it. You must do the same, Barbara."

  "Indeed, I am not sure that I want to, and yet--"

  "I am grateful for the reservation," said Lady Bolsover, "or I should becompelled to think that all my care of you during these last few monthshad been wasted."

  "Oh, no; I have learnt many things--many things that it is good for meto know. I have seen men and women who seem to live in another world tothe one I have knowledge of, a large and most interesting world, truly,yet not altogether to my taste. Is it not a strange world that can enjoywhat we have witnessed to-day?"

  "I must confess I enjoyed Judge Marriott hugely," was the answer, "andthe prisoner was a man, I'll say that for him. I almost regret nothaving had the honour of being stopped by him. I grant you he wasinteresting, and played his part gallantly."

  "Doomed to die on the gallows! Do you call that playing a part?"

  "My dear," and Lady Bolsover touched the girl's arm, "did I not knowyour ancestry I should imagine your father a scurvy Puritan and yourmother a kitchen wench given to long hymns and cant of a Sunday. Are yousure this cavalier of yours was not some miserable sniveller who foundtime to favour you with a sermon? He disappeared so hastily that itwould seem he was ashamed of himself."

  The girl did not answer, and if the colour came into her cheeks at thememory of what the man had said to her, Lady Bolsover was too amused ather own conjecture to notice it.

  There are those who are so intent upon living that they have little timeto think. Lady Bolsover was of these. The hour that did not hold someexcitement in it wearied her and made her petulant. Her husband, deadthese ten years, had been amongst the enthusiastic welcomers of Charlesat his Restoration, and his wife had from first to last been awell-known figure in the Court of the Merry Monarch. That she was nobeauty, rather than because she possessed any great strength ofcharacter, probably accounted for the fact that she enjoyed no peculiarfame in that dissolute company. As she could not be the heroine of anintrigue, it pleased her to consider herself too great a dame for suchaffairs, and she was fully persuaded that she might count her lovers bythe score, even now, had she so desired. As she had no very definitecharacter, so she had no real convictions. Charles was dead, and Jameswas King. Many changes were imminent, and Lady Bolsover was waiting tosee in which direction the wind blew. Her nature, perhaps, was to hatePuritans and all their ways, but, if necessary to her own well-being,she would easily be able to love them and curse all Catholics. She wasnot really bad at heart, but she was a strange companion for BarbaraLanison.

  Some few months ago Sir John Lanison, of Aylingford Abbey in Hampshire,Lady Bolsover's brother and Barbara's uncle and sole guardian since thedeath of her parents, had suggested that his sister should take chargeof his ward for a little while. Practically she knew nothing of London,he said, and it was time she did. Sir John declared that he did not wantit to be said that he had hidden his niece away at the Abbey so that noman should have a chance of seeing her. He had known prettier women, butshe was well enough, and where her face failed to attract her amplefortune would.

  "She's got more learning than is needful for a girl, to my mind," hetold his sister; "but that kind of nonsense will be knocked out of heras soon as she understands her value as a woman. Send her back with allthe corners rounded, my dear Peggy--that is what I want."

  Lady Bolsover had done her best, but the result was not verysatisfactory. Barbara had convictions which her aunt was powerless toundermine, and seemed to set such a value upon herself that no man wasable to make the slightest impression on her. She had barely refrainedfrom laughing outright at the compliments of recognised wits, and half adozen gallants with amorous intentions had been baffled and put toshame. Lord Rosmore, whose way with a woman was pronounced irresistible,had declared her adorable, but impossible, and Judge Marriott hadpromised Lady Bolsover a very handsome gratuity if she could persuadeher niece to favour him and become his wife.

  Barbara Lanison could not be unconscious of the sensation she caused--awoman never is--but she sometimes studied the reflection in her mirror,and tried to discover the reason. Quite honestly she failed. She was notdissatisfied with the reflection, in its way it was pleasing, sheadmitted, but she had not supposed that it was of the kind that wouldappeal to men, and to such a variety of men. The women who usuallypleased them were so different. It even occurred to her that there mightbe something in herself, in her behaviour, which was not quite nice, andthat her real attraction lay in this, an idea which proved that herestimate of the men who came to her aunt's house was not a very highone.

  Born and bred in the country, and with an amount of learning which heruncle considered unnecessary, she had prejudices, no doubt, and possiblyhad a standard of female beauty in her mind which her own reflection didnot satisfy. That she was mistaken in her own estimate of herself wascertain, or the men would not have been so assiduous in theirattentions. Perhaps she admired dark women, and the reflection whichsmiled at her out of the depths of the mirror was fair. The eyes wereblue--that blue which the sky shows in the early morning of a cloudlessday, and there was a suggestion of tears in them--the tears which maycome from much laughter rather than those which speak of sorrow. Therewas a touch of gold in the fair hair, which was inclined to berebellious and curl into little lovelocks about her neck and forehead.The skin was fair, with the bloom of perfect health upon it, and thelittle mouth was firm, the lips fresh as from the kiss of a rose. Therewas grace in all her movements, that unstudied grace which tells of lifein the open air and freedom from restraint; and in thought and word anddeed conventionality had small interest for her. It was hardly wonderfulthat Lord Rosmore should pronounce her adorable, or that Judge Marriottshould forget that his youth was a thing of the past. Indeed, she hadcome as a revelation to the men whose lives were made up of Courtintrigue and artificiality.

  Perhaps another reason why Barbara Lanison found it difficult tounderstand the sensation she created lay in the fact that her heart andaffections remained entirely untouched. Those blue eyes, underneaththeir long lashes, saw very keenly, and gave her a quick insight intocharacter. She was not to be easily led, and if she did a good manythings in her aunt's house, where she was a guest, which did not comenaturally to her and which did not please her, there was a point beyondwhich no persuasion on Lady Bolsover's part could make her go. Muchagainst her will she had been taken to the trial of the highwayman, andthat she was ashamed of being there was shown by her eager desire toexplain her presence to the man who had come to her rescue in the crowd.It would probably have annoyed Lady Bolsover considerably had she knownthat her niece thought more of this man during the next few days than ofall the eligibl
e gallants who had been brought to her notice.

  If in one sense Lady Bolsover had to admit failure with regard to herplans concerning her niece, in another direction she had achievedconsiderable success, for since the advent of Barbara Lanison her ownfavour had been courted on all sides, and her house in St. James'sSquare had become a little Court in itself. To half a dozen men who hadflattered her sufficiently as a first step towards her good graces, shehad promised to do her best with her niece on their behalf, and atintervals she dispensed encouragements for which no action or privateword of Barbara's gave any foundation. Lady Bolsover found her present_entourage_ very pleasant, and was not inclined to spoil it by beingtoo definitely honest. It was therefore with considerable chagrinthat, a few days after the trial, she received a message from herbrother that Barbara was to return to Aylingford Abbey without delay;and since Judge Marriott was about to pay him a visit, nothing could bebetter than that Barbara should travel in his company.

  Barbara was quite ready to return to the Abbey, but she did not relishJudge Marriott as a travelling companion. He was old enough to be herfather, and foolish enough to attempt to make love to her. She haddisliked him from the first; she had come near to hating him since shehad seen and heard him at that dreadful trial. The self-satisfied judge,on the other hand, hoped to make capital out of the trial. He had beeninstrumental in ridding the world of a notorious highwayman, one who hadmade himself unpleasantly known to not a few of those who were SirJohn's guests from time to time. The trial would be much talked of atAylingford, and Marriott could not fail to be a centre of attraction.His acumen must also have appealed to the woman whose escort he was tobe. His conduct of the case must have impressed her with his importance.She was the most beautiful woman with whom he had ever been brought intocontact, and his ambition took to itself wings. Why should not thiswoman belong to him? True, he had no family behind him to boast of, buthe had made a position, and the way to greater things lay open beforehim. Jeffreys was his friend, and Jeffreys was a power with the newKing. High honours might be in the near future for Judge Marriott. Hewas an ugly man--with all his willingness to do so, he could not gainsaythat; but he consoled himself with the reflection that many beautifulwomen had married men whose looks certainly did not recommend them. Itwas only the commonplace that women turned from, and he was sufficientlyugly not to be commonplace.

  So Judge Marriott exerted himself to amuse and interest his fair youngcharge as they journeyed together into Hampshire, and not altogetherwithout success. He soon discovered that all discussion concerning thetrial was unwelcome, that the girl's foolish sympathies had been withthe prisoner rather than the judge, and he quickly talked of otherthings. He almost made Barbara believe that he regretted Nature had notmade him a highwayman instead of a judge, and he certainly succeeded inmaking the girl confess to herself that he was not such an unpleasanttravelling companion as she had expected.

  The day had been cloudy, threatening rain, and twilight came early. Whenthe coach began to cross Burford Heath it was dusk. Barbara was tired,and leaned back in her corner, while the judge lapsed into silence, notaltogether oblivious to the fact that there might be dangers upon theheath. The road was heavy, and in places deep-rutted; the grinding andcrunching of the wheels, the only sound breaking the stillness of theevening, grew monotonous; and the constant heavy jolting was trying.Suddenly there was a cry from the post-boys, and the coach came to astandstill with a jerk.

  "Curse them! They've managed to break down!" exclaimed Marriott. Hishand trembled a little as he let down the window, and it seemed toBarbara that he was more afraid than angry. He thrust his head out ofthe window with an oath, then drew it in sharply. A horseman stood atthe door with a pistol in his hand.

  "There is payment to make for crossing the heath."

  The judge broke out into a torrent of abuse, but whether at the man whobarred his way or at himself for being unprepared, it was difficult tosay.

  "And the payment is extra for cursing your luck, especially in thepresence of a lady," said the man sharply, in a tone which admitted noargument and proved him master of the situation.

  Barbara, sitting upright, looked steadily into the masked face of thehighwayman, deeply interested, but without fear. Was it fancy, or wasthere a familiar note in the man's voice? Marriott had shrunk back inthe coach as he fumbled for his purse. He tried to conceal his face fromthe man, for, should the highwayman discover his identity, he mightconsider the moment opportune to avenge his brother of the road who hadso recently died at Tyburn.

  "A meagre purse for so famous a judge," the man said, weighing it in hishand; "but your money is a small matter. I have a bigger score to settlethan that. Out with you!" and the man flung open the coach door.

  Marriott shrank farther back until he appeared a very small and mean manin the corner of the coach. He tried to speak, but his words wereinarticulate, and Barbara could feel him trembling violently.

  "Get out, or--"

  "Surely, sir, you would not kill him?" and Barbara stretched out an armto protect him.

  "Do you plead for him, mistress? He is lucky to have such an advocate.Get out, judge. For the sake of those bright eyes beside you, you maykeep your life, but you shall do penance for your sins. Get out, I say."

  Very reluctantly Marriott crept from the carriage.

  "You have all my money," he whimpered.

  "Down on your knees, then, and ask pardon for passing judgment on abetter man than yourself. Down! Quickly, or this pistol of mine mayforget that I have made a promise."

  Marriott sank upon his knees in a place where the road was very muddy.

  "The man I sent to Tyburn--say it after me."

  "The man I sent to Tyburn," repeated Marriott.

  "--was a gentleman compared to me."

  "--was a gentleman compared to me."

  "I am an unjust judge, a scoundrel at heart, a mean, contemptiblecoward, unfit to consort with honest men, and every pure, good womanshould spurn me like dirt. Say it! Louder! The lady should be interestedin your confession."

  Marriott said the words, raising his voice as he was ordered.

  "And I pray to Heaven to have pity on the soul of the man I sent to hisdeath at Tyburn. Say it aloud, with uplifted hands. It is a prayer youmay well make, for, God knows, you'll have need of all His mercy someday."

  The prayer was repeated, and so like a real prayer was it that, in thedarkness of the coach, Barbara smiled. Prayer and Judge Marriott seemedso wide asunder.

  "Now get back into the coach, and take care your muddy clothes do notsoil the lady's gown, as your presence could hardly fail to bepestilential to her, did she but know you as you really are. Good-night,fair mistress; some day I hope to see you under better escort."

  For a moment he bowed low over his horse's neck, then he turned andgalloped straight across the heath.

  Judge Marriott had entered the coach hurriedly, so glad to escape fromthe highwayman that he did not consider how poor a figure he had cut inthe sight of the girl. Fearful that his tormentor might not yet havedone with him, he sank back in his corner again. Barbara was sittingforward looking from the window.

  "He has gone," she said.

  "Curse him!" said Marriott in a whisper. He was still afraid, and hisvoice trembled. "Surely his mask was--"

  "It was brown," said Barbara. "I thought the man who wore the brown maskwas dead."

  "I thought so too," he muttered as he leaned forward to the window andwatched the highwayman disappear into the shadows of the night.