The Curious Rogue

by Joan Vincent

  When the coach halted at his command, Cavilon stepped down with a final admonition for Elizabeth to remain inside. His progress along the wharf drew marked attention from the stevedores and sailors. Whoops and catcalls followed his every step.

  After waiting several minutes, Elizabeth took a firm hold on Barney’s collar and opened the coach door. The startled footman helped her down.

  “But, Miss Jeffries,” he protested, “Comte de Cavilon did not wish you to—”

  “I shall be well guarded,” she said, motioning to the beast at her side, and hurried past the footman. For once, my lord, she thought, your toilet is a great benefit. You are perfectly visible.

  The comte’s ornate figure was easily seen but, not daring to get too close lest she be noticed, Elizabeth followed at a distance that kept him barely in sight. When he halted before one of the smaller sloops and spoke with a man who came off it, she tried to note its position carefully for later reference. Satisfied, she turned to go back to the coach, but Barney had a different idea. Having spied a rat, he lunged forward, broke from her hold and disappeared among the stacks of barrels and bales.

  “Barney! Barney, come back!” Elizabeth tried to follow him but was blocked by the jumble of cargo. “Lord, now what?” She looked about, trying to spy him, and saw that Cavilon was returning. After taking a few steps towards the coach, Elizabeth halted. She would not desert the animal she had promised to care for.

  “We had agreed that you remain in the coach,” the comte greeted her sternly, a scowl on his features.

  “Barney escaped from the coach,” Elizabeth answered. “We must find him.”

  “That is impossible. The animal knows how to care for himself. When Tom arrives, bring him here and the beast will show himself.” Cavilon took her arm and led her to the coach. When they were seated within it, he spoke. “The matter is completed. He shall leave this eve.”

  Elizabeth’s guilty conscience bent her anger toward him. “Will you do nothing to find Barney?”

  “He will come to the lad,” Cavilon assured her. “You are fatigued from the journey and will feel better after you have rested.”

  “As you say, my lord.” She forced her mind back to the larger problem. “Do you leave for London soon?”

  “I fear I must go this eve,” Cavilon answered. “Are you certain you do not wish to return to your uncle?”

  “I could not, especially with Barney lost. There is no reason for you to worry.” Elizabeth tried to ease the curtness of her voice. “I am accustomed to being on my own.”

  Silence fell once again and remained until they stood alone inside the small parlour of her family home.

  “You see, I shall have much to occupy me,” Elizabeth told Cavilon as she motioned at the dust covers on all the furniture.

  “Then I shall take my leave. I ask you to trust that all that can be done to free your brother and bring him safely home will be.”

  The earnestness in his eyes struck a tender note in Elizabeth. She put aside retort that had come to mind. “I do,” she answered. “I wish you a safe journey.”

  “Thank you, ma petite.” Cavilon kissed her hand and then reached out to touch her cheek. A quixotic mood came over him. “My kerchief.” He drew his lace square from his jacket and pressed it into her hand. “For you to hold dear till I return.”

  Elizabeth accepted it, wondering at his words. “Shall you return before the ship is expected?”

  “No, I shall await word of its return. If the attempt to save your brother is not successful, you shall not see me again.” Bowing with an elaborate flourish, he turned and walked away.

  Stunned by his words, Elizabeth stared after him. She pushed aside the impulse to run after the comte.

  “How curious a man he is,” she murmured as the door closed behind him. Shrugging the mood away, she untied her bonnet and removed her gloves. “There is much I have to do,” she said aloud, and walked towards her brother’s chamber.

  Once there Elizabeth went to the wardrobe and rummaged through it. After removing a pair of breeches, a shirt, hose, and boots, she hurried to her bedchamber.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Pressing his seal into the soft wax, Cavilon felt somewhat easier. If he did not return, the letter would explain all to Elizabeth. He motioned Leveque forward.

  “I have decided to remain at Folkestone,” he informed the valet. “I wish you to take these letters to Lord Tretain in London.” The comte placed the missive he had just sealed with two others in the slim leather case. “When you have done this, go to my London apartments and ready them for my return.”

  “But my lord, how shall you manage here... alone?”

  “There are times when one must sacrifice one’s personal comfort.” Cavilon fluttered his lace. “The coach awaits you.” He waved dismissal.

  Until he was certain the coach had departed he paced impatiently, anxious to begin. Then certain that Leveque was gone, Cavilon left the inn in a hired landaulet.

  Ordering it halted in a busier section of Folkestone, Cavilon motioned for two young lads to come to him. After a brief he gave them several guineas along with an address. Then the comte re-entered the landaulet and gave the driver new orders. When it halted before a small house he had rented on a previous trip, Cavilon paid the driver, dismissed him. He disappeared into the house drawing as little attention as possible.

  In less than an hour the lads hurried to Cavilon’s door bearing several packages. Taking them, he expressed his thanks with a generous amount of coin and sent them away.

  Back in his room Cavilon changed into the rough garments in the packages. A quick scrubbing removed all trace of powder and rouge. He smeared his face lightly with ash from the fireplace, all hint of affectation now gone.

  Transformed into Martin, he then left the house by way of the back door and hurried to procure the few other essentials required for the journey before him.

  In the early evening half-light Martin entered a tavern in the wharf district. He greeted several of the men within by name and exchanged local gossip before taking a mug of ale and sitting at a table near the door. An hour went by while he idly visited with those who passed near his table.

  When a large, weathered sea captain strode in, Martin hailed him and called for two mugs of ale.

  “Hattern, I thought mayhaps my message failed to reach you,” he said as the other roughly pulled a stool to the table and deposited his bulk on it.

  “When ‘aye ye known me to fail to come,” the rough captain grinned broadly. “‘Tis been several new moons since ye’ve been seen.”

  “The excise men took too great a liking to me,” Martin answered. “That night we landed they had men waiting inland. I decided they needed a rest.” He laughed and raised his mug, offering an uncomplimentary toast to the king’s men.

  Hattern leaned forward. “‘Eard ye been askin’ after that Lord Fromby.”

  “I’ve my reasons. Do you know anything that would interest me?” Martin glanced around. “Let us speak as we go to the Tigress. It’s time we were on our way.”

  “Aye, there’s a fair wind risin’. Should be a good crossin’ if the moon don’t betray us. Course if ‘is lordship’s sloop be plyin’ the waters, the patrols tend to stay away.” He winked and finished his ale before rising and following the other’s lead.

  “You think there are excise men helping him?”

  “‘Tis a common fact,” the other returned.

  “What do you think the man is about?” Martin asked. “There seem to be many different rumours and none completely creditable.”

  “Aye, ‘is lordship ‘as played it close till now. Of late ‘e’s gotten careless. ‘Is sort usually do. Now ‘e’s seen openly on the docks and few believe it’s ‘is love fer ‘is sloop or the sea that brings ‘im. The cargo’s brought ashore in ‘is name and be labelled ‘salt pork’ or ‘salt beef.’ I’d eat the manifest afore I’d believe it.”

  “I have heard that his ship does not
go empty to France.”

  “So ‘tis said, but I and mine ‘ave nothin’ to do with that. We’re as honest as the times let us be.” Hattern’s craggy visage studied the younger man closely.

  “What ye be doin’ that ye go so openly to France this time?”

  “A favour for a friend. He wants a young man removed from a French prison. There may be a problem in it for I’m not yet certain which prison, but we’ll head for the Sillon de Talbert. With luck, in three or four days I should be ready to be picked up as usual.”

  “If we ‘ave to return more’n twice, it’ll be bloody dangerous,” the older man noted, rubbing the rough stubble on his chin.

  “Has it not always been worth your while?” Martin questioned. “With luck there will be no problems. Besides, you know you love to teach those French corvettes how to sail.”

  “Ye be a fine one to be speakin’ so free. Think ye them French will greet ye with open arms? How many times ‘ave ye come poundin’ to the shore with a pack o’ them on yer heels? Lucky ye always manage to steal the faster horse.” Hattern clapped Martin on the back, laughing.

  “Let us hope we’ve more time to spare than that,” Martin returned. “This time there would be the added difficulty of transferring an ill and weakened man to the coast, let alone from the shore to the sloop.”

  “If ye ken get the lad past the prison walls and to the coast, we’ll get ‘im to England,” the captain assured him.

  Martin nodded. This was not the time to doubt that he could; that either of them could do it.

  * * * *

  The day dragged slowly to an end for Elizabeth. Myriad questions about what she planned to do plagued her, filled her with doubt.

  Would it not be best to trust this man Cavilon has hired? she wondered. You could easily prove to be more a hindrance than a help.

  But what if Morton is dreadfully ill? she countered. He will need nursing. More importantly, she concluded at last, if I am there he can not be left behind if the one sent to rescue him decides the risk was too great. Morton means nothing to that man. It would be easy for him to lie about what took place. My presence will prevent that.

  The weight of this argument stiffened Elizabeth’s resolve. Recalling how she had sailed with her brother when they were children, she assured herself of her ability to be of help. Only Barney’s absence plagued her.

  At last she sat down and wrote a note of explanation to Tom and a second to Cavilon’s agent, who would bring the boy. She instructed that they take rooms at a local inn until further orders, and asked them to search for the dog on the piers. This done, she took the letters to her neighbour and asked that they be delivered when the lad arrived.

  Returning to the house, Elizabeth wrote a letter to Sir Henry which could be found if she did not return from her journey. With it completed, she left the cottage once more to purchase food and a few basic medicines to take with her.

  At home again, she readied the clothing she had decided to take. Elizabeth packed what she had purchased with them in the old canvas duffel bag her brother had used when he had first gone to school at Portsmouth.

  The afternoon lengthened sufficiently at last. Elizabeth exchanged her gown for her brother’s garments. She took time to stuff the oversized boots with extra socks until they were snug enough to permit her to walk freely without losing them. After pinning her hair up, she pulled one of his old sailor hats over it and then, even though the summer heat made it uncomfortable, she drew on one of Morton’s lighter coats. Satisfied with her appearance, Elizabeth picked up the duffel bag and walked determinedly from the cottage in the direction of the line of masts and sails which marked the harbour.

  The walk from her home to dockside bolstered Elizabeth’s spirits. No one took note of her, seeing as she had hoped, only a young lad returning to his ship.

  It was near dark when she found herself among the crates and bales heaped all about the wharf. Looking for the ship she had noted Cavilon at earlier in the day, her heart sank. One ship looked much like another in the dusky light. Scrambling over the bales of hemp and coils of rope, Elizabeth saw no ship that she could mark with certainty.

  A sinking feeling settled in her stomach as she continued to wander through the maze of cargoes. In her concentration Elizabeth did not see the sailors approaching her and stumbled against one.

  “What ‘ave we ‘ere?” he laughed, grabbing hold her arm.

  “Why a lad as ‘ale and ‘earty as our cap’n could over want.

  “Bet yer quick among the riggin’s, eh lad?” a second taunted. “What be yer ship?” he demanded.

  “Answer,” the one who held her demanded, roughly shaking her.

  “Who cares what ship ‘e’s supposed to be on,” the other laughed.

  “Let’s take ‘im,” a third agreed. “If’n we don’t find ‘nough men, the capt’n’ll have our hides on the yardarms.”

  Terror welled inside Elizabeth. They meant to press her into duty. “No,” she struggled and kicked out at the one who held her. “Let go of me,” she screamed, hoping someone would hear and come to her rescue.

  “Fine speakin’ fer a seagoin’ lad,” he snorted. “Ye’ll soon learn ‘umbler ways.”

  “You can’t take me,” she protested, but realized how futile this was. “Help! Help me!” she screamed with all her might.

  The sailor who held her slapped Elizabeth sharply across the face and then raised his hand to strike her again.

  A white blur exploded from the shadows.

  “Barney!” Elizabeth cried out as the dog’s jaws closed over the sailor’s arm.

  Turning to fend off the attack, the man released her.

  Elizabeth fell to the ground, grabbed the duffel bag, and scrambled to her feet away from him. She called to Barney as soon as she had reached a fair distance.

  After a last angry bark, he raced after her. Both were hotly pursued by the three sailors.

  The maze of cargo and supplies hindered and helped them as they ran and stumbled through it. Slowly they drew away from the three sailors. Out of breath, Elizabeth paused before the gangway of a sloop. Barney halted at her side.

  Hearing men coming, she dashed up the planks, then ducked behind some barrels on deck to avoid being seen by one of the crew who emerged from the hold at that moment. Crouched low, she wrapped an arm about Barney’s thick, white neck and used both hands to muzzle him lest be betray them by barking.

  When the crewman was out of sight, she grabbed the dog’s collar and dashed for the hold. Low-burning lamps lit the way as she passed by the captain’s cabin and crew’s quarters. Going a deck lower, she found the ship’s supply hold.

  In the darkness Elizabeth could see little. Her hand brushed a large coil of rope. She crouched behind it and wrapped an arm about Barney, listening for any sound of pursuit.

  “Thank the lord for you,” she patted him appreciatively. “We’ll wait until it is safe and then go directly home. I was foolish to think I could manage to find the right ship.” Resting her head against the dog’s woolly back, Elizabeth closed her eyes. The sounds of footsteps above stiffened her.

  “Only the ship’s crew,” she whispered. “We must wait just a little longer,” she told Barney. She sat on the canvas bag she still held and made him lie down. Leaning against the coil of rope, she rested. “Just a few more minutes,” she murmured, patting the huge dog.

  The past two days’ activity, combined with a restless night, claimed their due. Relaxing, Elizabeth slowly drifted to sleep.

  * * * *

  Reluctantly, Elizabeth’s senses were prodded to consciousness by a loud, incessant sound echoing in her ears. Her benumbed senses sought to grasp what it was as signals of cramped and damp discomfort filtered through the haze in her mind.

  The realization that she was hearing barking collided with the comprehension of the rolling motion of the floor beneath her. Before there was any chance for her to act, a lantern was thrust into the hold. Blinking at the light, Elizabe
th stumbled to her feet. Barney abandoned his pursuit of the rat which had aroused him and took up guard before his mistress.

  “Two stowaways, cap’n,” the sailor yelled back through the door. Coming in, he drew his knife.

  Bristling, Barney gave a deep, threatening growl.

  Elizabeth hurried to grab hold his collar. “You... you don’t need that weapon,” she said shakily. “I meant no harm in coming here. Just let us go.”

  “Do ye mean to swim the Channel, lad?” Captain Hattern scoffed, ducking his head as he entered. “How did ye come to be aboard with no one knowin’ it?”

  The gentle roll of the ship brought an uneasy queasiness to Elizabeth’s stomach. Swallowing hard, she tried to explain. “Three men... sailors, tried to... to force me to go with them. I ran away and hid here.”

  “Where did you get that dog?” a deep voice behind the captain demanded.

  Barney gave a bark of recognition at the tall, dark figure. He tugged against Elizabeth’s hold.

  “No, Barney,” she scolded.

  Martin’s eyes sharply studied the figure holding the dog. They narrowed and darkened as the truth hit him. “I thought I was to be your only passenger,” he said, his shock covered with anger.

  “Stowaways.” Hattern glanced over his shoulder, surprised at the other’s tone, taken aback by the man’s unexpected black look. “The lad can be of no ‘arm to yer plans, Martin,” he noted.

  The name drew a gasp from Elizabeth. It turned everyone back to her and her companion.

  Hattern moved forward, halting only when Barney bared his teeth and let loose a deep rumble. The captain pulled a pistol from his belt and eyed the huge animal.

  “Please,” Elizabeth begged, “don’t shoot him.”

  “Put your piece aside,” Martin ordered. “I’ll speak with this lad, but let’s get out of this damp hole,” he said, walking up to Elizabeth.

  She shrank from his dark scowl and pulled her hand away when his closed over Barney’s collar.

  “You’ll not be harmed,” Martin told her. “Follow me.”