Unexpectedly, Lord Wedderburn chuckled. ‘Rape, eh? Half the peerage know how impossible that would be. The lady in question has fewer morals than those good ladies you met last night. At least they conduct themselves with more restraint. Lord de Iongh is a besotted fool, though I daresay he’s turned a blind eye more than once. It appears you have been grossly unlucky, though a man of your intelligence must have realised that the liaison could not carry on indefinitely. If you are guilty of anything it is lack of thought. We both know how it is when a man’s blood is up. Dally once or twice, cousin, but always move on, irrespective of the lady’s charms. Alison de Iongh was always a bewitching creature. You have good taste, young Acheson, I’ll give you that. I have dallied there myself, many years ago, but she was too rich for my blood.’ He chuckled again and shook his head at the memory. The smile was still there as he raised the glass to his lips.
Dallas drank too. Cousin Adrian’s admission came as a complete surprise, making it even more evident just how big a fool he had been. Alison had relied on his gallantry and he’d obliged, ruining his reputation in the process. Not that he didn’t feel guilt, but both of them were equally to blame. As for Lorna, Dallas shuddered. That was another matter. The consequences should have been foreseen and he should have known better.
‘After dinner you will go with Martin.’ Cousin Adrian became businesslike again. ‘He will see you safely aboard ship. She sails on the tide tomorrow afternoon. Stay below and talk to no-one. Even in France you are not safe but there are any number of vessels leaving Calais. Take the first available. I need not tell you that until you are clear of the English Channel there is grave danger of discovery.’
‘Thank you, Cousin Adrian. I am ill-prepared for a fugitive’s life.’
‘Life plays unexpected tricks on all of us. We must learn from our mistakes and go forth as wiser men. This has always been my advice to Rupert but I fear that he, like you, would trip over his own feet rather than benefit from the ramblings of an older man’s memory. Ah well, ’tis the prerogative of the young, is it not?’ He reached for the decanter. ‘More wine, cousin?’
Dallas held out his glass.
Lord Wedderburn refilled it and his own. ‘Nothing like a sip of wine in this weather, eh, Dallas? Warms you to your toes. Mind you,’ he added with a twinkle in his eye, ‘in summer I drink to cool down.’
Dallas laughed.
‘My wife does not approve. Thank God for the sanctuary of this library. We will go to table like two innocent choirboys.’ He chuckled, then turned serious. ‘Thank you for your candour. Lady Pamela has good reason to be proud of you. To act with honour under such trying circumstances is admirable. I’m pleased to be of assistance.’
Dallas returned to a matter that was still worrying him. ‘Why do the police search for me here? Was I seen on the road?’
‘Lord de Iongh has a long arm, my boy. He is a very influential man, and highly regarded in circles that count. Alison has played him for a fool since they met but the old codger was so desperately in love with the wretched woman that, even in the early days of their marriage, he pretended not to know. But a man can take only so much. This time she’s gone too far, carrying on right under his nose at home and in front of the servants. He had no option but to act. It’s not you he seeks to punish, though God knows, catching you in bed with his wife can hardly have made your future well-being important to him. The scandal will be his revenge on Alison, with or without the rape fabrication. That’s what de Iongh is after. Who knows, perhaps he thinks the shame will put an end to her indiscretions. Dammit, he’s a decent man at heart. Why do you think he waited two days before reporting the matter?’
Wedderburn was hogging the fire, coat-tails raised to warm his bony posterior. He shrugged. ‘In some ways you can count yourself lucky, though I will breathe more easily knowing you are well away from these shores. No, you were not seen on the road. But the police have no choice but to take the charge seriously. An early arrest will curry favour with the House of Lords. Even the Prime Minister urges a swift result. Unfortunately, you chose to cuckold one of Britain’s most admired statesmen.’
Dallas turned and paced the room. ‘If the police, as you say, are watching the docks, then how am I to avoid their scrutiny?’
‘Fear not, cousin. Martin will get you safely on board. That much is easy.’
‘You place much trust in the fellow. I pray it is not misplaced.’
‘Martin is my man. I trust him implicitly. He has never let me down.’ He went to say more but a tap on the door prevented further discussion.
A footman appeared. ‘Dinner is served, my lord. Lady Wedderburn awaits in the dining room.’
‘Thank you, George. Come, Monsieur Debrett, it would not do to keep the good lady waiting.’
After the meal, which was every bit as sumptuous as the previous night’s, the family retired to the drawing room for tea and port. There was not much chance to talk frankly with Cousin Adrian but later in the evening he took Dallas to one side and said quietly, ‘I will not see you again. Martin waits in your bedchamber. Do as he says and above all else trust him. Captain Ross of the Newcastle Lady is expecting you. Have faith in his allegiance to me but the less said to strangers, the better. Godspeed, cousin, and good fortune.’
Dallas wondered how Cousin Adrian would explain the sudden disappearance of their guest to the rest of the family.
Martin stood by the glowing fire, leafing through the same copy of Wordsworth’s The Prelude as Dallas had the previous evening. He put it down hastily at Dallas’s appearance, as if loath to be caught reading something so patently un-nautical. ‘I have taken the liberty of laying out suitable attire, monsieur.’
Dark clothes and a long black cloak were draped across the four-poster bed. While Dallas changed, Martin disappeared with his discarded dinner clothes.
‘Your sea chest is in the wagon, monsieur,’ Martin said when he reappeared. ‘I will take the valise.’ He hefted it in strong arms. ‘Follow me, please.’
They descended a set of back stairs out into the cobbled courtyard. Although it had not rained that day, everything dripped wetness. A dank mist, so thick the horses seemed headless, hung in the air.
‘The weather works for us,’ Martin observed, each word springing from his mouth in vaporised illustration. ‘Peelers have no stomach for a night such as this. They will seek the cover of a roof at least. If we are unlucky and stopped, ask directions to an inn for the night.’ Martin flicked the whip, softly clicked his tongue and the wagon pulled out into Grey Street, turning left. ‘The Newcastle Lady is at anchor off North Shields. A dinghy will be put ashore at our signal.’
‘Is she steam or sail?’
‘The finest under canvas,’ came Martin’s proud response. ‘Sailed with her myself.’
‘You are a seafaring man?’ Dallas was surprised. In his experience, sailors would rather die at sea than take a job on land.
‘Aye. Until I broke my leg. Lord Wedderburn found me work ashore.’
‘You are fortunate indeed.’
‘Aye.’ The butler’s response held sadness. ‘Though not fortunate enough to ever go back to sea. This leg troubles me greatly.’
Dallas sensed Martin’s sadness. ‘You would prefer the discomfort of a ship?’
‘It was my life, the sea. There was freedom in full sails, a hiss of water under the hull, conversation aplenty in each groan and creak. A ship speaks and you learn her language, respond to her demands. She is like a woman. Even for that which a man desires most she obligingly lies at anchor waiting while you dally in foolishness and lose your hard-earned shillings. Then she forgives and forgets, once more bearing off with your very heart and soul.’
Dallas grinned. ‘Like a truly good woman should? Is that what you’re saying, Martin?’
‘Aye. A ship knows a man’s needs and makes no complaint unless he neglects hers.’
‘So look on the bright side. Now you’re a land-lubber find a real woman and
settle down.’
Something like a grunt issued from Martin. ‘In my view, sir, such a creature does not exist. If she did, the earth would have women with neither voice nor opinion. Instead, the good Lord chose to give them tongues and fill the world with their ceaseless prattle. Where am I to find a woman who neither nags nor complains? Where is the woman who, in return for a roof over her head, food in her belly and children by her knee, lives to cook and clean, keeping herself from my company until sent for? If I could find such a woman, sir, I would marry quick enough. All I ask is that, when I need her with me, she behaves in private as the finest waterfront whore.’
Dallas laughed softly as he thought what his mother’s reaction might be to such an outrageous statement. ‘Of course, Martin, such women are crying out for your attention, are they not?’
‘I beat them off with a stick, sir,’ Martin replied dryly.
‘Mark my words, Martin. The day will come when a soft-eyed wench will tear your heart from within.’
‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but I have had many more years than you to find that the softest eye hides the hardest head. Women, I’m thinking, are far from the fairer sex. Their hearts are black as pitch. They are merciless, taking all that you have to give, and crying out for more. No, sir. Better the warmth of rum than that professed by a woman.’
‘In truth, I do not share your jaded view, Martin.’
‘You are young yet, sir.’
They fell silent after that. Dallas had enjoyed the exchange. Was this pragmatic honesty something to be found in whatever far-flung colony he would end up? Not only was it different but the prospect of unknown lands and customs with even less familiar people was suddenly quite exciting. He could make a good life. Provided, of course, that he made it safely on board the Newcastle Lady.
Through the misty night they travelled. Twin plumes of warm breath vaporised from the horses’ nostrils, joining the river dampness that rose off the water and sat over it like a blanket of brume. This was made thicker by the inevitable swirling sea mist. All turned yellow in the gaslight from lamps along the street. Bearing left out of Grey Street, they faced nothing but darkness. The only illumination, lanterns hung from the wagon, their halos of dim light there more to be seen by oncoming travellers than to show the way.
‘Nearly there, sir,’ Martin announced when, after thirty minutes, they had not encountered man, wagon nor beast on the streets. He stopped the wagon and blew out both lanterns.
The clip-clop of hooves seemed muffled by the dampness all around as they set off again. Dallas could smell the river’s salty tang and hear tidal wavelets slapping against the bank. Streetlamps on the far side were a mere suggestion, a hazy hint of brightness. After a few more minutes, Martin reined in the horses again.
‘There’s the Lady.’
Dallas could just make out a green light on the river.
‘If the watch is awake they’ll have seen our lanterns go out.’ Martin jumped down and stood on the river’s edge, staring out. There was no sound save for the ripple and lap of water. No dogs barked, no voices, no horses or wagons. Yet danger lurked. Out there in the night, eyes watched for him. Dallas was so close to taking the next step in his bid for freedom that anxiety rose and hammered in his throat. Fear of the unknown was nothing compared to his dread of being caught. Where are they? Just as he began to think that no-one was coming, a rhythmic sound of paddles broke the silence and a dark silhouette of a longboat slid towards them.
‘That be you, Martin?’ a voice hailed softly.
‘Aye.’
‘Jasus, it’s colder than a witch’s tit.’ The boat turned effortlessly against the incoming tide and presented broadside to the riverbank.
Dallas eased down from the wagon and joined Martin. ‘You’d be Monsieur Debrett?’ A dark figure leapt from the longboat and approached. ‘Fortune is with you. Police watch the docks but not the river. Only two patrols have we seen and neither showing much interest in being out. Not even cats venture far on a night like this. Come, men, load the luggage and let’s be off. I’ve a warm berth awaiting and a dram of rum to help me sleep.’
Martin and two sailors loaded the sea chest and valise.
‘Farewell, Martin. And thank you.’ Dallas clapped his hand on the man’s shoulder briefly before stepping into the boat.
The distinctive whistle of a lapwing reached them from further upriver. ‘Patrol,’ one man said. ‘Wouldn’t you know it. They’ll be here in ten minutes. You’d best be off, Martin. Come, lads. Heave.’ Four rowers bent their backs to the task and the longboat glided swiftly towards the Newcastle Lady.
Captain Ross waited in the chartroom to welcome Dallas on board. His greeting was perfunctory and the man got straight down to business. ‘Jensen will show you to your cabin. It’s small but the best we could manage. Stay there until the other passengers disembark at Calais. I’ve appraised Jensen of your circumstances and, aside from the longboat crew, trusted men and true, no-one else knows you are aboard. Jensen will attend to any needs and come for you when it is safe to leave your cabin. With fair winds you’ll be in France in time to take passage on the Marie Clare. I’m assuming you intend to remove yourself from Europe as expediently as possible. To this end, the weather works for you.’
‘The Marie Clare?’
‘Steam, and brand new she is.’ Captain Ross failed to hide the tinge of envy in his voice. ‘She carries mainly cargo, though has berths for about twenty fare-paying passengers. Her captain is a tough man but one of the best you’ll meet. He keeps his ship in the finest condition. I’ve not had the pleasure of boarding her but hear tell she is fitted with the best of everything. And fast. Sixteen knots in good conditions.’
‘To where does she sail?’
‘On this trip, to the best of my knowledge, Spain, Morocco, and down the west coast of Africa to Cape Town. She rounds the Cape of Good Hope and returns via the Red Sea and Suez, calling first on Mauritius. Will that suit you?’
Africa. Of the five destinations, it was probably the one he knew least about and would have chosen last. ‘Perfectly.’
Captain Ross had not exaggerated the size of the accommodation allocated to Dallas. His seachest had to stay on deck, there was no room for it. Jensen promised it would be safe but cautioned him. ‘No offence, monsieur, but the family crest draws attention.’
Not only did it do that, it advertised who he was. Dallas realised that, as a fugitive, he had much to learn. How stupid of him to travel from Scotland with his family credentials there for all to see. ‘You are right, Jensen. It must be removed.’
‘I’ll see to it, sir.’ Jensen hovered hopefully.
‘Thank you.’ Dallas proffered a crown.
‘Thank you, sir.’
With the sailor gone, Dallas winced at a generosity he could ill afford. The man would probably have been happy with a florin. Money, something he had always taken for granted, could no longer be splashed around.
With nothing to do, Dallas undressed and crawled into the narrow bunk, inside him an empty pain. This was his last night in Britain. Forever. To his horror, Dallas experienced the uncontrollable emotion of tears. To make matters worse, yesterday had been Lorna’s wedding day. She was now married to a man she despised. Not that it made much difference. Despite carrying Dallas’s child, Lorna would hate him too. Whether she believed him capable of rape, or merely thought him a callous seducer, the end result would be the same. He hadn’t cried for years but gave in to grief as loneliness and fear engulfed him. Drained of emotion, Dallas lay with his eyes closed, unwilling to see the cramped cabin that would be his last contact with home.
While he was at first unable to sleep, the gentle rocking of the ship became hypnotic. Dallas woke at eight the next morning to the grinding scrape of anchor chains.
Jensen brought a tray of tea, bread and jam, and an apple. ‘Captain’s compliments, monsieur.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll fetch hot water once we clear harbour.
’
‘How long will that be?’
‘Quite a while, monsieur. The ship is about to berth and board passengers. After that, we wait for the tide.’
‘So when do we sail?’
‘Four bells in the afternoon watch, monsieur.’
Two in the afternoon! That was six hours away. Resigned, Dallas dressed and ate the food provided. The cabin had no porthole, so he could only guess at what was happening outside. He felt the ship dock, heard shouted commands and sensed a bustle of activity beyond his small world. Passengers began to board just before ten. Dallas could hear voices in the passageway and envied those free to move around. He lay on the bunk, staring moodily upwards. Inactivity made him impatient to get going. The previous night’s fear became boredom. His thoughts turned resentful. Damn that minx Alison with her lust and lies. Damn her husband’s idiotic devotion which left him no choice but to take her side. Damn his own weakness, without which the day’s most pressing problem might be whether to play cards or go riding. Feeling thoroughly out of sorts, Dallas made up his mind that no woman would ever use him again.
‘Dallas Granger.’ He tested the sound of his new name. Mr Granger, I’ve heard so much about you. Welcome to Africa, Granger, we have several appointments that might suit you. Africa! God! What do I know of Africa?
It made sense to board the first available ship out of Calais. The sooner he was away from Europe, the better. Looking on the bright side, Africa was at least being colonised by explorers, adventurers and missionaries. Not convicts, like Australia. So, if it was to be the dark continent, he would just have to make the best of it. Where exactly? Africa was vast and largely unknown. From what little he did know, each territory was flavoured by its colonial master. Dallas didn’t fancy Arabic countries, nor ones occupied by the Spanish or Portuguese. He spoke French fluently and, when pressed, could manage German. Any areas they occupied might be possible. Having the choice, however, he’d prefer a British colony. The danger of detection would certainly be greater but at least he might find familiar customs. Britain dominated the south, so that was where he should head. He’d heard of Natal and liked the sound of it. Dallas Granger from Natal. Yes. It had a certain ring to it. Very British. Surely he could find something to do there.
Shadows in the Grass Page 8