Susan Carroll by Masquerade Page A

He twisted round
upon his throne as far as his size would allow him, and glared.
    Phaedra curtsied. "Good morrow,
Grandfather."
    "Good morrow is it?" Weylin roared.
"Disobedient chit. Get over here and account for yourself at once.
What d'ye mean-" He broke off to snarl at the barber. "Don't stand
there gawking. Be on your way, rascal."
    "But your wig, sir- "
    Weylin snatched it from him. "Be off with you
and send me the reckoning. Fifteen guineas, mind you, and not a
penny more."
    "Sir!" The man's wail turned into a gasp as
Sawyer Weylin groped for his gold-tipped cane, poking it at the
man. As the barber scrambled for the door, her grandfather managed
to deliver a well-placed thrust at the man's plump buttocks. Weylin
grunted in satisfaction before turning to rail at Phaedra.
    "Stap me, if I ain't beset upon all sides by
highwaymen and robbers. There's not an honest tradesmen left in all
of London." Weylin jammed the wig upon his head.
    "Now, missy, over here!" He tapped a spot
near his chair with the cane. "What d'ye mean by sneaking back from
Bath, filling my house with Irish papists? Searle told me you
received that rascal cousin of yours. I won't have it! Foreign
villains creeping about under my roof."
    Phaedra gasped with indignation. "You're a
fine one to talk about foreign villains. What about your French
friend ensconced in Ewan's room? I daresay he is as Catholic as
Gilly."
    "I'd trust a Frenchman a deal further than I
would an Irish or a Scots. At least Armande is not a pauper."
    "I'll wager you have no notion who the
marquis might be, any more than anyone else does." Phaedra advanced
upon her grandfather. Ignoring the manner in which his chin
quivered with anger, she proceeded to straighten his wig, which
looked ridiculously askew. The old man thrust her aside.
    "And so you've already presented yourself to
the marquis, looking like a raggle-taggle gypsy, I suppose." He
jerked on one of her red curls. "Od's lights, girl, why can't you
ever powder that carroty hair of yours? 'Tis damned hard upon a
man's eyes this hour of the day."
    "We have more important matters to discuss
than my hair." Phaedra flicked her tresses out of his reach.
    "So we have. Why the deuce you couldn't stay
put in Bath until I sent for you? You've likely ruined
everything."
    Phaedra started to snap out her reason for
returning to London, but her grandfather's last remark brought her
up short. What did he mean, she'd ruined everything? Before she
could question him, the old man gasped a flood of curses as the
pillows shifted out from under his leg, jarring his gouty foot.
    "Damnation. God curse it!"
    Phaedra bent down to rearrange the pillows
beneath the limb, which was swathed in a linen bandage. "Stop
thumping about like that. You are only making it worse." She
wondered when the stubborn old man had last been seen by his
physician.
    When she'd managed to ease the foot into a
more comfortable position, Weylin sagged back in his chair, mopping
at his sweating brow with a large handkerchief.
    "Ah, that's better." He glanced down at
Phaedra with a look approaching fondness. "Foolish, headstrong
girl. If only you knew how I have your best interests at
heart."
    The layers of flesh on his face crinkled, his
lips stretching into a bland smile, revealing a row of even white
teeth, remarkably unblemished for a man of his years. He was
inordinately proud of them.
    Her fingers still curled about a pillow,
Phaedra stared up at him, her mouth hardening into a line of
suspicion. It struck her that something was wrong here. She had
expected her grandfather to be furious at her unannounced return
from Bath. Despite his grousing, she had the feeling he was not
altogether displeased to have her back. Smiling down at her, Sawyer
reminded her of a fat, lazy crocodile, sunning itself on the banks
of a river. But Phaedra had seen too many fools snapped up in her
grandfather's jaws to be taken in.
    "What did you mean a moment ago," she
demanded, "when you said I'd