Harriet looked round her. Some of the men met her glance boldly. They had seen her before, but she never ceased to be an astonishment to them. Her naked shoulders glittering with jewels, the curves of her figure revealed by her gauzy, semi-transparent ball gown, her flaming hair, the proud and exotic beauty of her looks. It was little wonder that they stared at her.
Yet there were those who glanced aside craftily through veiled, shifty eyes and through sandy eyelashes. It was those she disliked the most. The others she could understand. They were pirates, they were the type of men who in earlier and more adventurous times would have sailed with Drake or plundered foreign ships on the high seas.
To them a woman was a woman whether she was a Marchioness or the slut who waited to drink with them in the dark alleyways of Dover. Yes, she could understand men like that, and she did not think it a presumption, as most women in her position would have done, that they dared to look at her with an appraising eye.
She remembered once a Lady of Quality had sent her linkmen to thrash a fellow who had called after her outside Carlton House Terrace,
“There goes a buxom bed-warmer for the Prince Regent.”
“I would not countenance such insolence,” she said later to the Marchioness.
But Harriet had laughed at her.
“It was a compliment, my dear, and compliments are not always so truthful.”
The story had gone the rounds of the Clubs, and Harriet had made an enemy.
But such men were men, Harriet thought now. Whether they wore powder and satin and smelt of scent or were merely covered in tattered garments and reeked of sweat, the passions in them were much of a muchness.
Men, strong, passionate and demanding, their very virility an excuse for the lust they made no effort to hide, those were the sort the Marchioness understood, whether they were gentlemen or smugglers.
It was the other type she disliked and never so much as when she employed them in this difficult and dangerous game. The men who could not look her in the face and who turned their heads away when she spoke directly to them. There was one of the crew whom she had noticed on recent occasions and who she had a particular loathing for. He was a big man, but his features were thin and pinched, he had a shifty eye and a twitch at the corner of his mouth that made him appear as if he was perpetually smiling.
As the men gathered round now waiting for payment, Harriet saw that it was this man who had stolen the brandy. He was very tipsy, stumbling against the others who shoved him off with a muttered oath or the admonition to ‘pull yourself together’.
He was talking to himself and to the others, thereby infringing yet another rule that there should be as little conversation as possible while they were unloading.
Padlett glanced sharply towards him, but he said nothing and then he looked impatiently at the Marchioness, suggesting silently that the quicker the men were paid the better it would be for everyone.
The night’s work was over. They had only to take the boat along the coast to a small creek where it was usually hidden and then the crew could disperse to their homes and rest for a day or two.
The Marchioness hesitated and Padlett moved forward.
“Shall I pay them, your Ladyship?”
The Marchioness held out the bag to him.
“Yes, pay them,” she said. “But we are short tonight. If you will come to me tomorrow, Padlett, I will give you what is lacking.”
“Short?”
One of the men repeated the word beneath his breath.
“I was not expecting you until Thursday,” the Marchioness said firmly.
“How short?” another man asked.
“There should be two guineas there for each of you,” the Marchioness said. “As I have already said, the rest will be here tomorrow.”
“Yes, but how’s us a-goin’ to get it?” someone asked.
“I will see to that,” Padlett said sharply. “You have heard that her Ladyship said that she was expecting us on Thursday. You can wait a few hours for your money.”
There was a murmur and some of the men looked surly, but it was obvious that they would accept the inevitable although with bad grace.
Then the man who had drunk too much staggered forward.
“I wants me due,” he demanded.
Quiet and sly by nature, the fiery spirit he had drunk emboldened him. Now he was aggressive. His head was thrust forward and his great hands were almost clawing the air around him. He pushed two men on one side and confronted the Marchioness.
“I wants me money now and by Gawd’s teeth I means to ’ave it.”
“You will be paid tomorrow.”
The Marchioness spoke quietly, but there was the hardness of a lash in her voice.
“I’ve taken the risk,” he retorted. “I’ve risked me blasted neck to bring the stuff ’ere for a swell-mort and I’m not goin’ to be fogged off with promises. ’Tis me money I want, gold, that’s what I’ve done it for – gold.”
There was a murmur of agreement from the men around him and quickly Padlett intervened.
“You have been told what you are going to get,” he said, “and those that don’t like it will get something they don’t want from me. Is that clear?”
He spoke so peremptorily that several of the men instinctively took a step backwards, but the drunken one paid no attention.
“I wants me gold,” he repeated stupidly.
At that moment the Marchioness heard a step in the passage outside.
Swiftly she turned her head and to her astonishment saw Serena.
The girl came forward from the shadows, the light shining full on her white dress and her shining golden hair. Her eyes were wide, but she did not seem afraid.
She looked at the men, who stared back at her curiously and then she spoke to the Marchioness so that all could hear.
“Lord Vulcan asked me to tell you, ma’am, that a party of Dragoons and Excisemen are upstairs.”
The Marchioness gave an exclamation.
“Lud, they will search the place. They will watch for any boat passing along the foot of the cliffs. You must be quick, men. My son will doubtless delay them for a few minutes, but there is no time to be lost.”
Padlett was already doling out the gold pieces from the canvas bag. One by one the men took them from him and ran down the passage towards the sea as quickly as they could go.
But the drunk, swaying tipsily on his feet, remained where he was.
“I shall be ’anged by me neck for this,” he cried. “The soldiers’ll catch me. Before I be ’anged I wants me gold, the gold I’ve risked me neck for!”
“Go to the boat at once,” the Marchioness said sharply.
He towered above her, but she faced him defiantly.
“If I ain’t to ’ave gold,” he said, “I’ll take that gaudy bit.”
He put out his great hand and grabbed at the diamond necklace that encircled her neck. Serena instinctively gave a little cry of horror. Padlett, who was paying another man, dropped the canvas bag and the guineas and, turning, doubled up his fists.
But the Marchioness was quicker than he was. There was a faint swishing sound and the sheath of ivory slipped from a flashing tapering rapier of tempered steel.
She made one movement forward and the sword passed through the base of the drunkard’s neck. He staggered and there was an astonishment on his face that was almost ludicrous to behold.
Then he crashed sideways to the floor.
He lay there for a moment, his fingers twitching, his legs writhing as if in agony, before he gave a low croaking cough, a sound terrible and strange to those who heard it, and a stream of thick dark blood poured from his mouth onto the damp ground.
As he fell, the Marchioness drew the sword from his neck. It was stained with blood, but she slipped it swiftly into its sheath.
The torches flamed towards the ceiling and there was a suddenly a deafening quiet in the great cavern.
Then the Marchioness laughed.
It was a light lilting laugh of sheer untrammelled amusement. It echoed and re-echoed itself until there was silence again and only the distant breaking of the waves could be heard.
The Marchioness touched the fallen man with the toe of her shoe.
“See that this is removed,” she said contemptuously to Padlett.
Then with her head held high and a smile on her lips she turned to face Serena.
Chapter Nine
Serena felt as if she was gripped by a paralysis that made her incapable of movement, even while her heart thudded and she felt the horror of what had just happened creep over her in sickening waves of dizziness.
She almost craved oblivion so that the sight of that dark stream of blood issuing from the smuggler’s open mouth might be shut out, so that she could wrench her gaze from his eyes clouding over with the film of death.
Some voice within her told her that she ought to do something to help him and should try to staunch the flow of blood, but she could not move, her body had ceased to obey her will.
Then the Marchioness turned and there was in the expression of her face such cruelty and such stark bestiality that Serena wanted not only to cry out but to run away and to fly from the horror of a human being so depraved that she could glory in murder.
The Marchioness’s eyes were shining brightly, there was a delicate flush of colour in her cheeks and she flung her head back defiantly as if she faced the whole world and was supremely unafraid.
“Come, child,” she said and there was a thrill and a lilt in her voice. “We must return to our guests.”
Serena could only stare at her and then half-impatiently and half good-humouredly, the Marchioness stretched out her hand, took Serena by the forearm and turned her away from the cavern where the torches still spluttered their fierce revealing light, into the comparative darkness of the passage.
Her fingers were like steel in their strength and resolution.
They were warm too and Serena could almost feel energy and excitement pulsating through them.
It was as though that swift action, murderous in itself and intent on its achievement, had revived within the Marchioness her reckless impulsive youth. She was vividly alive, tingling with a magnetism that made her look for the moment ecstatic as with requited passion. She must have looked the same when in the heyday of her beauty she had lain satisfied and enraptured in the arms of a much-desired lover.
Pulling and half-dragging Serena by the arm, the Marchioness walked swiftly down the tunnelled passage. Serena’s feet kept pace with her almost automatically. For the moment she had ceased to reason or think and she was only conscious of a horror beyond expression and a physical coldness that seemed to penetrate into her very bones.
As they went, the Marchioness paused at every flickering candle to snuff out its light. They climbed the steep stone steps side by side in silence. The Marchioness still held Serena’s arm and continued to do so down the last part of the passage that led them to the sliding panel and back into the house.
They stepped into the warmth and light, the secret panel closed behind them and it seemed to Serena as if she awoke from the ugly terror of a nightmare.
The soft golden glow of the candles, the carved polished banisters and panelled walls, the thick carpet of crimson and blue were all familiar landmarks after a hideous fantasy of fierce flame and purple shadow, of wet rock and rough-hewn stone.
Here it was hard to believe in craft and evil, in violent passions and bloody murder.
Trembling, Serena raised a hand to her forehead.
The Marchioness regarded her with hard eyes and lips that curved disdainfully at such weakness.
“Pull yourself together, girl,” she said sharply. “It’s of no moment. There is one less rogue in the world and he will not be missed.”
“But, ma’am – ma’am – ” Serena stammered and her voice was strange and broken even to her own ears.
The Marchioness threw back her head, the light of the candles glittering on the jewels around her neck and sparkling in her tiny ears.
“Faugh, you are chicken-hearted. I thought better blood coursed through your veins, but it appears I was mistaken.”
Instinctively Serena reacted to the lash in her words and in the tone of her voice.
Without replying she straightened her shoulders and held her chin a little higher.
“Come, that is better,” the Marchioness commented. “Pinch your cheeks, child, so that there is some colour in them or I declare people will think you have seen a ghost.”
She laughed at her own joke and Serena shivered at the sound. She had heard much talk of ghosts since she had come to Mandrake and now there would be another spirit to walk the dark passages seeking perhaps his lost and injured body.
Rogue and smuggler, he had yet been a man, a human being who had lived and breathed and had his being on this earth. Now his blood, warm only a few minutes since, seeped into the mud and damp and soon the sea would take his body to her cold bosom.
Serena felt a sudden impulse to go back, to stand again at the dying man’s side. If there was nothing else she could do, she could at least pray for him.
But it was too late, for already the Marchioness had started up the stairs and Serena knew that she must follow her. For a few seconds there was only the rustle of their dresses and the soft sound of their feet on the stairs. Then as they reached the landing of the first floor Serena put out her hand pleadingly.
“Please, ma’am,” she asked, “may I retire?”
The Marchioness looked at her with scorn.
“Of course not, you silly child, are you so bird-witted that you cannot see we must return to the drawing room together? Our absence may have been noticed, but we have been in my bedchamber titivating our faces. Come and cease being in such a fidget. The loss of a rascally smuggler is of no importance, I assure you.”
As she spoke, the Marchioness linked her arm through Serena’s and Serena knew that it imprisoned her as firmly as bars or chains might have done. They traversed the first floor and came to the landing above the Grand Staircase.
As they began to descend it, the Marchioness said in a voice loud and high-pitched,
“I vow that my luck has changed. I shall win. I can feel good fortune at the tips of my fingers.”
She was speaking for effect, Serena was instantly aware of that and then she saw that below them, coming from the direction of the Banqueting Hall, was a little group of men, the Coastguards, the Dragoons,and with them Lord Vulcan.
The Marchioness made as if she had seen nothing, but Serena knew by the sudden pressure of her fingers and by the tense alertness of her whole body that this was but a pretence.
The Marchioness’s voice was light as she continued,
“Lud, but gaming is a chancy business. You are indeed fortunate that it does not yet concern you, my dear Serena. But I have heard people swear that marriage is also hazardous.”
They reached the bottom steps of the Grand Staircase and with a little cry of astonishment the Marchioness glanced towards the group of men advancing into the hall.
“’Pon my soul, more visitors!” she cried. Then, looking at her son, she added, “Your friends, Justin?”
“Yes, friends, Mother,” the Marquis answered gravely, “but unfortunately their call on us concerns business and not pleasure. May I present the Officer-in-charge, Lieutenant Delham?”
A red-faced young man in the uniform of the Dragoon Guards bowed a little sheepishly.
“I am enchanted to make your acquaintance, Lieutenant,” the Marchioness said. “Will you join us at a game of chance?”
“Unfortunately, ma’am, I am here on duty,” the Lieutenant replied. “The Coastguards have reported that they have viewed a boat at the very foot of your cliffs. I came to ask leave to search your garden and also to enquire if you had any knowledge of a landing place where a boat might anchor or unload a cargo.”
The Marchioness’s eyes were round with astonishment.
“A boat! Here!” she exclaimed, looking from one man to another. “But what do you suspect?”
“Smugglers, ma’am.”
The Marchioness gave a scream.
“Smugglers! La, but I declare that it is a thrilling notion. Smugglers at Mandrake! What do you think of that, Justin?”
“I suspect it is only a bubble,” he said quietly, “as Lieutenant Delham was just saying, the cliffs are very dangerous at this point and it is unlikely that a boat would be able to land.”
“Oh, but let’s pray that they can do so!” the Marchioness cried, clapping her hands. “For I promise you, Lieutenant, that I shall never be satisfied until I have had a peep at their cargo. What would it contain, do you think? Lace? Ribbons? Velvets for a new gown? And maybe a bottle of two of French brandy? Fie on you, Lieutenant, and the gentlemen with you, for seeking to spoil a game that is so beneficial to the community!”
There was a guffaw of laughter at this, but the Marchioness, dazzling those who listened with her brilliant smile, continued,
“You may laugh, but do none of you severe Puritan-minded men, intent only on enforcing the law, remember the needs of us poor weak women? Everything we require has become much more expensive since the War, besides being often unobtainable. Think of us trying to remain your fair charmers without any of those aids to nature that only the Frenchmen can provide and be a little sorry for us.”
“If we catch the smugglers, ma’am, I will let you know what their boat contains,” Lieutenant Delham replied.
“That is a promise!” the Marchioness smiled. “Thank you, Lieutenant. You are indeed gallant and you too gentlemen.” Her gesture embraced the grinning Dragoons and Coastguards. “But I must not keep you from your duty. Justin, have these gentlemen availed themselves of our hospitality?”
“Indeed we have, ma’am,” the Lieutenant answered for him. “His Lordship has been most kind, but we must not linger any longer. May we have your permission to proceed?”
A Hazard of Hearts Page 15
