Dangerous Escapade Read online

  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.

  “Who is this gentleman, Tante Hélène?” he demanded in cultured French. “Why have you brought him to see me?” The woman ran forward and fell to her knees beside the boy.

  “Never fret, Petit.’Tis your Papa's dear friend, Milor Debenham, come to take you home to England, as is your father's wish. You will be safe with him.”

  The sensitive lips trembled. “I would much rather stay here with you, Tante Hélène,” he said, “England is not my home nor ever will be.”

  “Indeed, you must go, my little one,” she assured him gently. “Your papa has written to say that it must be so; indeed, my love, we have always known that you could not stay here forever. It is best this way.”

  Kit regarded Debenham under frowning black brows. The Earl returned his regard steadily.

  “Come, Kit, this is your father's command,” he said. “You and I should be friends, for we must not fail him now.''

  Kit rose quickly, making Debenham a little bow, which was returned with due formality. “Sir, I am grateful to you for coming to fetch me, and I will, of course, do as my father wishes,” he began stiffly. “But it cannot be but that I shall be a charge upon you. I do not think that you can really want me to live with you.”

  The Earl replied with equal gravity, “As we are not yet very well acquainted, I will spare you protestations of regard. However, I hope that in time we may become sincerely attached to each other and that I may be permitted to stand in some respects as a father to you. This is not a question that we can discuss here, so I would be obliged if you would pack whatever of your belongings you wish to carry with you and return with me to my hôtel tonight.”

  Kit stared up at the handsome, uncompromising face before him. For a moment, it seemed that he might rebel; then, with a shrug, he capitulated, saying: “As you wish, Sir. Tante Hélène, will you assist me?”

  The Earl was much amused by the quaint dignity displayed by his young charge and by the habitual note of command in the immature voice. He perceived that Master Clareville was an unusual character, and he looked forward with rather more enthusiasm to the prospect of his guardianship.

  After some minutes, during which time Debenham was beguiled into pleasant conversation with several damsels who had lingered in the scented boudoir, Hélène and Master Clareville returned, the latter clutching a valise.

  Tenderly, the young ladies gathered around their favourite to make their farewells. He submitted to a series of affectionate embraces, returning them with a gentlenes
s Lord Debenham thought strange in a boy of his age, who might be expected to consider these demonstrations unmanly and embarrassing.

  At last, Kit turned to Hélène, who stood a little apart, watching him hungrily. He held out his arms to her, and she clasped him to her breast with a fervour that startled the watching Earl.

  “Farewell, dear Tante,” whispered the boy in a choking voice.

  “God go with you, my dearest,” she answered softly, then thrust him from her almost roughly. “Take care of le petit, Milor!” she commanded Debenham fiercely. “Be kind to him.”

  Lord Debenham bowed. “I will do my poor best. Come, Kit, we must be off. Good day to you, ladies. Madame, your very obedient.”

  Once outside the scented house with its opulent surroundings and oppressive atmosphere, a change came over the Earl's young companion. He straightened his narrow shoulders and swaggered along, head held high. There was something endearing in that brave little gesture that made Lord Debenham regard his new acquaintance rather more closely than before. He began to wonder if he had mistaken the child's age, for there was a maturity in the delicate face that argued a greater burden of years than he had at first supposed. He was about to question the lad when he was himself addressed.

  “Milor, I am sadly ignorant of affairs in England. Do you have any news of my father for me? The last message I received told me only that I must expect a friend's coming, nothing more. I confess that I am afraid for my father. Please tell me the truth; I would much rather know the worst.”

  “I regret, Kit, I have no good news to offer you. The communication I received from your father was smuggled out of Newgate and was therefore necessarily short. I am convinced, Kit, that he is as well as any man can be in such conditions, and he will be given a fair trial, you know.”

  They walked on in silence for a while. Kit appeared to be labouring under some strong emotion, which my Lord Debenham judged it wisest to allow him to wrestle with alone. Therefore, he strode calmly on. Before they had covered a hundred yards, Kit halted abruptly and turned to face Debenham.

  “Sir, there is something I must say to you,” he announced dramatically.

  “Well, my boy? I am all ears.”

  “My Lord Debenham, my father was betrayed into the hands of his enemies. I know this, and I have sworn to find the traitor responsible.”

  Debenham was touched: “And what will you do when you find this scoundrel, Kit?” he asked gently.

  “I will kill him,” the boy stated calmly.

  “An admirable sentiment, my friend, but I fear your vengeance will prove somewhat tardy. You are very young, are you not?''

  Kit hesitated: “I am older than I appear, Milor, and I am strong. My father has taught me well. I have no fears on that score.”

  Debenham smiled sceptically but, despite himself, he admired the boy's spirit. As for the disclosure Kit had made, the Earl admitted it to be only too probable. He had good reason to know that at least one traitor there was who moved amongst the best society in the land. He knew that he was fortunate to have concealed his own involvement in the late rebellion so successfully.

  They had been walking now for almost twenty minutes and were within sight of the fashionable Rue Saint-Honoré in which the Hôtel Debenham was situated, when Debenham became aware that they were not alone. His trained senses detected the pursuers long before they came into view and, by the sudden stiffening in the slim figure by his side, he knew that Kit also sensed their danger.

  He had only time to shout a warning when they were assailed by four burly ruffians, all armed in a manner unusual in common footpads and who bore down upon them in purposeful silence.

  “Four against one!” The Earl laughed softly through his teeth; “I like these odds.”

  “Against two, Sir!” cried a young voice. Beside him, Kit had drawn his blade and was putting it to business-like use.

  Lord Debenham was one of the finest swordsmen of his day. The first ruffian rushing forward to engage him was parried with the utmost ease and sent staggering back with a well-aimed, if ungentlemanly, kick to the groin. Wiping his forehead upon the velvet arm of his coat, the Earl swung round on his heel to assist his young comrade and was astounded to see the boy calmly withdrawing his blade from his fallen opponent. A third man about to advance upon Kit palpably thought better of it and departed hurriedly, leaving the fourth ruffian to the mercy of Debenham. This man, the largest and most powerful of their antagonists, was obviously the ringleader; moreover, he fenced a good deal more scientifically than his fellows. He fought desperately on, causing Debenham a good deal of trouble until a particularly wild thrust in prime gave Lord Debenham the opportunity for which he had been waiting. His blade slid under his opponent's guard, piercing the lung, from which gushed the unmistakably light red blood that betokened a mortal wound. With a choking cry, the man sank to the ground, where he lay sprawling in his own gore.

  Lord Debenham raised his head to find Kit regarding him with an admiration not unmixed with speculation.

  “No common footpad that, Milor; he fought too well.”

  “He did indeed,” agreed the Earl thoughtfully. “Allow me, by the way, to compliment you upon your swordplay—a quite remarkable display in a boy of your years!”

  Kit shrugged deprecatingly, “It was a lucky circumstance that I took him by surprise, Sir, for although I was well taught, I am easily winded.”

  “Nevertheless, well done! I find it in my heart to pity the object of your vengeance after all. I had no idea you were so ruthless.”

  “You may well pity him, Sir, for he will find none in me,” Kit answered calmly. Then, shrugging off the dark mood, he asked in a lighter voice, “What is to be done with these fellows, Sir? It seems a little untidy to leave them lying here.”

  “I agree, but I fail to see what else we can do. Comfort yourself with the reflection that, were those our bodies, they would certainly have left us to rot in the gutter. Doubtless, they will be removed by someone or other.”

  “Doubtless,” agreed Kit, and they walked off together towards the lighted street, very well pleased with each other.

  The excellence of Master Clareville's swordsmanship had considerably surprised Debenham. On the journey that followed, he was to encounter several more such surprises.

  He would not easily forget the evening of the first day, when, having stopped at a small inn for the night, the Earl came down to dinner only to find his irrepressible ward deep in play with a group of young officers also honouring the hostelry with their presence. This was in itself surprising, but a good deal more so was the pile of gold louis d'or before Master Clareville. He was winning very considerably, which amused Debenham and rendered him, at first, inclined to be rather indulgent of his ward’s precocity. However, having taken up his station behind Master Clareville's chair, he was amazed to find that his ward was systematically and very skilfully cheating.

  Lord Debenham reached down to place a firm hand on Kit's shoulder. “Enough is enough, my young friend. I require my dinner, and I am sure these gentlemen will excuse you.”

  Kit glanced up, his blue eyes gleaming with mischief. “As you say, Milor. Messieurs, forgive me.” He bowed quaintly and left the table, gathering up his winnings with an apologetic air as though embarrassed by his good fortune.

  Alone with his charge in the dining room, the Earl favoured him with a scathing denunciation of his morals, the effect of which was somewhat spoiled by his then demanding to be shown the trick of dealing from the bottom of the deck, an accomplishment he had never been in the way of acquiring before.

  In the study of this useful technique, the evening was passed companionably, the Earl merely entreating his ward to choose less burly and well-armed pigeons to fleece in the future.

  They resumed their journey on the morrow and continued in mutual felicity until Calais was reached and the Dover Packet boarded.

  The Earl was congratulating himself on the exemplary behaviour of his ward when he bec
ame aware of agitated voices outside his cabin door, followed by loud and angry knocking.

  His Lordship, who was engaged in tying his neckcloth, was disinclined to move but, as the knocking persisted, he grew exasperated and flung open the door in some annoyance.

  In the doorway, were revealed a large red-faced man in a frieze greatcoat and a struggling Master Clareville, held by the collar of his elegant coat. A variety of other persons in a state of considerable agitation were gathered in the passage way, all of whom addressed the Earl at once.

  Lord Debenham waited for the hubbub to die down before attempting to make himself heard. Under the well-bred stare, the red-faced man wilted visibly and released Master Clareville, who lost no time in seeking the shelter of Debenham's side. My Lord glanced down at the curly head beside him, and his lips twitched slightly. However, there was no trace of laughter in the cultured voice as he addressed his most prominent interlocutor.

  “My good Sir, perhaps you will be kind enough to explain your reason, no doubt excellent, for manhandling my ward,” he said.

  Somewhat awed by the Earl's hauteur, the red-faced individual identified himself as Mr Badger and, further, begged leave to introduce to his Lordship's notice Mrs Badger, a thin-faced woman, who regarded Debenham with deepest distrust. She was holding by the arm a remarkably pretty girl of about sixteen who was looking decidedly sulky.

  The Earl raised his eyebrows questioningly to Kit, who shook his dusky curls violently. “Have the goodness to elucidate this mystery, Mr Badger,” adjured Debenham, seating himself.

  Badger puffed out his chest, much gratified by the Earl's politeness, and began in a mollified tone: “Well, I don't say as how it's any of your blame, your Honour, but I catched that young cub a kissing o' my Mary here, and what I says is, what's he a going to do about it? She's been brought up respectable, has my Mary, and you can't say no different. What's more,” continued Badger, warming to his theme, “you needn't think as just because you're quality you can go around ravishing innocent maidens without their fathers having something to say about it!”