Rogue’s Holiday

by Walker, Regan

  Aaron uncrossed his arms and pulled away from the wall. “You may have a point, Pete. Touching the object of his affection would prolong the agony. But I will not kill a woman.”

  “Who said anythin’ about killin’ her?” asked Pete. “We could have a bit of fun with her and return him used goods. He might even thank us. A skirt is like a horse, better when they’re broke in some.”

  Augie licked his lips. “I’ve always had a hankerin’ to try a piece of high-born tail. Ye know, just to see what ’tis like.”

  Pete grinned. “Skirts are all the same. Strip off them fine clothes, there’s no way to tell Lady Lah-de-dah from Easy Sally Slattern.”

  “You are correct.” Aaron lifted his fine boot onto the seat of a chair and crossed his arms over his thigh, his eyes narrowing at the thought. “Society’s passport is reputation. To truly burn that blackguard’s heart, the girl must be worse than used. She must be soiled beyond redemption. She must become Easy Sally.” He nodded to himself as the plan formed in his mind. “I know of a brothel my brother frequented when he moved among the gentry. I assume the madam will accept donations, and won’t be overly particular about the source. How fitting if Powell’s lady were to join the ranks of the courtesans there.”

  “Right,” said Augie with a sneer. “We drop him a note and send him half out of his mind searchin’ for her. Meanwhile, we give her to yer fancy London brothel. Even if he manages to find her…she’ll be ruined.”

  Pete smiled, his blackened teeth forming a most unpleasant sneer. “She might as well be dead.”

  Aaron stared into the candle’s flame thinking about all he must do. “I’ll need time in London to take care of things,” he muttered. “While I’m away, keep your eyes on the prey. I wouldn’t want him to leave Brighton before we are ready. But, remember, he’s a spy and will be wary, so be on your guard.”

  Chapter 10

  Several days later, Chastity made her way to the breakfast room to discover Rose happily chatting with Aunt Agatha. “Good morning.” Drawn to the sideboard by enticing smells of the morning meal, she fixed herself a plate of eggs and a hot bun flavored with caraway seeds.

  Taking her seat, she waited for the footman to pour her chocolate as a feeling of melancholy swept over her. The message she’d received from Letty that said she would be unable to ride this morning was certainly a part of it. It was a shame as the weather promised a glorious day and a fast race would have taken her mind off Sir Robert. Her thoughts had often drifted in his direction recently. She actually missed him, which would never do.

  “I trust you both slept well,” said Aunt Agatha. “I had a terrible night, tossing and turning with vivid dreams. Too much wine, I suspect. But then one is only old once, n’est-ce pas?” She laughed at her own humor.

  Rose chuckled.

  Chastity took a long drink of her chocolate. “’Tis too early for that, dear Aunt.” She ate her eggs in silence thinking about the other reason for her somber state of mind. The day before, Henry Cairo had left his card when she and Rose had gone for a stroll. Lord Alvanley, too, had paid them a call while they were gone. Chastity regretted the missed opportunities since both would make fine suitors for Rose.

  With little to occupy her for the rest of the morning, she thought of the circulating library on the Steyne she had yet to visit. Perhaps Rose might wish to join her. Or, she might attempt a new design for a lady’s half boot she’d been thinking about. She liked to stay busy, surrounded by friends, which made her wonder how well she would do when servants and the occasional visitor to her estate would be her only companions. Of course, Crispin would be with her. He had followed her downstairs and now sat looking up at her attentively. He was a wonderful companion but woefully lacking as a conversationalist and she did so love lighthearted raillery. Alas, Sir Robert was very good at banter.

  “Now that you are both here,” said Aunt Agatha, “I must ask, have you noticed the weather has turned decidedly warmer?”

  Chastity glanced at the sun streaming through the paned windows. “Well, yes, one can hardly miss that. We don’t even need a fire this morning.”

  Her great-aunt’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “The good weather gave me an idea. What do you two think of our indulging in sea bathing today?”

  Rose’s brow furrowed. “Will it be very cold?”

  “Undoubtedly,” said Chastity’s great-aunt. “The cold seawater is thought to be beneficial to one’s health. ’Tis not just a cold bath, Rose, but a cold medicated bath, good for the circulation.”

  “I would definitely favor such a venture,” said Chastity, quite taken with the idea. “I have been anticipating the delicious feel of seawater against my skin.” Letty had told her swimming naked was a sinful delight. “Must we wear clothes?”

  “Chas!” scolded Rose. “Of course, you must.”

  “Indeed, no,” Aunt Agatha corrected. “’Tis true those small wooden bathing machines that are towed to the water will contain loose-fitting linen gowns for us to put on should we choose, but some women prefer to bathe in no clothing at all.”

  “It sounds scandalous,” said Rose, her cheeks turning red.

  “It sounds marvelous!” said Chastity. “Did you never bathe in a river in the summer as a child?”

  Rose shook her head. “Papa would never allow it.”

  “Oh, very well. You wear the gown if you must,” said Chastity. “But, as for me, I want to feel the waves on my bare skin. Besides, we’ll be private, won’t we?”

  “Why, of course!” said Aunt Agatha. “There are separate bathing areas for men and women and the women who act as dippers helping us into and out of the water keep it that way.”

  “Letty doesn’t wear a bathing gown,” said Chastity, knowing Letty would never impose cloth between her skin and the sea.

  “Well, that is Letty,” said Rose.

  “I have seen her bathing naked,” Aunt Agatha said. “She is of a height and weight that cause her no worry for the waves. But unless you are a strong swimmer, I do recommend you accept the tether the dipper offers you so that you do not drift away. The current can be strong.”

  Chastity wondered if The Rogue engaged in sea bathing. Since he came from a family of shipmasters and had sailed to the South Seas, she rather thought he could swim where an ordinary sailor might not. How she would like to sail to faraway islands where she imagined lagoons so clear one could see through the water to the sand. She tried to imagine him naked and diving into a lagoon but, since she’d only ever seen her sisters naked, the image her mind conjured was his masculine form in a gentleman’s clothing submerged in blue water. Ridiculous! A rake would be quick to doff his clothes. And no doubt just as quick to accept the favors of the island women.

  After the morning meal, Chastity and Rose donned their simplest gowns and climbed into her great-aunt’s carriage that would convey them to the ladies’ beach. “A carriage is best,” explained Aunt Agatha, “as we won’t want anyone to see us on the way home. Our hair, though hidden beneath a bonnet, will surely be wet and our gowns damp, although the dippers do provide drying cloths.”

  They arrived at the beach to see women flocking to the bathing machines lined up at the shore waiting for the horses to pull them to the water. The small wooden structures on wheels had one door facing the beach and one on the opposite side facing the sea. A short set of stairs led up to each. Chastity and Rose chose to share a compartment so they could help each other undress. Aunt Agatha brought her maid who would perform the same service for her.

  Once inside their bathing machine, Chastity and Rose settled onto the benches and braced themselves for the tow to the sea. When the small conveyance came to a halt, Chastity shed her clothes and, urging Rose to hurry, emerged through the back door. A dipper helped her down the few steps to the water where she paused, looking out to sea, feeling the sun on her bare skin and the small waves lapping at her toes. Her skin turned to goose flesh in the onshore breeze. Rather than stand there and shiver, she ga
thered her courage to jump.

  From behind her, Rose’s voice quavered. “Are you sure you want to swim without the gown?”

  “Very sure,” Chastity said. “It will only weigh me down.” Refusing the tether the dipper offered her, Chastity plunged into the surging sea. She gasped as the icy cold saltwater embraced her tender flesh, sending a chill to her very core. Ignoring the frigid temperature, she began to swim. Soon, she became used to the cold water and found it invigorating.

  Other women were leaving their bathing machines. Chastity swam past them. Even though she kept her head above the water, the spray swept across her face causing her to experience a sudden exhilaration. She loved the freedom of swimming naked. It reminded her of other times when she had defied convention, the times she had galloped across the hills of home.

  Turning around in the water, she glimpsed Rose stepping cautiously down with the help of the dipper, a sturdy woman who tied a tether to Rose’s wrist.

  “Just jump!” Chastity urged. But her reluctant friend raised her nose in the air and shouted, “I shall enter in my own way.” Chastity laughed at the picture Rose presented yet she admired her friend for her insistence on entering the water at her own pace.

  Not far off, Aunt Agatha ventured into the water. She was a sight with her plain bathing gown and her feathered bonnet.

  “You wore a gown, too?” Given her great-aunt’s penchant for the unusual, Chastity was surprised to see her fully clothed.

  “Were I your age,” Aunt Agatha said, swimming toward Chastity, “I would not have done so. But at my age, one needs all the covering one can get.”

  Chastity laughed and looked toward Rose, who came as far toward them as she could with the tether. “So, what do you think?”

  “I’m cold,” said Rose, “but I am trusting the seawater to do me good as Lady Sanborn assured us.”

  Chastity’s great-aunt stood, the water churning around her. “You will soon find yourself enjoying the water, my dear. It will be a memory of your visit to Brighton that will last your life long.”

  Chastity silently agreed. When she returned to the slower pace of life in Northampton, she would have many memories. But were memories all she would have?

  Robbie’s instincts told him he was being followed. Tempted to glance over his shoulder, he resisted. It would only tell the brigand Robbie was aware of him. Somewhere in the distance on North Street, behind them both, Jack would be pursuing, ever watchful. It had been their plan to find out who was tracking Robbie and the location of his hiding place. For surely such a man would be holed up in some loft over a tavern or a shed at the edge of town. What Robbie really wanted to know was the identity of the one who had written the note, for Robbie’s instincts told him the miscreants numbered more than one.

  He had worn a light overcoat for the effort in order to hide the small percussion pistols he had purchased from James Purdey of London. Purdey had developed a new firing mechanism for sporting guns that deprived birds of an early warning by avoiding the initial puff of smoke from the flintlock powder pan. It also had a shortened interval between the trigger pull and the shot. Adapted to pistols, the mechanism served well a spy’s needs.

  Robbie made the quick decision to enter Woolbridge’s cigar shop, hoping Jack would expect him to exit onto the alley as they had done before. He waited for a moment but no one entered the shop after him.

  Mr. Woolbridge glanced up from the counter expectantly and Robbie said, “Just passing through.”

  “Again?” the shopkeeper said, perplexed.

  He smiled apologetically. “Can I help it if I like the scent of fine tobacco?”

  Once in the alley, Robbie looked around, seeing nothing save old packing crates. The alley led him to Ship Street where he paused, taking in the shoppers and those coming and going from The Old Ship Inn a short way down the street. No one paid him any mind. He was about to continue when footfalls behind him caused him to turn, his hand on his pistol.

  “C’est moi,” said Jack.

  Robbie breathed out a sigh of relief.

  “I followed the man down North Street until he went to ground ahead of me in one of the alleys.”

  “They may have lodgings there. We should examine the boarding houses off North Street. But why did he stop following?”

  Jack ran a hand through his auburn hair in a frustrated manner. “I suspect he became aware of me.”

  “No matter. Tell me what he looked like.”

  “His appearance tended toward the ordinary. He was of middling height and weight. Whatever clothes he wore were covered by a chestnut-colored cloak, likely weighed down by pistols heavier than yours judging by his drooping pockets. His boots were brown and worn. Beneath his sloppy top hat, I saw a fringe of red hair. I didn’t get a look at his face but when he turned to look down an alley, I detected no beard or side-whiskers.”

  “You did well. Red hair distinguishes him from many others. And such a one coming and going from North Street narrows it further.”

  “Would I make a good spy, peut-être?” Jack inquired with a grin.

  Robbie chuckled. “We both come to the profession honestly given our sires, but you will have a better life if you keep to your vineyards and your ships.”

  “Aunt, would it be all right for Rose and me to walk to Lulham’s, the shop where we ordered our shoes? They should be ready by now.” Seeing her great-aunt purse her lips as if pondering the request, she added, “We could pick up your order, as well.” Chastity wanted to retrieve the pair of slippers she had designed for Aunt Agatha with no one save Rose aware.

  “I think that would be permissible,” said her great-aunt where she sat by the fire, tending her stitchery. “After all, North Street is not far and ’tis early. But don’t linger overlong. There is tea to think of and Cook has made a special tart.”

  With Rose by her side, Chastity donned her pelisse and bonnet and set off, crossing the Steyne to North Street. A short way on, she spotted Sir Robert and M’sieur Donet coming toward them.

  “Perhaps they are returning to the Pavilion,” suggested Rose. It was a reasonable thought since the Pavilion was just to the north but Chastity was inclined to think of something else.

  “More likely they have just left their favorite tavern,” she said, remembering the comely wench who had thrown herself at The Rogue.

  “Miss Reynolds, Miss Crockett,” said Sir Robert, tipping his hat. “How fortunate we are to encounter you. Might I ask what brings you two out this afternoon?”

  “We are going to Thomas Lulham’s shop to pick up our order of shoes.”

  “’Tis a surprise for Chastity’s great-aunt,” Rose informed them. “A pair Chastity designed herself.”

  “May we accompany you?” asked the vicomte. “I’d like to see the shoes.”

  “Certainly,” said Chastity, noting the fond look the vicomte gave her friend.

  Sir Robert’s buckskin overcoat, draped loosely over his broad shoulders, made them appear even larger than when he wore only a tail coat. Beneath the overcoat, he wore a white shirt and neckcloth, a dark green waistcoat, and a black coat and breeches. His black boots, she noted, were unusually scuffed. She wanted to ask if he’d been striding through muddy streets but did not wish to appear rude.

  The two men fell in on either side of them.

  “I’ve news that should interest you, Miss Reynolds,” said Sir Robert. “The royal yacht is expected to anchor off Brighton late this afternoon.”

  “Really?” asked Chastity, delighted.

  “Indeed, and we have been invited to dine on the king’s yacht tomorrow.”

  Chastity met his hazel gaze, wondering if he would say more. It wouldn’t be the done thing to invite herself. But, oh, how she wanted to go.

  “Don’t tease them, Robbie,” said the vicomte, a hint of amusement in his dark eyes. “We have inquired, dear ladies, and been advised you are welcome to accompany us.”

  “Oh, Chas!” exclaimed Rose. “Just think! We sh
all dine with the king on his yacht!”

  Chastity beamed her pleasure. “It will be our pleasure to accept your invitation.”

  “Good,” said Sir Robert. “I believe several other invitations are being sent out today, including one to your great-aunt.”

  They had nearly reached the shoemaker’s when Rose asked, “Is the king’s yacht very large?” Chastity could see the fear in her friend’s eyes for she was not sure she could manage a smaller vessel that might be tossed about by the tide.

  “Over a hundred feet on deck,” replied Sir Robert. “The royal yacht is a full-rigged ship, large enough for the king to entertain a fair-sized group of guests for dinner. But a smaller rowing boat will convey us to the yacht.”

  “Oh,” said Rose.

  “Have no worries,” put in M’sieur Donet. “The trip to the yacht will be short and I will be with you.”

  Rose gave the vicomte a warm smile. “Yes, that is a comfort.”

  They entered the shop and Chastity asked if the shoes she had ordered were ready.

  “I believe your entire order is complete,” said Mr. Lulham. He passed through a curtain that led to the back of his shop and returned with several packages.

  Chastity paid the man for his service and opened the package with her name on it. The brown paper unfolded to reveal the orange silk slippers with yellow satin ribbon cross straps. On the toe was an embroidered sunflower. “I do hope Aunt Agatha will like these.”

  “Oh, she will,” said Rose. “This may be the loveliest pair you have designed.”

  “Do you design men’s boots?” asked Sir Robert.

  “My father is the one who designs men’s boots,” said Chastity. “I fear my attempt would not be so masculine as to please the male gender.”

  “Alas,” said the vicomte, “that is a loss, for the French do love decorated shoes, be they for a lady or a gentleman.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” said Chastity, noticing the vicomte’s shawl collar, and his lace-edged cravat. He also wore pantaloons, not breeches, revealed by his low boots. All decidedly French in style. “I shall think on it, M’sieur.”