The Rape of Venice

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘What the hell’s the meaning of this?’ Gunston shouted. Then, recognising his visitor, he exclaimed, ‘Why, damn’e if it isn’t Roger Brook! And what a state you’re in, man! You look as if you’d been beset by robbers and barely got away. But what the devil brings you here?’

  ‘I come from Bahna,’ Roger cried. ‘You were there recently. You met a Venetian, a man named Malderini, and told him that Clarissa and I were in Calcutta.’

  ‘Did I! Why, yes; perhaps I made mention of you to him. But what of it?’

  ‘He bears me a deadly grudge. He came down to Calcutta, and while I was up at Chinsurah kidnapped Clarissa.’

  Gunston’s sandy eyebrows shot up. ‘Good God! The swine! D’you mean he’s holding her prisoner in Bahna?’

  ‘Yes. I followed; but he guessed I would and laid an ambush for me. He meant to kill me by slow torture; but by the grace of God I escaped, and have been riding hell for leather through the hills all night.’

  ‘Well done! I will say you never lacked for guts, Brook. But what of Clarissa?’

  ‘To arrange her escape was impossible. That fiend has her prisoner still, and threatens all sorts of abominations for her.’

  ‘Poor girl! What a hellish business! I don’t wonder at the state you’re in. But what’s to be done?’

  ‘Done!’ cried Roger. ‘Why, sound the alarm! Parade your troops! Break camp!’

  ‘What’s this you say?’

  ‘Give orders for an immediate march. Every moment is precious. We can start in an hour. We’ll be through the mountains in two days. Two nights hence we’ll take the city by surprise, and have her out of his clutches.’

  Gunston’s full mouth fell open; then he shook his head. ‘I’m sorry for you, Brook. Indeed I am. And I’ve never concealed from you that I’ve a soft spot for Clarissa. But this trouble must have driven you out of your mind. What you suggest is impossible.’

  ‘Impossible!’ Roger gasped. ‘You cannot mean. …’

  ‘I mean that, were you my dearest friend, or Clarissa my own wife, I could not use the Company’s troops in a private quarrel. And I have my orders. They are in no circumstances to start a war with the Rajah of Bahna.’

  18

  A Tough Nut to Crack

  Roger swore, argued, cursed, reasoned and pleaded; but all in vain. He explained that the Wazier intended to bring the Rajah’s army over to them; so there would be no fighting. Gunston replied that he would not trust the word of any native, let alone a cross-eyed one. Roger implored him to at least make a demonstration in force. Gunston countered that it would need only one fool on either side to let off a musket for the demonstration to become a bloody battle. Roger begged for one company of infantry with which to make the attempt himself. Gunston refused on the grounds that they were his troops, his orders were positive and, if even a score of them were used in an act of war, he would be held responsible. Roger called him a coward. Gunston, with commendable restraint, declared that he would not accept a challenge from a man who was out of his mind. Finally, driven to a frenzy by the thought of Clarissa, and that Gunston had the means to save her but would not use them, Roger rushed upon him and attempted to strike him in the face.

  Thoroughly worn out, as Roger was, his assault failed dismally. Gunston was fresh from a night’s sleep and, in any case, the stronger physically. He seized Roger’s wrists and held him off; then bellowed an order that he should be put in irons and taken to a tent. Five minutes later Roger was dragged away manacled and pushed into a tent, the flap of which was laced up and a guard put on duty outside it.

  The tent was a spare officer’s quarter what a mat on the floor and a low divan. Choking with rage at having been put in irons, racked with anguish by fears for Clarissa, and utterly distraught at the thought that there was now no hope of rescuing her, he flung himself down. Nature, too, had chosen this moment to exact from him the price of his exertions and ordeals. He ached in every limb, he could hardly see out of his eyes, his head seemed on fire and his brain was bemused.

  For Roger to lose his temper was a very rare thing. Vaguely he realised that he had been a fool to do so, and that he would not have had he been thwarted by anyone other than Gunston; but, from his school-days, the sight of that ruddy, coarsely handsome face had been to him as a red rag to a bull. His mind went back to Sherborne and Gunston’s bullying him there—snatching and spoiling his small precious belongings, and taunting him into fights he could not hope to win.

  It was now more than twenty-four hours since he had closed his eyes. During them he had ridden nearly eighty miles, and been harrowed by every sort of exhausting emotion. With tenuous memories of his school-days still drifting through his mind, he fell into a profound sleep.

  When he awoke it was night. For a moment he could not think where he was; then, as he moved, the clank of irons that confined his wrists and ankles brought everything back to him. He had been roused by the entrance of a tall figure holding a lantern, who now stood beside the divan. With a groan he stared up into the shadow above the light and made out the face of the officer who had taken him to Gunston’s marquee. The young man said:

  ‘The Colonel sends his compliments, Sir; and says that if you are prepared to conduct yourself in a reasonable manner he would be pleased to see you.’

  Roger sat up. He had slept the clock round. Owing to the resilience from strain and exertion which came from a naturally vigorous mentality, the habit of facing up to difficult situations, and excellent health, his mind was clear and his body no longer feeling the effects of fatigue. He managed to raise a rather strained laugh, and replied:

  ‘I fear I behaved very badly yesterday—or was it this morning? Anyway, if you’ll have me relieved of these irons I’ll promise not to repeat the performance.’

  The officer called into the tent a farrier corporal and, with a twisted smile, Roger watched while, for the second time in twenty-four hours, fetters were knocked from his limbs; then he accompanied the youngster who had been sent to fetch him to the Colonel’s marquee.

  Gunston was sitting in an easy chair behind a table that had on it a decanter of Madeira and two glasses. As Roger was shown in, he gave him a sharp glance, dismissed the officer, and said:

  ‘You were not yourself this morning, Brook; but in the circumstances I can hardly blame you. I’d have you, though, remember two things: firstly, that I am not a free agent to do as I wish; secondly, that although we have never had any love for one another, this is no time to quarrel. Sit down now, and join me in a glass of wine. There will be a meal for you presently. I thought you would prefer to feed on your own rather than sup with the rest of us in mess.’

  ‘That was considerate of you,’ Roger replied. ‘I am in no state to support trivial conversation with strangers. As for this morning, I apologise. You were right about my being out of my mind; but the horrors that threaten Clarissa.…’

  ‘I know. I would to God my hands had not been tied by our poltroon of a Governor; but we’ll get nowhere by going again into that.’ As Gunston spoke he was pouring the Madeira. Setting down the decanter, he added: ‘I’ve despatched a Captain with a troop as escort to inform the Rajah that should one hair of Mrs. Brook’s head be harmed we’ll hang him from his own gate. But more than that I could not do. I could not demand the surrender of her person, since to do so would have amounted to an ultimatum.’

  Roger’s throat was parched, so he drank off the first glass of wine in three long swallows. While doing so he considered the possible results of Gunston’s move. He feared the probability was that the young Rajah, being under Malderini’s influence, would ignore the threat. It was certain, too, that the Captain would mention Roger’s arrival at the British camp, and that might invite the Venetian to hasten in his designs against Clarissa.

  However, it was clear that Gunston had acted with the best intentions, so Roger tactfully refrained from voicing his thoughts, and said, ‘We can only pray that Jawahir-ul-daula heeds your warning. You will appreciate,
though, that unlike yourself I am not bound by any orders, and cannot possibly sit here with folded hands awaiting events.’

  ‘I would not expect you to; but you can do nothing without help. Your best plan would be to return to Calcutta and induce Sir John Shore to send me fresh instructions, empowering me to demand her release and, if need be, march on Bahna.’

  ‘That seems the only course open to me,’ Roger agreed.

  ‘May I take it you would provide me with a guide and escort?’

  ‘Certainly.’ Gunston refilled their glasses, and went on after a moment. ‘I must warn you of one thing, though. As the old Bible-puncher never intended me to fight, he did not provide me with a force adequate to do so. My information is that Jawahir-ul-daula can put into the field an army of some four thousand men. I have only some eight hundred: a battalion of sepoys much under strength, a single battery, and some details of scouts and sappers. Apart from the officers and a troop of horse, none of them are Europeans.’

  Roger shrugged. ‘As I told you this morning, the Wazier, Rai-ul-daula, will bring the Bahna army over to us.’

  ‘If you prove right in that, well and good. But I’d not trust to it. These native gentry are tricky customers. Should things go wrong, I’d find myself with a battle on my hands that I’d not care to have to fight.’

  ‘I see,’ said Roger uneasily. ‘Still, in the worst event, we might take the city by surprise in a night attack.’

  ‘That’s easier said than done. Once we have shown our hand you may be sure they’ll keep the walls well manned. They might even sally out and, having so great an advantage in numbers, overwhelm us. No; the remedy lies in your bringing me reinforcements. A good stiffening of British troops is what I need; and preferably cavalry. Were he able to send me my own regiment of Dragoons, I’d make mincemeat of the whole Bahna army. But they are not available, so you must take what you can get. At a minimum it should be two hundred sabres, two companies of redcoats and another battery of artillery. With less, if your man plays the traitor to us, it could be only a desperate gamble.’

  ‘Very well,’ Roger agreed. ‘You may be sure I shall secure as large a force as possible. When can I set off?’

  ‘As early as you wish tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Why not tonight?’

  Gunston gave a sudden laugh. ‘You have only yourself to blame that my hospitality up till now has been so lacking. But you should see yourself in a mirror. You are as haggard as a corpse, and look as though you had been dug up from a grave after being buried in your clothes. You need a bath, a barber, a good night’s sleep and a fresh rig-out before you’ll be in a fit state to travel.’

  ‘I’ve slept all day,’ Roger informed him, ‘and I’ve no wounds to plague me. But I’d be grateful for the other things; and the sooner I set out the sooner I’ll be back.’

  ‘As you will.’ Gunston finished his wine and stood up. ‘I’ll send my servant. He’ll help you to get yourself clean and find you fresh linen; then he’ll bring you a meal. Meanwhile, I’ll arrange about an escort for you.’

  After a good wash down in a canvas camp bath, a change of underclothes, and with his hair freshly combed out, Roger felt fully equal to starting on his journey. While he ate, Gunston had had packed up for him in a haversack some emergency rations, and provided him with a sword and pistols. Then they went out to the guide, who was holding the horse on which Roger had ridden from Bahna, and two troopers who were to act as escort.

  Before mounting, Roger held out his hand to his old enemy. Whether or not while in Calcutta Gunston would, if given the chance, have seduced Clarissa, Roger had had no grounds whatever for the murderous thoughts he had entertained against him in connection with her disappearance; so he now felt distinctly guilty about them. More, when in Martinique, there had been an occasion when he had used his authority to force Gunston to give up his command as an alternative to being shot; so after the episode of the morning, Gunston might well have used his authority to revenge himself by much harsher measures—perhaps keeping him a prisoner in irons for a month. Whereas he had behaved very decently, and was doing his best to be helpful.

  Gunston took the proffered hand, pressed it fimly, and said: ‘Despite our past differences, Brook, we’re on the same side of the fence this time. Get me a few hundred good British troops and another battery of guns and I’ll get Clarissa for you in no time. Good luck to you!’

  Ten minutes later the glow of the camp fires was fading behind Roger and his companions as they rode eastwards into the darkness. The route they took did not lead up into the mountains, but skirted them through low hills to the south of the range, so the going was comparatively easy. After twenty-odd miles, they reached the Subarnarekha, roused the ferrymen from their hut, and crossed it in bright moonlight. By ten o’clock in the morning they entered Midnapore. At the good inn there Roger rested his men and horses, lying up through the heat of the day. About six o’clock they set off again, now along the road that Roger had travelled on his outward journey. All through the night they alternately jogged along and rested. Two hours after dawn they reached. Ulubaria, on the broad Hooghly, and there Roger was forced to admit that neither his horses nor men were fit to go any farther.

  The fact that Calcutta lay only twenty miles up the river made the fact more infuriating. For a moment he contemplated leaving his escort, securing a fresh mount and going on alone. But he knew that he could not. In the past five days and nights, he had ridden nearly three hundred and fifty miles. His muscles felt as though he had been put to the torture on a rack, his thighs were raw and when he dismounted he could hardly stagger to the inn.

  Yet his agony of mind for Clarissa was greater than his agony of body, and he would not give up. While he had been a prisoner he had not been searched and robbed, so he still had a considerable sum in gold in his money belt. After making a handsome present to his escort, he paid the landlord of the inn lavishly to make fresh arrangements for him. They were to have him carried to a boat and put aboard the first passing schooner that was making her way up river to Calcutta.

  As it was a Sunday, commercial traffic was at a standstill, but they found for him a native craft and, within few minutes of being helped into her he was sleeping the sleep of the dead on a pile of matting in her stern. Slowly she tacked up the river past Budge-Budge and Garden Reach. It was three o’clock in the afternoon before she pulled in beside a wharf, and even then the turbaned master of the craft had difficulty in rousing him from his trance-like slumber.

  Stiff as a board, and with every limb complaining, he beckoned up a sedan chair and had himself carried in the sweltering heat to William Hickey’s. On the way he was a prey to fears that, as it was the week-end, this good friend upon whom he relied so much for advice and help would be up at his house at Chinsurah. But his fears proved groundless. Hickey’s head boy said that his master had stayed in town to attend a party the previous night, and had gone out only half an hour before to dine with Sir William Dunkin. Roger asked that a message should be sent to inform him that he had returned from Bahna and wished to see him urgently. Then he subsided on a sofa in Hickey’s library and instantly fell asleep again.

  The lawyer excused himself from sitting over the wine after dinner, and returned at six o’clock. Although physically still in poor shape, Roger, having slept for the greater part of the day, had recovered mentally sufficiently to pour out to him an account of all that had happened.

  It entailed a long story as, until then, Hickey had never even heard of Malderini. When, after numerous explanatory digressions, it was done and Hickey had expressed his deep concern for Clarissa, he said:

  ‘It looks as if Rai-ul-daula is toying with the idea of playing the part that Mir Jafer did here in ’57, when he was Wazier of Bengal. If he does, that would suit your book; but it is certain that Sir John Shore will see the parallel and, recalling that Mir Jafer afterwards gave great trouble to the Company, he may well hesitate before agreeing to any attempt to assist Rai-ul-d
aula in supplanting his nephew.’

  ‘Such finer policies can play no part in this,’ Roger replied angrily. ‘The honour and safety of an English lady are at stake, and he must set matters to rights or be shamed before the whole community.’

  ‘That, certainly, is your strong suit. Much as it may go against the grain with him, I think it unlikely that he will refuse you orders for Colonel Gunston that he should demand the handing over of Clarissa. I count Gunston sound, though, in his contention that you should not rely too much on Rai-ul-daula’s help. However great his goodwill, when it comes to the point he may be in no situation to influence events. It would, too be typical of such court intriguers did he let a battle start but held his hand until he saw which way it was going. You’ll not find it easy to persuade our craven-hearted Governor to throw down the gauntlet, but if you succeed you’d be wise to make as certain of the outcome as you can by pressing him to let you have the maximum possible number of reinforcements.’

  ‘I intend to. And I mean to ask him to let me have Colonel Wesley. Gunston does not lack for bravery, but he is better at chasing the fox than playing the fox. If the odds are against us, shrewd handling of the situation will be half the battle; and Arthur strikes me as a man who combines caution with courage. His counsel could constrain Gunston from any headlong folly, and aid him in selecting the right moment if we have no alternative but to attack.’

  Hickey shook his head. ‘In that I fear you must resign yourself to disappointment. As you must know, my Lord Hobart, while Governor of Madras, has played a part that puts Sir John to shame. Lacking the authority to stop the rot that is undermining British influence among the Indian Princes, he has concentrated his energies against the settlements in the East of the European powers with which we are at war. He has already brought all the old Dutch settlements in Ceylon and Malacca under our flag and seized from them the valuable islands of Banda and Amboyna. This is in confidence, of course, but I had it from one who knows his Lordship’s mind that he is now engaged in fitting out an expedition for the capture of the Spanish settlement in Manila, and has asked for Colonel Wesley to command it. In any case, Arthur sailed for Madras two days ago.’