The Captain cast down his eyes, avoiding the harsh stare in Roger’s blue ones; but remained silent. He had only his pay, and a family at home to support. Instinctively he had the feeling that Roger was not lying and, for him, the threat was a terrible one.
After a moment, Roger resumed. ‘I apologise. I have gone too far, and put you in an impossible position. You must do what your conscience dictates, and I’ll think no worse of you, nor do you harm. I’ll say only that when one Englishman is in difficulties, he should be able to count on the help of another.’
He had given Jackson the loophole to escape without dishonour. After a moment the Captain nodded. ‘So be it, Mr. Brook. I will refuse to surrender you, and carry you back to England. But what of the Senhorita? Had she simply eloped with you as planned, and her relations learned that you had brought her aboard my ship, then sought to regain her, I could have maintained that, as she was of marriageable age and had come willingly, it was a purely private matter in which I had no intention of intervening. But these two killings put a very different complexion on the affair. Her aunt may assert that you abducted her by force and call on the authorities to claim her. Should such a demand be made on me, how can I refuse to hand her over?’
Roger sighed. ‘That certainly is a problem. For you to give me, as a British subject, sanctuary is one thing; but to give sanctuary to her is quite another. Yet I am most loath to abandon her. It would mean her being forced to take the veil and, enduring the living death of life as a nun.’
For some while they sat silent, then Jackson said, ‘There is one way in which you could save her. As Captain of this ship I am empowered to marry any couple aboard it. Make her your wife tomorrow, and she will become a British subject.’
During the past months Roger had frequently contemplated making Lisala his wife. But that night she had finally revealed herself. Not only was she obsessed by sex and abnormally selfish. Behind the face of a Madonna, lay an unscrupulous and vicious mind. To gain her ends she had gone to the length of murdering her own father. Her beauty was only skin deep. She was Evil in a Mask.
21
A Very Ticklish Situation
It was one of the worst nights that Roger had ever spent. It had begun with betrayal, involved him in violence and murder, necessitated his blackmailing an honest sea-captain, and ended in hours of terrible indecision.
Why Baob should have betrayed him still remained a mystery. The result of that betrayal had shocked him profoundly. About his ability to force Captain Jackson into doing as he wished he had had no serious doubts. He had in the past defied and got his way with Pitt, Napoleon and half a dozen other powerful personalities on the European stage; so experience had taught him that, by a mixture of charm, subtle argument and brutal determination, he could bend most men to his will. But now he was faced with an issue that only he could resolve. Should he, or should he not, marry Lisala?
It could be argued that it was to save him that she had murdered her father. But Roger had grown to know her well enough to feel certain that that had not been her prime purpose. The deed had been inspired by her determination, whatever the cost, not to be forced into spending the rest of her life as a nun. Her beauty was staggering, and her sexual attraction such that a hermit vowed to celibacy would have thrown over his chances of heaven for the opportunity to possess her. Yet, concealed by that flawless loveliness lay a mind that was abnormal. She had not even shown remorse for her crime, and had faked tears only to impress Captain Jackson. The only indications of her abnormality were that her magnificent eyes were a trifle too widely spaced, the violence of her temper and the voluptuousness of her movements.
Recalling the eagerness with which she had abandoned herself to him that first time in the cave up on the mountain, and the frenzy of passion she had since displayed during those brief spells when they had been able to consummate their love in Isfahan, Lisbon and Rio, he had grave doubts about his ability to satisfy her abnormal sexual craving over a prolonged period. Yet, to take her to Europe, then abandon her seemed too heartless to contemplate. And, above all, she was carrying his child. Dawn found him mentally exhausted and heavy-eyed, but he had decided that he must go through with it.
At seven o’clock he went to her cabin, to find her sleeping as soundly as a virgin in a convent, with no more on her conscience than the necessity to make confession that the sin of gluttony had led her to steal a piece of chocolate cake. Rousing her, he explained the situation to her, adding that if the Captain married them, it would have to be in accordance with the Church of England ceremony. He told her this, with half a hope that, as she was a Catholic and he a Protestant, she might refuse marriage if not celebrated with the rites of her own Church.
During the many years Roger had spent in France, it would have proved a serious handicap to admit that he was not a Roman Catholic; so he had attended such services as he could not avoid, although, like many officers who had inherited atheism from the Revolution, he had never gone to confession. He had adopted the same policy while crossing the Atlantic in the Nunez and later in Rio. Moreover, both in Isfahan and Lisbon he had given de Pombal the impression that he was a Catholic; so his admission that he was not caused Lisala considerable surprise.
Nevertheless, she remained quite unperturbed and said to him, ‘The time people waste on their knees and the veneration they give to reliquaries filled with old bones has always been a mystery to me. And that women should deny themselves the enjoyment of their natural desires in hope of some vague future happiness seems to me a great stupidity. I have, too, always resented having to tell lies once a week, as so many people do, to some smelly old priest in a confessional. I give not a hoot how we are married, provided it be legal and your child born in wedlock.’
This last possible postponement of the issue having been brushed aside, Roger repaired to Captain Jackson and reported his decision. At nine o’clock, the Captain had all hands piped on deck and, with Roger and Lisala on either side of him on the poop, read the service out of the prayer book, duly uniting them. Roger then asked that the ship’s company should be given a double issue of rum at his expense, which provoked hearty cheers from the British tars. The health of the newly-weds was enthusiastically drunk, and they descended to the state-room to partake of a glass of wine with the Captain and his officers.
Their Commander had informed them before the ceremony that his reason for not having ordered a wedding breakfast was on account of Lisala’s having lost her father the previous night; so he felt that such a jollification would be out of place. In consequence, even this small reception was embarrassing to its participants and, Roger reflected grimly, a poor augury for the future. Fortunately it was cut short by a Portuguese officer coming aboard to request the presence of Captain Jackson at the Palace at noon.
Already dressed in his best uniform, with a long face, the Captain duly went ashore, expecting to have to resist a demand for the surrender of Roger and his bride. He had every intention of keeping the promise he had made in the early hours of that morning; but was greatly troubled by the fact that three Portuguese men-of-war lay anchored in the estuary, so he was hopelessly outgunned and, if the Portuguese turned nasty, he would find himself in a most unpleasant situation.
Roger, too, was aware of that and knew that if a threat was made to open fire on the Phantom, he would have no alternative but to throw in his hand. He could only endeavour to comfort himself with the thought that, if the worst happened, luck and his skilful planning had combined to eliminate any evidence that either Lisala or he had had any hand in the murder of her father. Nevertheless, he could not escape the charge of having abducted her; so, if they were arrested and taken ashore, things would go hard with both of them.
For three extremely anxious hours they strolled up and down, or sat about, under the awning over the poop. At last Captain Jackson returned. As he came alongside in his gig, they saw that his thick uniform was stained with sweat, and he was mopping the perspiration from his face with a bandanna handkerc
hief.
When he had been piped aboard and they had followed him into the state-room, he said gruffly:
‘The city is in a ferment concerning the Marquis’ death. While I was at the Palace, there was talk of nothing else. People are much mystified, as the accounts of the affair differ greatly. For a slave to have assaulted his master’s daughter is a thing unheard of. The only explanation offered is that he must have gone mad; but he is dead, so has escaped torture, and no-one will ever now know the truth of the matter. You, Mr. Brook, are greatly blamed for having abandoned the injured duenna and the Senhorita’s aunt. Apparently there was no question whatever of the other slaves mutinying, and you had already driven your sword through the one who might have incited them to do so, as he scrambled out of the window. It is said, too, by the Senhora de Arahna that, sword in hand, you had a violent quarrel with the Marquis before carrying off the Senhorita. The duenna is still too ill to make a statement. But, when she is sufficiently recovered to give an account of what occurred, more light should be thrown on this terrible affair.’
Roger paled. It was Dona Christina who had pulled his leg from under him when he had actually been crossing swords with de Pombal. The testimony she would give could be refuted only by asserting that she had temporarily gone out of her mind and had imagined the whole scene. Would that be believed? And the story that Baob had come up through the window, with the intention of raping Lisala? That rested solely on the word of Lisala and himself; and it was with her stiletto that the Marquis had been stabbed through the back.
With narrowed eyes and his heart beating fast, Roger said, ‘Maybe, in the excitement of the moment, I was foolish to adhere to my original plan to abduct the Senhorita. All would have gone smoothly but for the unforeseen aberration of that accursed Negro. What attitude are the authorities taking in the matter?’
The Captain shrugged. ‘Naturally they are anxious to question you; so they have issued an order for your arrest.’
‘I’ll not leave this ship unless the Portuguese threaten to fire upon her,’ Roger declared firmly.
‘You will not need to. No-one ashore is aware that you are aboard her.’
‘Thank God for that! And I am greatly your debtor, Sir, for not having divulged that … that my wife and I are your guests here.’
Jackson’s leathery face broke into a smile. ‘I was not even questioned about you, Mr. Brook. I think now I have sufficiently paid you out for the way in which you spoke to me in the early hours of this morning. The rowing boat in which you came out to Phantom was cast adrift and washed ashore on the incoming tide. In it was found a high, tortoiseshell comb that had evidently fallen from your wife’s dishevelled hair, and has been identified as hers by her aunt. It is assumed that you went out to a Portuguese barque which sailed on the dawn tide, and paid her Captain well to take you up to Recife.’
Out of habit, Lisala crossed herself and exclaimed, ‘Holy Virgin be praised!’
Roger gave a wry smile and admitted, ‘I deserved the fear you inflicted on me these past few minutes. But, relieved as I am now, I fail to understand why you were sent for from the Palace if it was not to be asked if we had taken refuge aboard Phantom.’
Jackson returned his smile and drew from the big, flapped pocket of his coat a large envelope with heavy seals. ‘It was to receive this. ’Tis the reply to the despatch that I delivered eight days ago.’
‘Then, your mission accomplished, you are free to sail,’ Roger exclaimed joyfully. ‘We’ll not have to remain here dreading that someone ashore may yet get wind of it that we are aboard.’
‘Yes, Mr. Brook. I deplore having become involved in this whole unsavoury business. But I admire your resolution, and it is clear that the gods have favoured you. Phantom is fully watered and provisioned. On the evening tide we sail for England.’
In their role as ‘the eyes of the Fleet’, frigates were one of the fastest types of ship afloat, and rarely reefed sail, except when meeting exceptionally bad weather. In consequence, she made the crossing in six weeks. But it was a far from comfortable one, and the last form of honeymoon Roger would have taken from choice. As was always the case, rough seas made him wretchedly seasick. However, that at least provided him with an excuse for keeping within bounds the amorous demands that Lisala made upon him.
On May 9th, Phantom docked at Portsmouth. Being the bearer of a despatch, as soon as Captain Jackson had cleared his papers he hired a coach to take him to London, and with him he took Roger and Lisala.
As was Roger’s custom when returning from long absences abroad, he went straight to Amesbury House in Arlington Street. It was the town mansion of the Earl of Amesbury, the father of Roger’s best friend, Lord Edward Fitz-Devérel, who had permanent apartments there, and was always happy to put him up.
They arrived shortly after eleven o’clock, and Roger sent up his name, together with the information that he had brought with him from Brazil a lady whom he had recently made his wife. The footman returned to say that His Lordship had just finished breakfast and, if they would forgive his still being in déshabille, he would be delighted to receive them at once.
Lord Edward was an unusual character. Owing to shortsightedness, he had a permanent stoop, which had caused his friends to nickname him ‘Droopy’ Ned. He abhorred, blood sports and spent much of his time collecting old jewellery, studying ancient religions and experimenting on himself with Eastern drugs. But he was very well-informed, extremely shrewd and had often given Roger sound advice.
He received them in a flowered silk chamber robe and wearing a Turkish turban. After kissing Lisala’s hand, he peered at her with his short-sighted eyes, then smiled and said:
‘M’dear, much as I’d like to congratulate Roger, I can hardly find it in me to do so. Now that you are come to London, and the season is in full swing, within a week there will be a score of beaux besieging so lovely a creature as yourself, and he’ll not get a wink of sleep from having to drive them off.’
Roger laughed. ‘You’re right, Ned, that Lisala will prove the toast of the season. But we have spent the night driving up from Portsmouth, so her present need is a good sleep.’
Droopy had already ordered wine and ratafias for their refreshment. When the footman brought them, he told him to find the housekeeper and have her prepare a double bedroom for Mr. and Mrs. Brook as speedily as possible. For a quarter of an hour the new arrivals described their journey and the state of things in Brazil when they had left it. The housekeeper then arrived and, after Lisala had thanked their host in her pretty, broken English, led her away. Roger’s first question, as he poured himself another glass of Bordeaux, was, ‘How fares it with my beloved Georgina?’
Raising his eyebrows, Droopy replied, ‘She married again, over a year ago. Did you not know? Since then she has lived abroad with her new husband, the Baron von Haugwitz, a Prussian ex-diplomat who has a castle on the Rhine.’
Roger frowned. Georgina remained the great love of his life. Between his long absences abroad, they had again and again ignored other ties to spend happy, laughing days and nights together. To learn that, on this occasion, he was to be denied yet another glorious secret reunion with her was a heavy blow.
At length he said, ‘I think I once met the Baron in Paris towards the end of ’99. Just before Talleyrand sent me as Envoy Extraordinary to Mr. Pitt in an abortive attempt to agree a peace. If I remember, he was a tall, handsome man of about forty; a cousin of the King of Prussia’s First Minister, and had for a while been Ambassador here in London.’
‘That is the man,’ Droopy agreed. ‘When he was here as Ambassador, he was mightily taken with Georgina, but at that time married. On his wife’s death, he returned to England and pressed his suit successfully with our vivacious Countess.’
‘Dost know what she has done about the children?’ asked Roger.
‘Her little Earl she took with her; your daughter, Susan, remains at Stillwaters in the good care of her great-aunt Marsham. Not knowing when, if e
ver, you would return, I have been down on several occasions to see them.’
‘That was good of you, Ned. How fares the child?’
‘Well enough physically, and she bids fair to become a beauty. But she is sad at heart. How could it be otherwise when, for eleven years she shared nursery and playroom with Georgina’s boy; then, by this new marriage, they were reft apart?’
‘Eleven years!’ Roger gave a heavy sigh. ‘She must then now be rising thirteen; and I have spent little more than that number of weeks with her in her whole life.’
‘Take that not too much to heart, dear friend; for it was duty that kept you abroad, and few men can have served their country better.’
‘Aye, Ned, I’ve pulled a trick or two on Britain’s enemies. But, all the same, I’ve proved a sorry parent, and I am by way of becoming one again.’
Droopy raised his eyebrows. ‘M’seems you’ve lost no time, since you tell me you married this Brazilian belle only in March.’
Roger had no secrets from his old friend, so he gave him an account of his year-long affair with Lisala, suppressing only the fact that she had slain her father.
When he had finished, Droopy commented, ‘All’s well that ends well, then. With such a wife you’ll be the envy of the town. That Madonna face crowning the body of a Venus; rarely, if ever, have I beheld a female with attractions so calculated to bewitch a man.’
‘Bewitch a man! You’ve said it, Ned. She has indeed put a spell on me, and I still cannot make up my mind whether I am glad or sorry that fate should have thrown me in her path. When I am apart from her for a while, I see her as she really is—a beautiful mask, behind which lies a mind that lacks all humane qualities. She is utterly selfish and would go to any lengths to gain her ends. At times she displays the temper of a virago; and I have become convinced that for her love means one thing only—the satisfaction of sexual craving. Yet when we are together and her eyes light up, her lips part and she gives me that dazzling smile, I count myself the luckiest man in Christendom.’
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