Dangerous Escapade (2 page)

“I do not
know, John, but no doubt we shall find out very shortly. I do not think we
should jump to conclusions, however; our friend is no ordinary spy. There must
be urgent matters afoot to bring him so far into the open. He has ever had a
preference for the shadows.”

He became
thoughtful, two sharp lines marking his brow. The servant watched him uneasily,
his faith in his master vying with his almost superstitious dread of the man
below.

He was a man
feared and hated throughout the realm. His real name, and even his real
occupation, were unknown; all the fleeing rebels knew was that he was their
most ruthless and dangerous enemy. It was pure chance that had discovered his
identity to Debenham, and in circumstances that neither he nor John would
easily forget. The last sanguinary battle at Culloden had been waged and lost;
the Earl, who had fought gallantly for the rebel cause, had been in hiding for
many weeks with John at his side. Clareville, their companion until a few days before,
had mysteriously vanished, leaving the master and man to press on to Dover
alone. They had ridden only at night, spending the daylight hours in some old barn
or ditch. They were exhausted and very near to collapse when, one evening, they
had heard the sound of galloping hooves along the highway behind them. Quickly,
they dismounted, and John concealed both the horses deep in the thicket by the
roadside. When he returned, he found Debenham well hidden in a ditch by the highway
while, directly above him, were two figures on horseback. The horses were
steaming; they had been ridden hard. John slipped noiselessly into place beside
his master, who was intent on the conversation going forward between the two
riders.

 
“He would not be fool enough to come this way,
surely,” said one of the men, his voice muffled by a heavy scarf he wore around
the lower half of his face. His hat was pulled down low over his eyes, and he
sat with his shoulders hunched, his head lowered against the chill wind that
swept across the downs.

The other man
turned to answer; the moonlight fell full on the handsome, ruthless face, dark
and heavy with its cruel mouth now smiling unpleasantly.

 
“On the contrary, where else should he run but
to his lair? Believe me, if he has gone to earth, we will not flush him easily.
Remember, this is his own country; the people will succour him. I should do
exactly the same in his place.”

The Earl was now
in no doubt that he was himself the subject of this conversation. The face of
the principal speaker was quite unknown to him, but the voice of the other man,
muffled though it was, had touched some chord in his memory. The voice continued
now in a weak, almost petulant, tone.

“Damme, Sir,
but you are a cool one, 'tis all sport to you, ain’t it? No wonder they call
you the ...,” he stopped abruptly.

His companion laughed,
“Say it, man, I’ll not be offended. Men call me the Black Dog, doubtless for
like that apparition the sight of me presages a sudden and violent end!” He
laughed, “By God, I've earned their hatred. You complain that I am
cold-blooded, but I, my pusillanimous gentleman, do not sell my friends for
gold, nor do I lay information against men who trust in me. If it is a sport,
at least 'tis a clean one.”

The second man
muttered something inaudible to which his companion made no reply. Instead, he
sat thoughtfully, controlling his restless horse with ease as it sidled and
stamped in the cold night air.

“If I were you,
I should return to London before you are missed. Is it not the night of Lady Tregaron’s
Rout? All London will be there; you must not be remarked to be absent. You will
be of little further use to us if the smallest suspicion should attach to you.”

“Would to God
I could give up this devilish business,” replied the other. “And so I shall
when I have paid off all those cursed debts of mine.”

At this point,
the two horsemen parted, the one to take the London road, the other setting off
in the direction of Richmond, there to await his quarry.

Thus
forewarned, Debenham made no attempt to reach home but headed, instead, for a
tiny fishing village on the coast, where a few of the local fishermen proved
amenable to taking his Lordship across the sea for the very modest sum of five
guineas.

Now the enemy,
the self-confessed Black Dog, who had brought scores of men to the scaffold,
had found them once more and, after so many months, it seemed to John that they
were right who talked in whispers of traffic with the devil and crossed
themselves when the Black Dog was mentioned.

The Earl did
not appear to be unduly discomposed by the proximity of this dangerous
gentleman. He seemed, indeed, to be somewhat exhilarated by the situation and
doubted not his ability to outwit the enemy.

“I think,
John,” he remarked upon consideration, “that we will give our dear friend the
opportunity to show his hand a little more clearly. Let him do his worst
tonight; he can do us no harm, and I have a mind to discover what he intends.

“’Tis
dangerous work, Sir,” John answered grimly.

“Never say so,
John,” laughed Debenham, “We have been through worse together, you and I. The
truth is that I intend to give Mr Wellbeloved enough rope whereby to hang himself.”

“You'll have
us on the gallows yet,” answered the servant gloomily.

“Oh, be off
with you, man, and do not look so glum; I'll swear I was not born to be hanged.”

“Goodnight, Sir,”
responded John and retired, carefully closing the door behind him. The Earl lay
back upon the pillows and waited. Idly, he speculated upon the sudden reappearance
of Wellbeloved and coolly decided that it might be necessary to put that
importunate gentleman out of the way permanently if it should chance that he
had some new evidence against himself. He had taken elaborate precautions in
covering his tracks since the rebellion, but he did not make the mistake of
underestimating his opponent. He was well aware that the smallest slip could
prove to be his undoing.

It was about an
hour later that he heard the quiet footsteps in the passage outside his door.
They stopped, and there was a period of silence; presumably, Wellbeloved was
listening outside the door. Noiselessly, it opened, and Wellbeloved slid gently
into the chamber, his stockinged feet soundless on the wooden floor.

Lord Debenham
lay still, his breathing soft and regular. He was conscious that Wellbeloved
was bending over him. Apparently, he was assured that Debenham was sound asleep,
for he began a systematic search of the apartment.

He began with Debenham's
clothes, taking each article and examining not only the pockets but the hems
and linings as well. What he sought was not to be found in the sleeping Earl's discarded
raiment and, next, he turned his attention to the valise, which stood upon a
carved wooden chest by the bed.

Lord Debenham
could not have believed that a case could be forced open so silently or that
its contents could be ransacked so thoroughly in so short a time. He began to
have considerable respect for his visitor. Still, Wellbeloved searched in vain.
He
recrossed
to the bed; there was only one place
remaining in which a prudent man might choose to hide his valuables. Slowly,
Wellbeloved put out his hand and, with infinite care, slid it under my Lord's
pillow.

Suddenly, his
wrist was grasped in a grip so harsh that he bit back a cry of pain, and his
ears were unpleasantly assailed by the gentle tones of his host.

“I think not,
my fine fellow!” drawled the voice. “I prefer to retain my purse.”

As he spoke,
he leapt up, pulling back the curtains with his free hand while, with the other,
he held the arm of his assailant in such a way that the slightest movement
caused the unfortunate Wellbeloved exquisite agony.

As moonlight
streamed into the room, Debenham turned to face his captive.

“Good God,
you!” he cried in accents of greatest amazement. “Explain yourself, Sir, if you
can.”

“I beg of you,
my Lord, loose me! This is a terrible mistake!” whined Wellbeloved. “Indeed, I
thought this to be my own chamber. In this pitch dark, I knew not where I might
be.”

The Earl was
still looking extremely dangerous, but his hold loosened. The other man took a step
backwards, chafing his wrist and saying in an aggrieved tone: “I consider this
attack most uncalled for, my Lord. I am very sorry to have disturbed you, but
the error was a natural one, and there is no need whatsoever for such violence.”

“Your pardon, Sir,”
drawled Debenham. “It is not my custom to offer housebreakers a warm welcome,
and I could not know that you were my visitor. Had I known, I might still have
felt obliged to instruct you in the unwisdom of entering, however
unintentionally, the wrong bedchamber.”

With these
blighting words he crossed to the chamber door, opened it, and bowed his
visitor from the room. Mr Wellbeloved departed, the picture of outraged rectitude,
and Debenham returned to his bed, where he fell asleep upon the instant as
though he had not a trouble in the world to vex him.

Two

Despite Mr
Wellbeloved's gloomy prognostication, the next morning proved bright and calm. The
assembled passengers were able to board the Calais Packet soon after consuming
an early breakfast. The company consisted of Lord Debenham; Mr Wellbeloved; a
high-born dame travelling with an entourage of servants, couriers, lapdogs, and
a resigned female, who appeared to be her companion; and, lastly, a respectable
attorney in a full-bottomed wig that proclaimed his learned profession. John,
to his disgust, was left to await his master in Dover. An addition was made at
the last moment of a vociferous family of Belgians, comprising Mere, Pere, and
several infants, all of whom ran screeching around the decks, rendering the
voyage hideous for the rest of the passengers, saving only the attorney, whom,
it was discovered, was stone deaf.

As the weather
continued fair, the crossing was made in very good time and before Debenham had
become too weary of his travelling companions. The journey from Calais to Paris
was completed so expeditiously that it was not quite one week from the receipt of
the letter that Lord Debenham stood upon the doorstep of the
Maison Beauclare
.

It was not a
house that he had previously patronized, but he was sufficiently well known in Paris
to anticipate the welcome accorded everywhere to rich, young, English
Milors
.

In answer to his
knock, the door was flung open by a liveried footman who ushered him into an opulent
entrance hall. He was about to explain his mission to this menial when he was
interrupted by a cool voice speaking in heavily accented English.

“Welcome to
the
Maison Beauclare
,
Milor.”

The Earl
glanced up quickly to find that he was being addressed by one of the most
beautiful women he had ever seen. She stood at the head of the stairs, clad
only in a loose wrapper of fine lawn, her unpowdered hair a riot of red-gold
curls. Her heavy-lidded eyes gleamed green in the perfect oval of her face. She
stood for several moments, allowing him to gaze his fill, before floating, so
it seemed to Debenham
—
the movement was too
graceful to be termed walking
—
to the foot of
the stairs. She bestowed a dazzling smile upon him. “In what way can we have
the pleasure of serving you?”

Lord Debenham recovered
himself sufficiently to make the lady a profound leg.

“Your servant,
Ma'am,” he smiled. “My business is not what you may be excused for imagining. I
am here in search of a boy.”

He was
interrupted by a singularly vulgar laugh from the lady. “You have come to the
wrong shop then,
Milor
,” she remarked
flippantly.

The Earl was
cold. “You misunderstand me, Ma'am. I am here in search of a specific boy, one
Kit Clareville by name. I believe you may be able to assist me.”

She regarded him
with suspicion. “And if I do know anything about this boy, who's to say I
should trust you with him?”

The Earl had
anticipated this and, bending, he withdrew from its hiding place in his boot
the letter he had received and handed it to her. She read in silence, and then,
looking up, she said in a softened tone, “You had best come along with me,
Milor
.”

He followed
her up the broad stairs, his mind considerably distracted by the vision in
front of him. She still appeared quite extraordinarily lovely but, upon closer
inspection, he could detect a hint of brass in the red gold hair, which told
its own tale. There were tiny wrinkles, too, around her eyes and mouth, but her
body was still firm and voluptuous, as was readily discernible through the diaphanous
robe.

She led the way
into a spacious apartment in which several young ladies in various states of
classical undress were reclining. Seated upon a sofa, one velvet-clad leg
tucked beneath him, was a boy. He was reading aloud in a low, pleasing, voice
from a work of fiction so racy that Debenham was shocked, much to the amusement
of his fair companion.

The boy was
small and slightly built, making it difficult to guess his age, and so pretty a
lad that Debenham could well understand why he was petted by the young ladies.
His curls were so black as to show blue lights in the candlelight, while his
eyes appeared like inky smudges in the delicate oval face. The features were of
a patrician cast and seemed rather familiar, a fact Debenham attributed to a resemblance
to the father, Mr Clareville.

The boy had
raised his handsome head at his Lordship's entrance, and now he put down his
book in some confusion.