Evil in a Mask rb-9

by Dennis Wheatley

  'Picking himself up, he staggered to his wife's room and gasped out to her the terrible quandary in which he found himself. She at least behaved like a daughter of Spain; tore off her mantilla, threw it at him and cursed him for a miser­able coward.

  'The Foreign Minister, d'Aranjo, then arrived. After a while he succeeded in quietening the Prince. They decided that the ultimatum must be accepted and an ordinance pub­lished to give it effect. But that the British should be given some days to get their goods away. Five times the Prince sat down at his desk to sign the ordinance d'Aranjo had pre­pared, and five times threw his pen away; but at last he did sign it, and went off in a flood of tears to don a hair shirt in the monastery. The best I could do was to persuade d'Aranjo that he would at once set about having a fleet prepared in case, at the last moment, the Prince changed his mind and decided to go to Brazil; though I think there is little likeli­hood of such a fleet ever crossing the Atlantic.'

  There was nothing Roger could say to console the de­pressed Minister for this major diplomatic defeat; so, having expressed his sympathy and offered his services to help if the Legation had to be evacuated, he bade Strangford good night.

  On the 14th, the ordinance was published. The Portuguese were aghast at the news that a French army actually was on its way to Lisbon, and in the English quarter pandemonium ensued. In the so-called 'Factory', where British goods were stored, there were many thousands of pounds' worth of mer­chandise, and to get it all away in the space of a few days was impossible. To add to the desperate plight of these long-established traders, the rates for shipping space rose within a few hours to unprecedented heights and soared still higher when it became known that the Government had comman­deered a large number of ships; although the reason for this action was not disclosed.

  For three days these unfortunate people fought ruin and despair with all the energy they could command. Many sold their goods to the Portuguese at great loss, all of them dis­mantled their houses with frantic haste, packing their most valuable possessions to take with them if they could, and arranging to store others with Portuguese friends.

  Then, on the 17th, things took a new turn. A British squad­ron appeared on the scene and dropped anchor in the mouth of the Tagus. This caused great rejoicing among both the English and the Portuguese, as they expected a force to be landed that would protect Lisbon from the French. Roger was not so sanguine; for, since the publishing of the Royal ordinance, Portugal and Britain had been, at least techni­cally, at war. It therefore followed that, unless Don Joao was prepared to bring down on his unhappy head the wrath of Napoleon, and so reap the worst of both worlds, he would have to order his forts to open lire on any British troops that attempted to come ashore.

  However, that night Roger learned to his delight that the Admiral commanding the squadron was Sir Sidney Smith, an old friend of his and a sailor of exceptional initiative. Sir Sidney had won glory aiding King Gustavus of Sweden in his war against Russia. Later, when commanding a flotilla of British small craft with orders to clear the Channel of French privateers, he had led his ships' boats into the mouth of the river Seine at night, in a daring endeavour to capture an enemy lugger. He had succeeded, but she had been caught in a flood tide and carried upstream; so in the morning, fired on from all sides by French troops, he had been compelled to surrender. He was taken to Paris and for two years had been a prisoner in the Temple. But he had managed to escape. Like Roger, he could speak many languages; and, on one occasion, to secure information about the state of things in Morocco, he had gone ashore and lived there for a time, disguised as an Arab.

  When the main British Fleet was based on Naples Sir Sid­ney had three frigates which had been detached for duty at the eastern end of the Mediterranean. Technically, he was under Nelson, who was extremely jealous of him; but, re­garding his superior as too distant to appreciate the local situa­tion, he had ignored him. It was then that Sir Sidney had inflicted the greatest defeat on Napoleon ever achieved by the British, with the one, much later, exception of Waterloo. Napoleon's army was advancing from Egypt up the coast of Palestine, with the object of capturing Constantinople, and dared not leave the great Turkish stronghold of Acre uncaptured in its rear; so laid siege to it. Sir Sidney had sent his sailors ashore and the guns from his ships, and succeeded

  in holding Acre until the French army, decimated by unsuc­cessful assaults and wasted by disease, had been compelled to retire on Egypt. That achievement had altered the course of history.

  It was during the siege of Acre that Roger had met Sir Sidney, and supplied him with most valuable information. In consequence, they were not only close friends, but the Admiral was one of the very few people who knew that Roger had a dual identity, and was a secret agent.

  Next morning, Roger had himself rowed out to the flag­ship, H.M.S. Hibernia. After receiving him with surprise and delight, the Admiral took him to his stateroom, poured two glasses of Malaga wine and asked with a laugh, 'Do I drink with Mr. Roger Brook or M. le Colonel de Breuc?'

  'I'm Mr. Brook at the moment,' Roger grinned back. 'But less than a fortnight ago I was living as the guest of the French Ambassador in Madrid.'

  'Then I have hopes that you bring me news of special value.'

  'Nothing of real importance, I fear; but I can inform you of the state of things in both the Spanish and Portuguese capitals.'

  'Go to it then, friend. In me you have an eager listener.'

  During the half-hour that followed, Roger gave the Ad­miral a precis of the information he had acquired, then Sir Sidney said:

  'My Lord Strangford came off to see me last night. I think little of his slushy poems and still less of his ability to carry out his mission. The fellow has no guts, and what is needed here is a man who will threaten this craven Prince with death and damnation unless he does as we wish.'

  Roger nodded. 'I agree. And now that you are arrived it may not be too late to force him to change his decision.'

  'Since he is now at war with us, I have it in mind to bom­bard the city.'

  'That would be hard on the Portuguese.'

  'Perhaps; but it might bring him to his senses.'

  The conversation got no further, because a Midshipman, sent by the Officer of the Watch, arrived to report that a barge carrying the Minister was coming alongside.

  Sir Sidney, followed by Roger, went out on to the quarter deck to receive him. On coming aboard, after exchanging courtesies with the Admiral, Strangford gave Roger a some­what disapproving look. No doubt recalling the way in which fatigue and despondency had led him into making a confidant of Roger five nights earlier, he said:

  'Good morning, Mr. Brook. Your presence indicates that, for a private citizen, you take an exceptional interest in our affairs.'

  The Admiral laughed and clapped Roger on the back. 'A private citizen he may be, milord, but quite an exceptional one. He is an old friend of mine. We were together at the siege of Acre, and I know no man I'd rather have beside me at a time of crisis.'

  Roger acknowledged the compliment with a bow, and Strangford replied, 'Then I'll not question the wisdom of his being present at our consultations.'

  They adjourned to the stateroom. Wine was poured and, as Strangford sipped at his, he said wearily, 'I pray God that I never again have to live through such days as are just past. The Legation has been besieged by scores of our nationals, begging my help to save their properties; but there was naught I could do for them. This morning I decided that to remain longer would only embarrass my Portuguese friends; so I had the Royal Arms removed from above the door of the Lega­tion, and am come with my most important papers to take refuge here.'

  Sir Sidney bowed. 'You are welcome, milord. I'll give or­ders for accommodation to be prepared for you and your people. But surely the game is not yet up? For months past, there has been an understanding between the Portuguese Court and Whitehall that, should such a situation as the present arise, the Prince Regent would retire under British protection to Bra
zil; and we must hold him to it.'

  Strangford shrugged. 'I have done my utmost; but terror of the French has decided this miserable man to rat upon his promise.'

  'Maybe we'll bring him to honour it yet,' replied the Ad­miral grimly. For upwards of an hour they discussed ways and means of bringing pressure on Don Joao.

  Afterwards, as Roger was about to go ashore, the Admiral offered him quarters in Hibernia. Having thanked him, Roger said, 'Later, should events justify it, I will gladly accept your hospitality. But I have a certain private matter to settle in the city, so I shall remain there as long as possible.'

  The private matter was, of course, Lisala; and he had long since arranged with an official at the docks to let him know at once should a ship come in carrying the de Pombal party.

  Next day the eagerly-awaited message was brought to him by a longshoreman. Unless some evil fate had stricken Lisala during the long journey from Isfahan, she was now once again within easy reach of his arms that had for so long ached to embrace her.

  Accompanying the longshoreman back to the dock, he made urgent enquiries, and learned that Lisala was with her father and aunt.

  The Biter Bit

  On receiving that assurance, Roger's heart began to pound with relief and joy. His beloved had survived the hazards of the voyage and very soon now he would gaze again on her bewitch­ing face and form. He was greatly tempted to hurry down to the dock to see her land, but resisted it because, for her to have recognised him prematurely, could have proved extremely awk­ward. She and her family had known him as M. le Chevalier de Breuc, a member of the French mission, whereas he was now an English Admiral's son. That could be explained away only in carefully-prepared circumstances.

  Instead of remaining on the dock, he had himself driven out to the de Pombal mansion. It was a fine house, standing in its own grounds on the outskirts of the city. He had already been out there several times, both to gaze with sentimental longing at Lisala's home and to reconnoitre the garden walls, with the possibility in view that a night might come when he would climb over to keep a secret rendezvous with her.

  Now, he had his carriage pull up fifty yards short of the big, wrought-iron main gates. An hour went by, then another. At length his patience was rewarded. A cavalcade, consisting of two coaches followed by three wagons, appeared at the far end of the street. Evidently a messenger had been sent ahead with news that the family had landed, for the gates were opened by a gardener.

  As the first coach turned in through the gates, Roger saw the Marquis clearly, then he caught just a glimpse of his di­vinity, and her aunt, on the back seat. Again a surge of relief and delight ran through him. His prayers that no fell disease might strike Lisala during the long voyage, had been answered.

  The problem now was how to present himself. Suddenly it struck him that he had been absurdly lax in not already hav­ing thought out a way to do so during the past week. Before that, social life in Lisbon had continued normally. He had taken it for granted that when Lisala did arrive, he would find no difficulty in coming face to face with her at the Opera or at some reception to which he could get himself invited. But since the publication of the Royal ordinance, all normal activities had ceased. There were no Court functions, all places of public entertainment were closed; so, too, were many of the biggest mansions, their owners having retired to country estates from dread of the coming of the French army. That night, he racked his brains in vain for some means by which, without approaching her direct, he could appear before her.

  Next day, as he again went off to the Hibernia, he happened to recall one of his Portuguese acquaintances mentioning that when Lord St. Vincent's fleet had been in Lisbon, the Admiral had kept open house in his flagship, and that hundreds of Por­tuguese gentry had been entertained in her and other vessels. He wondered for a moment if he could get Sir Sidney to give a party and include the dc Pombals in his invitations. But he dismissed the thought as impossible almost as soon as it entered his head. Theoretically, at least, Portugal was now at war with Britain.

  On reaching Hibernia, he learned that the Admiral was not aboard and might not be back for some hours, as he had only just left to carry out an inspection of one of his other ships. Strangford was in the stateroom, lazily scanning a book of Portuguese verse. After a short conversation, Roger realised that no new plan to get the better of the French was in the making, and it was obvious that His Lordship had given up. Again obsessed with his own problem, Roger had himself rowed back to the city.

  That afternoon a possible way of solving it at last came to him. When in Isfahan, a Catholic chaplain had celebrated Mass every morning in the Embassy. No doubt here in Lisbon the de Pombals attended Mass daily at home in a private chapel; but on Sunday, all the odds were that they would go to church. If so, that could provide him with the sort of situa­tion he was so eager to bring about. As it was a Friday, he would have to wait for two days before he could put his. plan into execution, but at least he now had something to hope for.

  He had been greatly tempted to loiter in the neighbourhood of the de Pombal mansion, on the chance of catching another glimpse of Lisala; but had resisted it because the last thing he wanted was to be recognised hanging about near the gate. On the Saturday, to keep his mind off this temptation, he again went out to the Hibernia. Neither Sir Sidney nor Strangford had any news for him, but the former invited him to remain on board for dinner.

  It proved a somewhat gloomy meal, as Strangford was much more adept at showing his handsome person off in a mixed society, composed mainly of women, than participating in doing his share of hard drinking with men; and Roger found it difficult to keep his mind on the conversation. But he more than did justice to the Admiral's port and, when rowed ashore, was distinctly mellow.

  Nevertheless, he was up by five the following morning, as there was the possibility that the de Pombals might attend early Mass. When the closed carriage which he had ordered pulled up not far from the gates of the de Pombal mansion, there were still only a few people about, and he settled down to wait with as much patience as he could. From time to time he took out his big turnip watch and the minute hand seemed positively to crawl. But at last his patience was rewarded. A large, gilded coach appeared; the Marquis and two ladies were in it. He could not see their faces, but had little doubt that Lisala was one of them. His driver already had his instructions, and they followed the coach to the Church of San Miguel.

  As the de Pombal party alighted, Roger's heart gave a happy bound. One of the ladies was Lisala, the other her elderly duenna. The two footmen who had been perched on the stand at the back of the coach took prie-dieus for their master and the ladies from the boot, and the whole party went up the steps of the church. As soon as they had disappeared inside it, Roger paid off his coachman and entered after them.

  As was usual in those days, the church had no pews, so the majority of the congregation was standing. Roger took up a strategic position in accordance with his plan, beside the holy-water stoup, which was just inside the main door. Now he was filled with impatience and could hardly wait until the service was over.

  At last the genuflecting and intoning ceased and, after final bobs in the direction of the high altar, the worshippers turned about, to leave by the door. For an agonising two minutes Roger waited as the crowd flowed past, then he saw the de Pombals coming towards him. Lisala's hand was resting on her father's arm and her eyes were demurely cast down. The Mar­quis was exchanging politenesses with an acquaintance, so he did not notice Roger dip his fingers in the holy-water stoup and extend his hand so that Lisala could not fail to see it.

  The practice of a stranger offering Holy Water to a lady after she had attended Mass was very common and nobody thought anything of it. Many years before, Roger had made use of the custom to pass notes to the beautiful Athenais de Rochambeau; but now he had no billet-doux palmed in his hand.

  To his consternation Lisala touched his fingers, but did not look up. For a moment his heart dropped
like lead. She was about to move on without even a glance at him. His ruse had failed. Then the Marquis, reacting to Lisala's brief pause, turned and looked straight into Roger's face. Halting, he ex­claimed :

  'It can't be! Yes, it must be, le Chevalier de Breuc.'

  Roger bowed, shook his head, then smiled. 'No, Senhor. You are mistaken. But I understand the reason for your error. It has happened to me many times before. You have taken me for my French cousin. My name is Roger Brook; and I am an Englishman.'

  Lisala and the Senhora Christina were now also staring at Roger. With a little gasp, Lisala exclaimed, 'But this is in­credible! The likeness! We are recently arrived from Isfahan and . . . and came to know Colonel Breuc well there. You might be his twin.'

  'True, Senhorita, people have often said that.' Roger laughed. 'Our fathers were twins, and my cousin and I were born within a month of each other; he at Strasbourg and my­self in England. Our fathers were so devoted that they even decided to have us christened by the same first name. But may I know whom I have the honour of addressing?'

  'I am the Marquis dc Pombal, and this is my daughter,' said Lisala's father.

  'De Pombal,' repeated Roger with a bow. 'A famous name. I am honoured indeed. My only regret is that I should have come to Lisbon in such unhappy times. Since you are acquainted with my cousin, it may be that you will consider that sufficient introduction and permit me to call upon you. I am attached to the staff of Admiral Sir Sidney Smith, and find life with the Fleet exceeding dull.'

  'Why, yes.' The Marquis smiled. 'By all means do so. I shall be happy to receive you.'