Dangerous Escapade Read online

  Hilary Gilman

  Dangerous

  Escapade

  Pleasant Street Publications

  By the same author

  Historical Romance

  Moonlight Masquerade

  Mysterious Masquerade

  The Cautious Heart

  Gamble with Hearts

  Fantasy

  Tides of Fire (as Hilary Lester)

  Copyright © 1979 Hilary Gilman

  Reissued in 2012 by Pleasant Street Publications

  All rights reserved: No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  First published in the United Kingdom by Robert Hale Ltd. 1979

  This edition re-issued for Kindle by Hilary Gilman

  https://sites.google.com/site/mermaidsandmasquerades/home

  One

  “Damnation!’ said the Earl to himself, without heat. He stretched out a languid hand to summon his manservant to him. Before the sound of the bell had died away, the door opened, and there entered a discreet gentleman, soberly garbed, who had served his Lordship for many years and who was regarded by the other servants as a privileged person, deep in the confidence of his master.

  “Ah, John,” drawled Lord Debenham in a bored voice. “It seems that we must be off on our travels again, you and I.”

  “Oh yes, my Lord,” responded John woodenly.

  “I very much fear so, John, and though I hesitate to incommode you, I really must ask you to be ready to set forth for Dover within the hour. We can reach the coast tonight if we obtain fresh horses at Maidstone.”

  “Very good, my Lord,” bowed the servant and departed to make his preparations.

  Lord Debenham remained standing by the open window. He was a man of five-and-thirty, tall and well-made, with excellent shoulders to set off his coat of mulberry broadcloth. He wore his own dark hair unpowdered, and clubbed with a black velvet ribbon. There was a premature hint of silver at his temples and harsh lines around his mouth that had not been there two years before. He was frowning, and in his hands he twisted a letter. It was very dirty and extremely ill-written, inscribed upon a scrap of paper torn from the front of a Bible. Much of it was illegible, and there were distressing signs that the paper had been wept upon in the course of the writing.

  The first few lines were clear enough. My dear friend, I write to you in the knowledge that you will aid me if it is in your power to do so. Here the writing deteriorated, but it was possible to make out several disjointed phrases. My child Kit ... in Paris … Maison Beauclare ... yr Kindness... Take my child ... everlasting gratitude.

  The signature was almost unrecognizable, save for a rather pathetic attempt at a flourish at the end. The substance of the message was unmistakable, however. Mr Clareville, currently sojourning at his Majesty’s pleasure in Newgate Prison, had deposited his only child in the Maison Beauclare, a notorious, if high-class, bawdy house, where the infant awaited his collection by Lord Debenham. It seemed an odd choice of refuge for a child, but doubtless the father had his reasons.

  With a resigned shrug, Lord Debenham sat down at his desk to write a note of apology to his betrothed, the Lady Amelia Henshawe, couched in terms as ardent as the rather temperate nature of his Lordship’s attachment to her merited.

  This pressing matter having been attended to, nothing further remained for him than to don his modish greatcoat and to mount the high-stepping bay held, with some difficulty, by his groom.

  It was a crisp morning in early spring, and the roads, due to an unusually mild winter, were very tolerable. The two men made good time cantering down the narrow lanes, hedgerows just coming into bud at either side of them.

  As dusk was gathering, they came into sight of Dover and were soon clattering down the cobbled streets, their tired mounts reviving as though they sensed the warm stables and hot mash awaiting them.

  The Earl halted before a half-timbered hostelry and dismounted. Mine host, a spare man, came bowing out of the inn, expressing himself honoured at Lord Debenham's visit.

  “If your Honour would just step inside, there is a good fire in the parlour, and supper shall be served directly,” he said, bustling into the inn after his noble guest.

  “I thank you, Bolderwood. I should like to be undisturbed, if you please. John will wait upon me.”

  “Of course, my Lord, as your Lordship says.” He opened the door to a small, wainscoted apartment, satisfied himself that all was in readiness, applied the bellows to the fire, and invited Debenham to enter.

  “It is very well. Supper as soon as may be.” With this, Lord Debenham settled himself into a comfortable winged armchair by the fire, crossed his ankles, and was soon, to all appearances, fast asleep.

  As he lay dozing, the door was quietly opened, and a tall figure slipped into the room. The intruder moved silently across the apartment and stood regarding the somnolent Earl, an expression of insolent amusement upon his rather saturnine countenance.

  After few moments, he coughed raspingly in his throat and, as Debenham raised sleepy eyelids, the gentleman assumed an expression of great geniality, saying: “Your pardon, Sir, for this intrusion, but 'tis devilish cold weather and not a decent fire to be had anywhere. I made sure you would not object to my sharing the parlour for a little while, 'til I warm myself.”

  The Earl did not receive this speech in a manner that lent any colour to the stranger’s conviction. However, he merely shrugged and waived his visitor vaguely towards the fire.

  The man seated himself in a chair opposite Debenham’s, very much at his ease, and began to converse in the same bluff style. “A filthy night out there, my Lord. I will own myself surprised if we may board the Calais Packet tomorrow or for some days to come for that matter.”

  “You dismay me, Sir. I can only trust that you may be proved to be mistaken.”

  “Ah, your business is of an urgent nature, my Lord,” suggested the stranger.

  “Hardly that, Mr ... er ...?”

  “Wellbeloved, Thomas Wellbeloved, at your service, Sir.”

  Lord Debenham bowed. “Hardly what one might describe as urgent, Mr Wellbeloved, but the prospect of kicking my heels in this extremely uncomfortable inn for any length of time is not one that I can support with any equanimity.''

  “Oh come, Sir, you are too severe. A very tolerable little place, I am sure,” replied Mr Wellbeloved, showing his teeth in an ingratiating smile, “Although not to be compared with the kind of place you are accustomed to, my lord Earl.”

  Lord Debenham raised an eyebrow at this familiarity, but he refrained from comment. His expression lightened when John entered the apartment at that moment. Bestowing one of his rare, attractive smiles upon the man, he said, “As you see, John, we have a guest for supper. I am sure the landlord will be capable of accommodating my friend.”

  “Of course, Sir,” responded John calmly. “I shall lay an extra cover immediately.''

  “Thank you.” Lord Debenham, having decided that his duties as host had now been amply fulfilled, closed his eyes once more, and silence reigned in the room, broken only by an occasional soft snore.

  Mr Wellbeloved watched his companion for some appreciable time before, having assured himself that Lord Debenham really slept, he rose and trod stealthily across the room to where Debenham's greatcoat was slung carelessly over a chair. Then, with practised skill, he proceeded to rifle the pockets. He laid the coat down empty-handed, a dissatisfied frown creasing his brow. Across the room, Lord Debenham stirred slightly and, by the time he raised his weary gaze, Wellbeloved was again in his chair, to all appear
ances as deeply asleep as his companion. The Earl regarded his visitor with sleepy amusement, and a soundless chuckle shook his elegant frame.

  When supper appeared, both gentlemen attacked it with a hearty appetite. Conversation was of the most desultory kind, chiefly, indeed, consisting of Mr Wellbeloved's attentions to the Earl. He was constantly helping him to the dishes before them and was most officious in filling his Lordship’s glass. Yet it was noticeable that he drank little himself. Lord Debenham's eyes glinted in secret amusement as he tossed off glass after glass of the excellent wines provided by mine host.

  The last covers having been removed, the gentlemen were left to sample the landlord's brandy, and Mr Wellbeloved was able to continue his gentle probing into the Earl's urgent business abroad.

  “I will tell you truly, my Lord,” he said expansively as he leant back in his comfortable armchair. “Nothing but the most urgent necessity would draw me from home on such a night as this.”

  “Indeed, Sir?” responded Debenham with tepid interest.

  “Yes, my errand is not a happy one. The death of a most beloved relation, Sir, has drawn me hence, and a melancholy journey it is.”

  “Pray accept my condolences.”

  “You are very good, Sir,” bowed Wellbeloved. He waited hopefully, but it became obvious that Lord Debenham had no intention of indulging in a gratifying exchange of confidences. The wine with which he had been plied had had more than the effect calculated, for instead of becoming confidential, the Earl merely displayed a marked tendency to fall asleep before Wellbeloved’s exasperated gaze.

  At last, he rose and made his way carefully to the door.

  “I bid you goodnight, Mr Wellbeloved,” he said, the deep voice a little slurred.

  He bowed and withdrew. As the door closed behind him, he straightened and, with a firm tread, made his way swiftly to his own apartment.

  John was waiting for him inside, obviously suffering a good deal of anxiety.

  “What did that devil want with us, Sir?” he demanded urgently.

  “So you did recognize him, John. I wondered,” rejoined his Lordship, seating himself upon the bed and holding forth one booted leg to the valet.

  “Of course I knew him!” answered John scornfully. “Yon's not a face you forget in a hurry.”

  The Earl laughed shortly, “No, I think our friend has underestimated us, John; I really think so. I am not so easily drawn.”

  “D’ye think he suspects ye, Sir?” questioned the servant anxiously.

  “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 pe
rmanently 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.