The Duchess and the Highwayman

by Beverley Oakley

  Hugh raised his eyebrows, and Mrs Plumb laughed and tapped him on the shoulder with her fan. “This is not a brothel, my good sir, and the women behind these doors make their own decisions as to how far they’re prepared to indulge their appetites. Ariane, for example, likes tall, dark men. I doubt she would take up an offer from you. Helena enjoys a challenge and considers every offer on merit. Minna, now, only ever performs her sensuous dance for peers of the realm who request it. She will consider no offers under five hundred pounds.”

  “Good Lord, she must be good!” Hugh couldn’t help remarking, and Mrs Plumb raised one eyebrow. “She’s never been tested. Certainly, not in my establishment, but there is one who has offered that amount and who will take his pleasure tomorrow, so unless you choose to raise the amount, I suggest you confine your interest to one of the others.”

  Mrs Plumb left him shaking his head, though not for long, for once his eye was at the peephole, he was entirely transfixed. Of course, spying was not a pastime for gentlemen, and Hugh did indeed feel keenly the irony. He was not a man who paid for transient pleasures. Taking Phoebe as his mistress was the first time he’d exchanged money for the keeping of a woman.

  Fear for what tomorrow would bring threatened to overwhelm him; there was no pleasure in the erotic sight before him.

  The women, all of similar height, one with golden tresses, another dark as a raven’s wing, one red-haired, and one with brown tresses past her waist, were swaying in time to a rhythmic chant. A strange mist swirled through the gloom, sending an unidentified, invisible perfume curling under the door.

  It was not hard to identify Ariane with her golden tresses and her striking confidence. No doubt the most dangerous in view of what had happened to Phoebe. Her knowing look as she glanced in his direction suggested she was very well aware that she was under observation, and that she enjoyed playing to her audience. Had she betrayed Phoebe? Certainly, if she were Wentworth’s wife and yet happily consorted with her husband in these premises on occasion, the inference was that she was not the cowering abused wife Phoebe had no doubt believed she was going to meet.

  The women clasped each other around the waist, their eyes vacant as their lips found each other’s briefly. Breaking into pairs, they delicately contoured faces, traced lips with long fingers, and gently nuzzled throats and breasts. There was something otherworldly about the scene. Hugh felt as if he’d stepped into a world where sin was not a crime. These women looked so serene, and he longed for the gentle touch of a woman. Not of these women, but of his Phoebe.

  Phoebe, who came here only a few days ago, and whose liberty ended here. He had to discover a means to discredit Wentworth or Phoebe would die.

  Hastily he scribbled a note on the paper provided and slid it through the grille. Ariane was too dangerous, he’d decided. Too knowing and too calculating to confront directly. The young woman with the light brown hair and the innocent face may be less guarded. She consorted with Ariane on a regular basis. It might just be that she’d know something, anything, that would be a start.

  The young woman of his choice met him in an antechamber. He’d taken a seat on the comfortable red velvet upholstered banquette with its turned arms that faced a small dais, where presumably Minna would do her little dance for the pleasure of her clients.

  To his surprise, she slipped through the door and gracefully crossed the room to stand in front of him, her expression expectant.

  “What news?” she asked, her voice breathless. “Where should I go? Is it tonight? Oh please say you’ll get me out of here tonight, for I fear if he should come early, then what could I do? I’d rather die.”

  Hugh, who’d risen to his feet, was unsure how to respond to this little speech. The young woman, unaware of his confusion, began to pace. “I never thought I’d win such a reprieve. Oh, dear Lord, I shan’t waste it. Shall we go now?” She turned suddenly, and Hugh had to admit at this point that he was really terribly sorry, but he had no idea what she was talking about.

  She stared at him a moment, her face a mask of devastation. Then she gave a little gasp. “You are not Sir Gawain?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve never heard the name.”

  “Oh, a made-up one, I’m sure.” Her mouth trembled, and she stared at him. “So you really came to watch me dance?” she asked miserably. “Not to save me from my dreadful fate that will take place tomorrow when I am to be bought like a —” She couldn’t go on, bowing her head as her delicate frame was wracked by silent sobs.

  Hugh was afraid to reach out to touch her, even in sympathy but then she raised her head and said in a rush, “So, you didn’t come to save me. All I can hope is that a stranger who will identify himself as Sir Gawain will make himself known and rescue me before I am forced to commit a sin that will guarantee my place in Hell, though to be sure it’s probably already waiting for me.” She sniffed, and her sweet rosebud lips trembled. “I had just held out the tiniest little bit of hope that…you…might be my last chance.” Collecting herself, she added on another faint sob, “But if you’re not Sir Gawain, you can’t help me.” Her shoulders slumped. Then she seemed to snap into a different state, more with the present and businesslike. “I daresay you came here to watch me dance, then.”

  Hugh hesitated. “Actually, I came for information…which I’m quite willing to pay for,” he added quickly, indicating the seat beside him.

  “Information?” She looked frightened as she sent a look at the door then back to his face. “No sir, I won’t betray any of the girls. And if you are planning to lock up all of us who operate out of here, then perhaps I’ll just scream now.”

  Hugh rose and gripped her arm, immediately dropping his hands when he saw her tense. “I’m sorry, but let me assure you there’s no need to get so agitated. I have no intention of doing any harm. I merely hope to gain some information that might save the life of a dear friend of mine who was apprehended in this house last week by a certain Mr Wentworth, before being placed in custody and who is now awaiting His Majesty’s Pleasure. I’m hoping to find information that might save her from the hangman’s noose.”

  “Ariane’s husband?” Minna put her hand to her mouth. “You didn’t hear it from me,” she said quickly as she turned away, clearly conflicted.

  “No, I didn’t. He’s well known to me, and not at all in a way that casts honor on him, for all that he’s your friend’s husband.”

  “Well, he’s no friend of mine,” Minna muttered, “but I’d never betray Ariane.

  “It’s nice to know some loyalty exists in the world and you dancers—”

  “Oh no, believe me, she’d kill me or rather have it done discreetly.” Minna looked bleak. “I’ve been here two years, and I know her methods. She is beautiful but deadly. But…” she hesitated, “…the truth is she’s a good friend, as long as one doesn’t cross her.”

  “So you know her story, and that she’s wife-in-waiting to a man who now has a title, and is situating himself to take advantage of what has fallen lately and unexpectedly into his lap.”

  “I know it,” Minna said warily.

  “But what you don’t know perhaps is that it is at the cost of the life of the woman I love.”

  Minna’s mouth dropped open. “I…I can’t know what you mean, sir. Wentworth is a strong and powerful man with a great deal of persuasive energy. I’ve seen it, and I’ve felt it. But he would never commit murder.”

  Hugh looked furtively at the door, and then patted the seat beside him in the hopes she would sit there so he could lower his voice. There was little time to say what he must in order to persuade Minna to help him. If she even could. But if she were no friend of Wentworth’s, and if she knew something that could be brought against him, then Hugh needed to discover it now.

  “I have no choice but to trust you in the hopes you might help me save the life of the woman I love,” he said urgently. “Tomorrow, sentence will be passed on Lady Cavanaugh, who is accused of murdering her husband.”

&n
bsp; Minna’s eyes widened. “My Lord, what are you saying?” She looked terrified. “Wentworth is Lord Cavanaugh. He inherited the title only weeks ago upon the death of his cousin and two brothers occurring the same night. Of course I know the story. The papers can print nothing else.” Agitated, she hugged herself. “Are you telling me you believe a different version?”

  “I believe Lady Cavanaugh when she says Wentworth, who visited her and her husband frequently, forced her hand around the paper knife that killed her husband and made him heir. He forced her hand to commit the murder he desired and then condemned her for it. Tomorrow Lord Coulson will pass sentence on her. Her fate is already sealed for Wentworth has made a compelling case.”

  “Lady Cavanaugh was his mistress,” Minna murmured, staring at her feet.

  Hugh bridled. “I’m sure your friend Ariane was very put out and has turned you all against Lady Cavanaugh. Lord knows, she has few friends who will testify to the fact that she has been used as a pawn.”

  “Oh, Ariane orchestrated the union of Wentworth and Lady Cavanaugh.” Minna looked at Hugh, her expression not altering at Hugh’s shock. She nodded. “Shortly after I started dancing here, I remember the story well. Ariane and Wentworth had been wed several years but had done so before Wentworth’s majority, and they knew he’d be disinherited if the marriage were discovered. Wentworth had two older brothers—one dimwitted, the other an out-of-control drunkard—so as he saw no chance of becoming Lord Cavanaugh, the plan was that he…” she blushed, “…sire Lord Cavanaugh’s heir. It was Ariane who conceived the plan that she should make Lady Cavanaugh her husband’s mistress and, with collusion from Lord Cavanaugh himself, who was…unable to sire an heir.” She looked at the floor. “Poor Lady Cavanaugh. I felt sorry for her, even though I didn’t know her. When Ariane gets an idea, no one escapes from her plan.”

  Hugh winced. He’d felt dead inside when he’d first learned the litany of sins that littered Phoebe’s past. He’d believed she was easily coerced, and that she’d done it for gain. Minna painted a different story.

  “Then you understand that Lady Cavanaugh is entirely innocent of the charge leveled against her.” He gripped Minna’s hands. “And I see that there is no love lost between you and Ariane and Wentworth. Please help me find something—anything—against Wentworth that I might use at trial tomorrow, and I’ll do what I can to help you.”

  Minna smiled sadly. “There is nothing you can do to help me. I was a poor vicar’s daughter before I was enticed to London to be the mistress of the man I thought would marry me, and now I am a dancer and for the first time have accepted an offer that will both damn me in the eyes of God forever, but will secure the happiness of my little sister who believes me dead. If Sir Gawain does not come to save me, I have another plan even if it places my sister’s future in jeopardy, though I will find another way to protect her—just not through the sacrifice of what last bit of integrity I have left.” She slumped as she finished her speech. “I would do whatever I could to help you, but I’ve told you all I know.” She rose, took a step towards the door, hesitated then turned. “All I can add is that Lord Coulson, the magistrate I think you mentioned, is a regular visitor to Mrs Plumb’s, and that he is here in one of these rooms now.” She rose and held out her hand. “In case it is in the interests of justice, I could take you to the peephole. He’s probably had it closed, but there is a possibility you might see something that could be used to…persuade him that condemning Lady Cavanaugh to death is rather extreme when his proclivities invite the death penalty too.”

  20

  Hugh followed Minna a little way down a corridor where she stopped, pointing to the end of a passage at right angles. From the room to the right, he could hear faint singing punctuated with breathless sighs. Several patrons sagging against each other as they traversed the passage brushed past and disappeared through a nearby door, not closing it before shrieks of laughter issued into the corridor.

  “Go to the last room,” she whispered. “I must return to my antechamber in case Sir Gawain does come for me.”

  Hugh nodded. “Thank you, Miss Minna, for your great help,” he said. “I hope your own story will end happily.”

  She shrugged. “It will end in some fashion, but whether that is happily, I would not begin to speculate upon. My fate is not in my hands.” She turned, saying softly over her shoulder, “I wish you good luck in your endeavors, sir, and will read the papers with great interest.”

  Consumed by the hope of what he might soon discover, Hugh made his way stealthily toward the room she’d indicated. Like the previous one, its door was flanked by luxuriant potted palms, the perfect cover for putting one’s eye to a peephole. He ran his hand over the green-papered walls and felt the slight indent. But the hole was covered.

  His spirits fell, and he stood uncertainly by the wall, wondering what he should do. The room was at the end of a long corridor, and his position there was very obvious. He decided to return to the reception rooms, and was a few feet into his return journey when a slight, fair-haired gentleman in evening clothes, wearing a mask and heading in his direction, stopped him.

  “Where are you going, my dear?” he asked, looking Hugh up and down with raw appraisal, his hands on his hips, his expression arch. “I haven’t missed out on all the fun, have I?”

  Hugh glanced over his shoulder and saw that it must be apparent to the young man that he was returning from the very room upon whose occupants he’d hoped to spy.

  His uncertainty in what to say was misconstrued, for the gentleman tipped his head to one side and said, “Lost your way, have you? Told all the fun you were looking for was in Room 404?” He giggled suddenly, and to Hugh’s incredulity, took his hand. “Well, don’t be shy; Reggie will look after you. There’s lots of fun to be had in Room 404 if you come with me.”

  Hugh pulled back. “No, really, that wasn’t at all…” he floundered.

  Reggie dropped his hand and gave Hugh a considering look. “You just want to watch? Never done this sort of thing? Got a wife at home, eh? Maybe this is your first time?” He began to gently run his hand up and down Hugh’s coat sleeve, his smile colluding. “That’s all right,” he whispered. “You can just watch. We’ll find you some nice comfy cushions for you to lie back on and be comfortable while you see how it’s done.” He flashed Hugh a wicked smile and added, “As soon as you feel ready, you can join in.”

  With trepidation, Hugh allowed himself to be led along the passage before he was pushed into a dimly-lit room. He stopped abruptly, his eyes acclimatizing to the dimness. Lord, what den of iniquity had he landed in? he wondered as he was gently pushed into a pit of cushions. A faint whiff of scented smoke permeated the air, and when his eyes readjusted, he saw lying on a large embroidered cushion a small, large-bellied man, completely naked, playing with himself.

  Hugh forced himself not to gasp with shock. Without his clothes, Lord Coulson looked like a gleaming white walrus with shaggy gray facial hair, his domed forehead topping a pear-shaped body. He started when he heard Reggie and sat up, peering through the gloom. Hugh was glad he still wore his clothes, including his mask, but then he’d no more divest his clothes in a place like this than…give up on Phoebe.

  “You’ve brought a friend, Reggie?” The magistrate’s voice was slightly slurred and Hugh, tense with terror, was relieved that Lord Coulson seemed happy about this.

  He raked Hugh with an appraising look. “Very nice,” he said approvingly. “But perhaps this is your first time.” He smacked his lips. “Don’t worry; we’ll make sure you enjoy your initiation, won’t we, Reggie?”

  Reggie gave a high-pitched squeal of excitement as he quickly divested himself of his clothes. Throwing his arms wide in theatrical fashion, he threw himself onto Lord Coulson then, in the midst of his embrace with the magistrate, beckoned to Hugh. “Oh, do join us! Don’t be coy.”

  “I…I’d rather watch first time,” Hugh said unsteadily. “I… “

  “Feel guilty?
Don’t think about it. It’s the way of the world,” Reggie assured him, looking up from nibbling Lord Coulson’s nipple. “Whoopsy and I are more than happy to give you a little taste of what’s in store for you, lucky boy.” Reggie rose onto his knees and gripped Lord Coulson’s engorged member, flashing another wicked smile at Hugh over the tip.

  Hugh turned his head away, his mind reeling as Reggie whooped, “Your turn next, handsome stranger,” before he proceeded to pleasure the magistrate with great enthusiasm and thoroughness.

  Soon the men were entirely caught up in their own pleasure. Hugh rose to his feet and quietly made his way to the door. He felt ill, but exulted too.

  He mightn’t have found Wentworth to squeeze the truth out of but he’d discovered the next best thing.

  “Take the prisoner away!”

  Phoebe stared at the two flunkeys who moved forward at the magistrate’s direction. She’d survived the last two hours by pretending she was in another sphere, looking down upon herself. Now, with the howls of derision and feet banging, and so many angry faces glaring at her, she had to accept the truth. She had failed to convince the magistrate of her innocence. Not that she’d been given a great deal of opportunity. Wentworth’s version was brilliantly compelling, and it all came down to the same two factors. Phoebe had been in bed with Wentworth when news arrived of his brother’s deaths, and Phoebe’s hand had gripped the paper knife used to kill Ulrick.

  So she would die.

  Judgment was to be passed before the afternoon was out.

  In her cell in the tower, she stared at the gray sky and remembered what it felt like to be in Hugh’s arms. How sweet and treasured those memories were to her now.