The Ravishing of Lady Mary Ware

by Dennis Wheatley

  Having thanked him, Roger took his leave and went out to renew his acquaintance with the city.

  That evening at the Legation, the Minister presented him to his wife and niece. Lady Stuart was a large, imposing lady who, at first sight appeared formidable, but Roger found her to be a most kindly soul. Her niece, Deborah, lived with them because her own mother was dead. She was a tall, thin, dark girl and by no means a beauty which, no doubt, accounted for her shy, retiring manner.

  At dinner eighteen people sat down at the long table. On one side Roger had a fat, much bejewelled lady who was the wife of a Portuguese General, on the other a girl whom he judged to be about nineteen. When he had been presented to her, he had learned that she was Lady Mary Ware. After they had exchanged a few remarks, she told him that she was a friend of Deborah Stuart’s, and she had been invited out to spend the winter at the Legation.

  She had a very small, but shapely figure. Her hair was brown and her eyes green. Above them, well-marked eyebrows that turned up slightly at the ends gave her a somewhat perky, quizzical expression, and this was strengthened by a slightly retroussé nose. What she lacked in size she made up for in vivacity, and Roger soon found her a most entertaining companion. When he had told her what had brought him to Lisbon and that he expected to be there for several weeks with nothing to do, she said:

  ‘Then, Mr. Brook, if you do not find the society of young females too boring, you must accompany Deborah and myself on some of our drives, for all our officers are always occupied with their duties, and the company of a gentleman would be very pleasant for us.’

  He politely accepted her offer, although at the time he was not greatly attracted by the idea of acting as escort to two young women who could not long ago have left school.

  Next morning he went to see the Legation lawyer, a Mr. Herbert Lessor, and put the matter of the de Pombal estate in his hands. In the afternoon he went for a stroll and, by chance, saw Lady Mary and Deborah Stuart in their carriage. Lady Mary waved to him, had the carriage pull up and invited him to join them. Having nothing to do, he assented and spent a pleasant hour in their company.

  Deborah proved as shy and tongue-tied as she had in company, so it was Mary who did most of the talking. In fact, she was a born chatterbox and Roger found her chatter amusing. In consequence, when she asked him to come for another drive with them the next day, he readily agreed. From then on, except when it rained, it became a regular thing for him to accompany them on their drives through the deep enclave of pleasant country that lay inland from Lisbon, but inside the lines, or take them shopping; and, being completely at a loose end, he found it both a pleasant and novel occupation to squire two young girls. Sometimes they were accompanied by the buxom and sanguine Lady Stuart, but on most afternoons she was busy with her many charities: comforts for the wounded, assistance to widows of soldiers killed in the war, Anglo-Portuguese friendship and so on.

  Naturally he told them nothing of his past secret activities, but he was able to regale them with tales of his early days in France, as a lawyer’s apprentice, and of his travels in Egypt, India, Brazil and the West Indies, to which they listened wide-eyed, and they were greatly flattered to have secured such a handsome and interesting man of his years as their cavalier.

  He soon learned Lady Mary’s history. Her family was an old one, having first been ennobled during the Wars of the Roses, and later elevated to an earldom by Charles II. But her great-grandfather had been ruined in 1720 by the South Sea Bubble. For the past ninety years the family had lived very simply on a small property near Maidenhead. Mary herself was an only child and an orphan. Her mother had died in giving birth to her, and her father the previous year. On his death, the Maidenhead property had passed, with the title, to a distant cousin: a Canon of Peterborough Cathedral, who was a man of no fortune and had a large family of his own, so could do little for her. In consequence, she was very badly off, with only a small income, which she was now ekeing out by staying for long periods with friends such as Deborah, whom she had known at the Seminary for Young Ladies at which she had been educated. But, in spite of her straitened circumstances and inability to afford expensive clothes, she was always cheerful and faced her uncertain future with courage.

  During the fortnight after he first met the girls, as Well as seeing them in the daytime, he twice dined at the Legation and saw them several times at receptions and dances in other houses.

  It was on the 13th February that, after a drive on a pleasant sunny afternoon, he was handing them from the carriage outside the Legation, when he suddenly caught sight of de Queircoz. With him at the foot of the Legation steps were two Portuguese guardas. Suddenly pointing at Roger, de Queircoz cried:

  ‘That is he! Seize him and he shall answer for the death of the Marquis de Pombal.’

  12

  ‘He Who Laughs Last’

  Dumbfounded, Roger stared at the dark-browed diplomat. After a moment his brain again began to function. The Marquis had died in distant Brazil, but evidently on the return of his sister, the Senhora de Arahna, particulars of his death had become known in Lisbon, and de Queircoz knew, or thought he knew, who had killed him. But why should he be the person to accuse Roger? And why had he left his post in London to return to Lisbon?

  That could be explained by his having come to the conclusion that Colonel de Breuc and Roger Brook were the same person. The strong resemblance of the two, together with the fact that it was the Colonel who had captured Lisala’s affections in Teheran, and Mr. Brook who had later married her, were ample grounds for such a belief.

  Within seconds Roger had solved the riddle. On meeting him in London de Queircoz had seen an opportunity to be avenged. He had dangled the de Pombal inheritance as bait, Roger had swallowed it, and his enemy had obtained leave so that he could follow Roger to Lisbon and denounce him. Yet Roger had a feeling that, behind the jealous malice of the Portuguese lay the still greater malevolence of Lisala’s evil spirit seeking his destruction.

  To have been tried and condemned for murder in Prussia had been ordeal enough. His life had been saved by Davout only at the eleventh hour, and his rescue from a prison van by rioting students had been a piece of unforeseeable good fortune. To be tried again, only eight months later, for another murder he had not committed, seemed an outrageous injustice. And this time he would not be so lucky. The de Pombal family had great influence and the sympathies in a law court would be with them. Knowing how black a case could be made against him, he felt that once in the hands of the Portuguese his fate would be as good as sealed.

  There was only one course open to him. It was to fight his way into the British Legation and seek sanctuary there.

  His resolution was taken within half a minute of de Queircoz having called on the guardas to seize him. The taller guarda produced a warrant, stepped up to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. Roger gave him a violent shove that sent him reeling back, then darted toward the steps leading up to the door of the Legation. Before he could reach them the other guarda had flung his arms round his waist and had him in a bear-like hug. Exerting all his strength, Roger strove to free himself, and bashed with his fists at the man’s head, but he buried his face in Roger’s chest and gamely clung on. In desperation, Roger kneed him in the groin. His eyes popped, he gave a yelp of agony and relaxed his hold. But, only an instant after he had pushed the man away, his arms were seized from behind. The taller guarda had come to his companion’s assistance. In vain Roger kicked out backward, his heels failed to find a mark and his arms were forced behind his back.

  Even as his heart sank at the realisation that his bid to escape capture had failed, help came from an unexpected quarter. Little Mary ran forward, shouting.

  ‘Desist, fellow! How dare you lay hands on a Englishman!’ Then, lifting her parasol, she jabbed it over Roger’s shoulder at the guarda’s face.

  The iron ferrule caught him on the cheek, ripping the skin up toward the side of his left eye. With an oath, he let Roger go
and clapped his hand to the wound, from which blood was flowing freely.

  Roger lost not an instant and again dashed for the steps. The man he had kneed in the groin was crouching in the gutter, retching, and incapable of making any attempt to stop him. But de Queircoz swiftly stepped into his path. Drawing back his fists, Roger feinted with his right, then with his left hit the Portuguese a terrific blow on the side of the jaw. His head jerked back, his knees gave way, and he collapsed in a heap on the lowest step. Next moment Roger had jumped over him, mounted the rest of the flight and come to a halt, panting, just inside the Legation doorway.

  The two girls ran up and joined him. Mary, her green eyes bright with excitement, asked, ‘Is it really true that you killed the Marquis de Pombal?’

  ‘No,’ he panted. ‘No, but it might prove devilish hard for me to prove that I did not, And … bless you … Mary, for your courage. Had you not come so bravely to my rescue I … would shortly have found myself in a Portuguese prison, and heaven only knows if I’d ever have got out of it, except to be marched to a scaffold. If His Excellency is in, I must see him at once and explain to him my situation.’

  Five minutes later, the three of them were with the Minister in his study. When he had been told of the scene that had just occurred outside the Legation, Roger said:

  ‘This is a very different legacy left to me by my late wife. As Your Excellency knows, she was the Marquis de Pombal’s daughter. I accompanied her family when the Prince Regent fled to Brazil and, for a short while, shared a house with them in Rio. For some time past, Lisala had been my mistress. I had asked the Marquis for permission to marry her, but he refused it and desired me to find some other lodging, because he felt that my constantly being in Lisala’s company would prejudice his securing for her a husband from among the Portuguese nobility.

  ‘I moved to an inn. After that it became impossible for Lisala and me to continue our affair. As there seemed no hope of our situation improving, and life in Rio was more uncongenial than I can possibly describe, at length I decided to return to England in a British frigate which had arrived in the harbour. I received, at that juncture, a message from Lisala, saying that she was enceinte and that unless I came to her assistance, she would be condemned to spend the remainder of her life in a convent.

  ‘Since I believed her to be carrying my child, I could not possibly abandon her; so I decided to carry her off and made use of the Marquis’ head Negro slave, one Baob, as a go-between, to arrange our elopement. At night I went out to the house where the de Pombals were living. With Baob’s help I got a tall ladder up to the window of Lisala’s room. Just as I reached the sill the Negro betrayed me and roused the house by shouting, “Thieves! Thieves!”

  ‘Lisala was ready dressed and waiting for me. The slave’s outcry awakened her duenna, the Senhora Cristina de Jahlo, who slept in the next room. She came running in to us. Lisala was subject to the most violent fits of temper and was completely unscrupulous in getting her own way. She had long hated the old woman, so sprang upon her and, when she fell to the ground, began to batter in her face. I pulled her off and out into the corridor. The Marquis then appeared upon the scene, sword in hand, with his sister, the Senhora de Arahna, behind him. Furiously Lisala shouted at them, revealing that I had long been her lover and that she was carrying my child.

  ‘Horrified, the Senhora fainted and the Marquis made a savage lunge at me. I parried the thrust, and we fought silently for maybe two minutes. Suddenly my ankle was gripped and pulled from under me. It was the old duenna who had crawled from Lisala’s room, and thrust an arm past her feet without her being aware of it. I lost my balance and fell to the ground. Next moment the Marquis was towering over me, his sword pointing downward, about to drive it through my heart. I squirmed aside. The point of the blade buried itself in the floor. He then flung himself down on me and endeavoured to strangle me. For a few moments I struggled desperately with him. Then suddenly he went limp. I thought he had had a seizure of the heart. But, as I staggered to my feet, I saw the hilt of a dagger protruding from his back. With her stiletto, Lisala had stabbed her father to death.’

  ‘Merciful God, how awful!’ Mary exclaimed.

  Sir Charles nodded.’ ‘’Twas parricide, the most terrible of all crimes. Do you give us your word, Mr. Brook, that this is the absolute truth about how de Pombal died?’

  ‘I do, Your Excellency. ’Tis the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. To that I swear. Lisala’s face was a living lie. A beautiful mask behind which lay the most evil mind I have ever encountered. I am convinced now that her act was inspired only by her determination not to allow herself to be incarcerated in a nunnery. But, at the time, I was very conscious that by her deed she had saved my life. So, having got her safely aboard the frigate, next morning, though with reluctance, rather than cast aside a woman carrying, as I thought, my child, I had the captain of the frigate marry us. As I feel sure I told you early in our acquaintance, she died some sixteen months ago.’

  ‘In view of her nature as you describe it, I cannot feel that is a matter for condolence,’ the Minister remarked gravely. ‘But this other business troubles me, and we must discuss it with our lawyer. I will send for Mr. Lessor and also send a lackey to collect your belongings from the inn where you have been lying. Meanwhile you will, of course, dine with us and I will order a bedroom to be prepared for you.’

  Roger stood up and bowed. ‘I am indeed grateful to Your Excellency for your kindness, and deeply regret that I should have become a cause of trouble to you.’

  Dinner, to which fewer than a dozen people sat down an hour later, proved a far from gay meal, as everyone present had heard some version of the attempt to arrest Roger for murder.

  Soon after they had finished, Mr. Lessor arrived and went into conference with Roger and the Minister. When Roger had again given an account of the Marquis’ death, the lawyer said, ‘Mr. Brook, you have my sympathy for it seems that a case very difficult to disprove could be made against you. And, should you be indicted on a capital charge, I should have to advise His Excellency that, under international law, he would not be within his rights to continue to give you sanctuary here. However, as de Queircoz played no part in the affair, you could be convicted only on the evidence of the Senhora de Arahna and the duenna. I am already in touch with the de Pombal family’s lawyers with regard to the inheritance. They are a firm of high repute and fortunately well known to me. Tomorrow morning I will see them and find out if they have received instructions from the Senhora to take proceedings against you.’

  Roger spent an uneasy night, then waited with impatience until Mr. Lessor arrived the following midday, to report to him and the Minister the result of his interview with the de Pombais’ lawyers.

  The Senhora de Arahna had sent for the head of the firm three days before. De Queircoz had just arrived from London with the news that Roger had left there for Lisbon, and was with her. Holding Roger responsible for her brother’s death, the Senhora naturally wished to be avenged. She had admitted, however, that she had not actually seen him deliver the fatal stroke, but said that the duenna, Dona Christina, had done so and would give evidence to that effect.

  At that point Roger broke in to say, ‘Then the old woman will be committing perjury. And the reason she has agreed to do so is not far to seek. I gathered that she had dissipated any fortune she ever had, and is entirely dependent on the de Pombais. ’Tis clear that she is being bribed to bear false witness.’

  ‘You may well be right,’ Mr. Lessor agreed. ‘But, in view of the extremely strong circumstantial evidence against you, Mr. Brook, should that be supported by her testimony I greatly fear we can have little hope of securing a verdict of “not guilty”.’

  ‘Think you it would be possible to get hold of the duenna,’ Roger suggested, ‘and offer her a much larger bribe to tell the truth?’

  ‘I could not undertake to do so personally, but I might arrange for her to be approached by a third party. I doubt
not, too, that money lies at the root of this affair. The Senhora de Arahna stands to gain much more than revenge by your death. Her application made on her return from Brazil for her son, the present Marquis, to inherit, was disallowed by the courts; but with yourself out of the way he would come into the whole of the de Pombal patrimony.’

  ‘Then I pray you, Sir, engage a go-between to approach Dona Cristina. When the killing took place I was lying on the ground with the Marquis on top of me; so she could not possibly have failed to see my late wife drive the stiletto into her father’s back, Promise the old woman anything in reason to withdraw the statement they say she is prepared to make.’

  ‘Ahem !’ the lawyer coughed. ‘I—er—hesitate to raise the question, Mr. Brook, but I count it improbable that she could be induced to earn the opprobrium of the de Pombal family unless she was assured of receiving a very substantial sum, and the odds are that she would require to be paid in cash. Have you large funds readily available here in Lisbon?’

  ‘No,’ Roger replied, ‘but I am possessed of a moderate fortune, and could have the money required transferred from London.’

  Looking decidedly uncomfortable, Mr. Lessor said, ‘For any ordinary transaction that would serve. But in this we are circumscribed by time, and I doubt if I could get your draft discounted before the end of the week. Then the negotiations with the duenna might take another week or more. Meanwhile, if the authorities request His Excellency to surrender your person, he can hardly refuse to do so.’

  ‘They have already made that request,’ Sir Charles put in. ‘I received it at eight o’clock this morning. To gain a few hours for Mr. Brook, I replied that I could not comply until I had consulted our lawyers. But the Portuguese are our allies. They have the law on their side, and it is my duty to maintain good relations with them. I feel, therefore, that unless the matter can be settled within the next twenty-four hours, I shall have no alternative but to hand Mr. Brook over.’