The Irish Witch

Dennis Wheatley

THE IRISH WITCH

For

Pat and Marise Derwent A small appreciation of their many kindnesses to Joan, myself and the children

I

Only a Few Days from Home

On the last morning of the year 1812, in the chapel of the Royal Castle, Stockholm, Roger Brook married a girl he had first met nearly two years earlier. She had then been Lady Mary Ware.

When Roger had first become acquainted with his new wife she had been staying at the British Legation in Lis­bon as the guest of the Minister's niece, who had been one of her friends at school. Lady Mary was an orphan with no close relatives, and very little money; for her father had been far from rich, and the greater part of his income was entailed so had gone with the Earldom to a distant cousin. Although no great beauty, little Mary had a piquant charm, and Roger had found her both intelli­gent and amusing. But he had not had the faintest inten­tion of marrying her.

That was not because she lacked fortune and influence, as he had ample of both himself; and, when, having fallen desperately in love with him, she had plucked up the courage to ask him to make her his wife, he had told her gently that it would be disastrous for them to marry, because, for one thing, he was of an incurably roving dis­position and, for another, as she was then only eighteen and he was just over forty, he was much too old for her..

But he had come to Portugal only to collect a legacy and, in fact, when he got home, intended to settle down for good; for he had high hopes of at last within a few years, marrying his adored Georgina, with whom he had been in love all his life. She had returned his love, ever since their teens; but a great part of his life, as Mr. Pitt's most resourceful secret agent, had had to be spent abroad, and it was not until the death of her last husband, the Baron von Haugwitz, that she had been free to agree to marry him.

Yet. alas, things had gone woefully wrong. In his second identity as Colonel Comte de Breuc, one of Napo­leon's A.D.C.s, he had again got caught up in the Em­peror's affairs and sent to Germany. In Berlin he had been falsely accused of the murder of Von Haugwitz, and condemned to death. A reprieve had led instead to several months in prison, but meanwhile Georgina had had seemingly incontestable evidence that he had been executed. Desperately distressed, and no longer caring what became of her, the beautiful Georgina had agreed to gratify the vanity of the old Duke of Kew by becoming his Duchess.

On Roger's escape and return to England, grieved beyond measure as the two life-long lovers were by this situation, they at least had the consolation that the Duke was in his mid-seventies and an habitually heavy drinker, which made it highly probable that, within two or three years at most, Georgina would again be a widow.

Alas for their hopes! When Roger got back from Portugal, he learned that the old Duke had had a stroke. Copious bleedings by his doctors had failed to revive or kill him, and his consumption of alcohol was now strictly limited. So the final opinion of the doctors was that he might, as a paralysed vegetable, live on into his nineties.

Faced now with the possibility that, for years to come, the lovers would be able to enjoy each other's company only when Georgina came up to London for the season, and for a few odd nights during the rest of the year, Georgina had urged Roger to marry again. He had been averse to doing so, but after a few months living on his own at Thatched House Lodge in Richmond Park—a grace and favour residence of which Mr. Pitt had given him a life tenancy—he had become so bored that he had agreed to go on a secret mission to the Crown Prince Bernadotte of Sweden. Bernadotte had persuaded him to go on as his emissary to the Czar, and that had led to his once more becoming involved with Napoleon, then in Moscow.

It was in October 1812 that, to Roger's amazement, he had again run into Mary, in St. Petersburg. On her return to London from Lisbon having no social back­ground and very little money; she had married a merchant in the Baltic Trade, named Wicklow, and went to live in the City with him. Napoleon's Continental System had damaged British trade with Russia so severely that Mr. Wicklow was one of many who got into financial difficul­ties. As a last resort he had sold his house and possessions in London and, taking Mary with him, sailed on a final venture with goods for St. Petersburg. In the Gulf of Helsingfors his ship had been wrecked and he lost every­thing. After living on his wits for a while in the Russian capital, he had committed suicide, leaving poor Mary friendless and deeply in debt.

She was in such dire straits that Roger had not had the heart to leave her there; so resorted to the desperate expedient of taking her back to Moscow with him, in boy's clothes and in the role of his soldier servant. There had followed the terrible retreat in which Napoleon left half a million men behind him to die in the snow.

During those many ghastly weeks, Mary shared with Roger every type of danger and privation. Her unfailing fortitude and good humour had turned his affection for her into a much deeper feeling; so when at last they escaped into Sweden, he decided that, since he could not marry Georgina, he would never find a more loving wife than little Mary.

His abiding love for Georgina remained unaltered. Over the long years the unity of their hearts had impelled them to disregard the marriages that both had made, and between his long absences from England as a secret agent they had always renewed their passionate attachment.

That this would be so again he was well aware but, in spite of it, he was confident that he could make Mary happy. The dangerous life he had led ever since his youth had made him a past master of dissimulation. He would see to it that she never knew of the occasional nights of sweet delirium that he spent with Georgina and, for the first time in the seventeen years since he had lost his wife Amanda, his charming grace and favour residence, Thatched House Lodge, would again become a true home for him. Mary had been there once, loved it, and was eagerly looking forward to becoming its mistress.

He felt certain, too, that she would also delight in the children when they came to stay—although they were no longer children. When he had last seen his daughter, Susan, she had been sixteen and rapidly becoming a lovely young woman; while Charles, Earl of St. Ermins, Geor­gia's son, must by now have left Eton and be a hand­some young buck about town.

On arriving in Stockholm after their escape from Russia. Roger had learned one piece of news that filled him with considerable anxiety. Although, under pressure from Napoleon, Sweden was officially at war with Britain, by mutual consent no hostilities were taking place. Com­merce between the two countries was at a standstill but the ships of the United States were filling the gap by carry­ing goods between them, and Roger had supposed that he and Mary would have no difficulty in securing pas­sages in one of them to an English port.

To his dismay he was told that America was now also at war with Britain. Although war had been declared by the United States as long ago as June 18 th, when news of it reached Russia it had been regarded as so relatively un­important compared to the great war on the Continent that few people, either in St. Petersburg or with Napo­leon's army, knew about it; so Roger had not even heard a rumour of what afterwards became known as 'The War of 1812'.

At first this new situation caused him considerable worry about how he and Mary were to get home. But when he consulted the Crown Prince Bernadotte, the latter swiftly reassured him by saying, 'Be not the least concerned, my friend. The British need our goods as much as we do theirs; so they turn a blind eye to American ships entering their ports, and you will find plenty of skippers in Gothenburg "willing to run you over.'

It was in this happy frame of mind that, on January 5th, Roger left Stockholm with Mary. It was just a year since he had arrived there on his secret mission to the Crown Prince. But his status was now very different. He had come there in his role of Colonel Comte de Breuc, giving out that he had recently escaped from a prisoner-of-war camp in England. To make his story credible he had had with him only the clothes he stood up in, and travelled the two hundred and fifty miles from Gothen­burg to Stockholm in a stuffy diligence. Now he left with a charming wife and an ample wardrobe, as Britain's un­official Ambassador and the honoured friend of the Crown Prince, who had placed one of the Royal sledges at their disposal.

With frequent relays of horses, the drive along the well-kept highway, the snow on which was regularly cleared into lofty banks on either side, naturally made the journey much quicker, so they arrived in Gothenburg on the 7th. There were several American traders in the harbour. Learning that one, the Cape Cod, was due to sail for Hull in two days' time, Roger went aboard to interview her master, Captain Absolom.

He proved to be a stocky, fair-haired New Englander, abrupt of speech but not discourteous, and readily agreed a price to take Roger and Mary across the North Sea.

Roger was much relieved at this, as he had needed no telling about the cause of the war, since the Americans had been threatening hostilities for several years past, and he feared that he might meet with a certain amount of hostility.

The trouble arose from what was known as the British 'Navigation System'. This had been initiated as far back as Stuart times, the policy on which the System was based being that, as Britain was vulnerable to invasion only from the sea, her shipping must greatly exceed that of any other nation—not for commercial reasons, but so that, in the event of war, great numbers of seamen should be available for drafting into the Royal Navy.

As a result of this policy Britain had secured the great bulk of the carrying trade of the world. As far back as 1728, of the four thousand two hundred-odd ships arriving in her principal ports of London, Liverpool and Bristol, fewer than four hundred and forty had been under foreign flags; and in 1792, when the present war against France had started, there were eighty thousand trained seamen in British ships. By lowering the percentage of Britons legally required to serve in merchant ships to one in four, fifty thousand more had become available to man warships.

Another principle of British maritime policy was that it was forbidden to import any goods into her Colonies except in British-built ships. And even when, after the war in the 1770s, the United States had gained their indepen­dence, British control over their shipping had remained indistinguishable in practice from what it had been in Colonial days.

However, the Americans being mainly of British stock, large numbers of them had the sea in their blood. More­over, they had better timber for building ships than even that to be procured in England. In the forty years follow­ing Independence, this had resulted in their creating a merchant marine second in size only to that of Britain.

Between 1792 and 1805 this had proved to the advan­tage of both Britain and France, as both countries had had to reduce their merchant fleets in order to increase their navies, and American merchantmen had filled the gap by carrying much-needed supplies, mostly from the Caribbean. It had also, of course, greatly increased the wealth of the United States.

The first cause for complaint by the United States had arisen in May 1805 when, in the test case of the ship Essex, it had been ruled by a British Court that American ships should not be allowed to carry goods from the West Indies to a country at war with Britain, unless they had been 'neutralised' by first landing their cargo in a United Kingdom port—and unloading, warehousing and reload­ing caused most annoying delays and loss of profit to American merchants.

But the real trouble was started by Napoleon's Berlin Decree of 1806, reinforced by his Decree of Milan in 1807, whereby he established his Continental System, the object of which was to ruin British commerce by closing to British goods the ports of all the countries he controlled. That did not seriously affect the Americans, but what followed did.

In retaliation, in the winter of 1806-1807, the British issued Orders in Council, decreeing a blockade of the ports of France and her allies and forbidding neutral ves­sels to enter such ports unless they had first called at British ports and paid British dues on their cargo.

As the United States could not conform to both the French and British decrees, their ships henceforth risked confiscation by one or the other; but, having no Navy capable of protecting their shipping, all they could do was angrily to declare the decrees of both countries contrary to International Law.

Another matter to which the Americans took extreme umbrage was the treatment of the seamen in their ships by the Royal Navy. A high proportion of the men in the Navy were normally fishermen and others from the sea­port towns who had been seized by the press gangs and forced to serve in warships. Understandably, many of them deeply resented this, and took the first opportunity to desert in neutral ports or those of the West Indies. To earn a living, they then signed on as seamen in American traders. As a means of countering this very serious drain on naval manpower, the Admiralty had issued orders that His Majesty's ships encountering United States merchant­men at sea should halt, board them, have their crews paraded and take off any men of British nationality.

To carry out this order justly proved no easy matter, for on reaching America, many deserters had secured forged papers, alleging them to be United States citizens. On close questioning by British Captains it frequently emerged that the men concerned were really British. But, in num­erous cases, men who were in fact Americans had been called liars and taken off to serve in British warships. Of the six thousand two hundred and fifty-seven men so re­moved from United States ships, between 1801 and 1812, it cannot be doubted that at least several hundreds had been illegally impressed, and this had led to ever-increas­ing antagonism to Britain. The practice had aroused a crisis of indignation when, in June 1807, the British frigate Leopard had actually fired on the American frigate Chesapeake, forced her to surrender and removed four of her sailors.

But from 1801 to 1809 Thomas Jefferson, who had played a leading part in securing American Independence, had been President of the United States, and he was a man of peace. He was strongly opposed to further federal­ization of the States of the Union, so was averse to form­ing a national Army and Navy, and was determined at alt costs to preserve neutrality. In consequence, the only action Jefferson took was to instruct Monroe, then United States Ambassador in London, to inform the British Government that all British armed vessels in United States ports were to be recalled at once and would in future be prohibited from entering them.

In 1809, James Madison—another founding-father of the Republic, and responsible more than any other man for the framing of the Constitution—had succeeded Jefferson as President. Unlike his predecessor, Madison was a strong Federalist but, even so, he did little to unite or increase the Militia of the several states or to strengthen their Naval forces. In fact in January 1812 a Bill put forward in favour of declaring war on Britain, for the provision of more frigates and the creation of a dockyard, was actually defeated.

In May 1812, the British Prime Minister, Perceval, was assassinated, and succeeded by Lord Liverpool Castlereagh. remained Foreign Secretary and continued his, policy of politely ignoring American complaints, as neither he nor his colleagues could believe that the United States would go to the length of declaring war and that, even if they did, the five thousand or so troops stationed in Canada would be amply sufficient to protect that country from invasion.

In consequence, Roger had been very surprised to learn from Bernadotte that, after so many years of resentful in­activity, the United States had actually opened hostilities the previous summer. He had also immediately assumed that this would make it very much more difficult for Mary and himself to get back to England. But Bernadotte had at once reassured him by saying:

'The United States Navy is so insignificant that, accord­ing to my latest information, the British have so far virtu­ally ignored it; and at sea the situation is little different from what it was a year ago. The only difference the state of war has made is that, on such voyages, the American merchant ships now sail under flags of neutral countries. I feel sure you will meet with no difficulty in finding a Captain who will give you and your lady passage.'

And so it had proved. On January 9th Roger and Mary went aboard the Cape Cod, which sailed a few hours later, flying the flag of Mexico, carrying a cargo of iron ore, of which Britain was in constant need for the manufacture of cannon and cannon-balls.

The two-bunk cabin they were given was small but clean and, for times when the weather was too inclement for them to sit up on deck, they had the use of the Cap­tain's more roomy day-cabin in the stern of the ship.

Fond as Roger was of Mary, he had not been altogether happy about her while in Stockholm and Gothenburg. Apart from her schooling at an Academy for Young Ladies, she had few of the graces that went normally with the status of her birth. That was hardly surprising, as her brief married life with Mr. Wicklow had accustomed her to the habits and outlook of well-to-do traders which, in those days, were very different from the attitudes of the aristocracy. In company also he found her to be some­what gauche, but he hoped that this awkwardness and lack of sophisticated humour would soon wear off when he had introduced her to London society. Moreover, while he could not help feeling flattered by her absorption in himself, he felt her tendency to show resentment, if left on her own, even for an hour, distinctly irritating, as he did her scarcely-hidden jealousy if he showed the least interest in any other woman. But he made allowances for the fact that while in Russia she had had him entirely to herself for so long, and felt reasonably confident that her jealous possessiveness would wear off after they had been mixing with his friends in London for a few weeks; and he was so looking forward to being home again at last that he gave litde thought to Mary's passionate obsession with him. Once home he would at long last be able to settle down, and enjoy a life of leisure, free from danger.

2

A Bitter Blow

On their first evening at sea, when they went down to Captain Absolom's state cabin for dinner, they found that he had one other passenger, who was introduced as Mr; Silas van Wyck. He was a fine-looking, ruddy-faced, middle-aged American of Dutch descent, well-dressed and with pleasant manners. They soon learned that he was a merchant and that his family had traded in woollen goods with England for several generations, so he had excellent business connections in Yorkshire and intended to pick up a cargo of woollen goods in Hull for the return voyage to' Sweden.

As Roger had heard so little about this new war in which Britain was engaged, he was eager to learn from the Americans how it was progressing. Captain Absolom's natural interest in the effect of the war at sea led him to reply to Roger's questions.

'We folks are in such a poor way for naval craft that there's little we can do against you English. When trouble started, way back in '07, we had only twelve frigates. Mr. Jefferson did nothin' to better matters. He even allowed three of those to rot at their moorings. We've not a single ship-o'-the-line, and last year there were built only two eighteen gun sloops and two sixteen-gun brigs.'

'Nevertheless,' put in Mr. van Wyck, 'we're a thorn in the side of the British. Seven years have passed since Trafalgar and in that time Boney's many naval yards from Copenhagen round to Venice have been far from idle. He has again a powerful fleet at his disposal, and Britain needs all the ships she has to keep his squadrons in their ports. Every sail she despatches across the Atlantic to blockade us renders her more vulnerable to her great enemy.'

‘Aye,' agreed the Captain. ‘Yer right in that, Sir. And to blockade us effectively she'd need to send many more ships than she dare afford. In the Indies and along our southern coast where clement weather mostly prevails she can bottle us up in our ports. But not in the north. No, Sir! The New England coast has rugged shores and is subject to tempestuous weather. The elements there are our friends and render it impossible for British squadrons to keep station. From Boston, Narragansett and New York our frigates be free to come an' go much as they will, and have roved far out into the ocean, even as far as Madeira and the English Channel. On these voyages our principal Captains: Decatur, Bainbridge and John Rogers, have had good success interfeerin' with British commerce. There have, too, been several actions by our ships against vessels of the Royal Navy.'

'How did they fare in these encounters?' Roger en­quired with interest.

'Toward the end of August Captain Isaac Hull, in Constitution, come up with the British frigate Guerriere, and give her a rare pasting. Dismasted her and holed her with thirty shot below the water line. She hauled down her flag and was so bad damaged that come mornin' they had to take off the prisoners and sink her.'

'To be fair,' remarked van Wyck, 'it should be stated that, although 'tis said Captain Hull handled Constitution in a most creditable manner, she had a broadside weigh­ing seven hundred and thirty-six pounds against the. Guerriere's five hundred and seventy; so an advantage of thirty per cent over the British ship.'

"Tis true; but our sloop Wasp had no such advantage in her fight with the brig Frolic. They bombarded each other till both were near wrecks, yet 'twas the American who boarded the Britisher an' forced her to surrender. That Wasp was later robbed of her prize and taken her­self by a British ship-o'-the-line coming on the scene was just durned bad luck. In October, too, Captain Decatur's United States bashed and captured the Macedonian, al­though there agin, I'll admit that the American was much the more powerful o'the two.'

'It seems then,' Mary smiled, 'that although we lost both the Guerriere and Macedonian the honours due to Captains and crews were not uneven.'

'What of the war on land ?' Roger asked.

Van Wyck shook his head, 'There again we are paying the price of our lack of preparation. When Mr. Madison succeeded Jefferson as President, our army numbered fewer than seven thousand, and Madison was shockingly tardy in making our country ready for war. 'Twas not until last January a Bill was passed authorising an increase up to thirty-five thousand. When last I heard, not half that number had been raised, and our forces must still consist mainly of raw recruits. There are also other factors that render it anything but formidable. Close on forty years have elapsed since our War of Independence, so very few of our troops have had any experience of war. Again, owing to Jefferson's intense antipathy to closer Fed­eration, the Militia in one State is not compelled to serve in any other. By now the law may have been altered, but to begin with it made the concentration of any consider­able force on the Canadian frontier out of the question.-

'How have matters so far gone there ?'

'Badly for my country, Mr. Brook. As I just now re­marked, it is over half a life time since American soldiers were called on to fight a more capable enemy than tribes of Indians. For senior officers who had any experience of a white man's war we could call only on men who were no more than youngsters during our War of Independence and are now in their sixties. The command of the north-­eastern front, from Niagara to Boston, was given to Major General Henry Dearborn, and the north-western, consist­ing mainly of the isthmus between Lakes Erie and Huron, to Brigadier William Hull, uncle to Captain Hull of the Constitution.

'These two greyheads—one might say amateurs at war—were pitted against a most redoubtable opponent, the Lieutenant-General of Upper Canada, Isaac Brock, with his British regulars. General Brock is only forty-two and a master of his trade. He at once seized the initiative.

'Realising the importance of gaining allies among the Indian tribes by persuading them that they would be on the winning side, he at once despatched a detachment of two hundred troops and four hundred Indians to the nar­rows between Lakes Huron and Michigan. They took our garrison there at Fort Mackinac by surprise, captured it and so secured Brock's western flank.

'Our first attack was launched in the Niagara area which lies between Lake Ontario and Lake Erie. It seems that Brock foresaw that would be so and, as the British had a strong superiority of armed vessels on both lakes, felt confident that he could hold it. So he sent his main force down to the western end of Lake Erie and strongly reinforced the garrisons at Fort Maiden and Amhurstburg.

'Meanwhile, Hull had brought his force up the Maumee river to Frenchtown on the shore of the lake. From; there, intending to reinforce Detroit, he rashly sent ahead of him a ship carrying his baggage and papers. The British, captured it, and sent the papers to Brock. Undeterred by this calamity, Hull, still more rashly, crossed into Canada and based himself on Sandwich with the intention of lay­ing siege to Fort Maiden.

'All this happened in mid-July, but it was well into August before he could get his artillery into position and begin the siege. By then Brock who, incidentally, had served under Wellington at Copenhagen, had arrived on the scene, and soon forced Hull to retreat on Detroit. By the 16th of the month Brock had surrounded that impor­tant town and forced Hull to capitulate with his whole army of two thousand five hundred men.⁵

Although it was a British victory, Mary could not for­bear to exclaim sympathetically, 'Oh, how terrible for the poor man!'

'It was, indeed,' van Wyck agreed. 'But it was due to his own folly and over-confidence. That same month, too, our attempts to invade Canada on the Niagara front and north from Lake Champlain both failed.'

' 'Tis true our armies took a beating,' put in Captain Absolom, 'but our seamen on the lakes showed better mettle.'

Van Wyck nodded. 'Yes, in their encounters they have shown themselves the equals of the British; although at first it went hard with them. Captain Chauncy was given command of our few ships on the lakes and planned to build others. He sent a hundred and forty shipwrights and over a hundred cannon up to Sacketts Harbour, whichf' lies at no great distance from our side of the entrance to the St. Lawrence river. Unfortunately, his choice of place was too close. Opposite it lies the considerable town of Kingston. Ships from there were able to fire upon the building yard, so drove the shipwrights to abandon their work.'

'Aye, Sir,' put in Absolom, 'but Lieutenant Elliot proved a wiser man in choosing Squaw Island. Behind it he built two three-hundred-tonners, then proved himself a real hero.'

With a smile van Wyck turned to Roger. 'Captain Absolom is right in that. We may well be proud of young Elliot. Early in October two British armed brigs crossed the lake from Fort Maiden and anchored off Fort Erie. At one o'clock in the morning of the 9th, Elliot took a hundred seamen in two longboats. At 3 a.m. he brought them alongside the brigs and boarded them, capturing both with hardly a shot fired.'

Roger returned the smile and, as a courtesy, raised his glass. 'That was the real Nelson touch. Here's a health to him.'

When they had drunk he said, 'I take it that by then winter was closing in, so put an end to the campaigning season?'

After a moment van Wyck admitted, a shade reluc­tantly, 'There was one more major engagement. At dawn on October 13th a large force under General Van Reusselaer attempted to seize the heights of Kingston, at the head of Lake Ontario. Six hundred regular troops took the heights, then General Brock arrived with reinforce­ments from Fort George, but was killed in the first charge he led. Such a disaster for the British should have given us a certain victory. We were robbed of it by the cowardice of bur own people. The regiments of unseasoned recruits who should have supported the attack refused to cross the river. In consequence, Van Reusselaer and the brave men with him were driven from the cliff down to the river, and there compelled to surrender.'

'A sad business,' Roger commented. 'And, although your force lost the battle, from all you have told me the loss of such a brilliant Commander may well prove an even more serious blow to us.'

By this time the Cape Cod had passed the point of Den­mark and entered the Skagerrak, so she was pitching in a medium rough sea. Roger, who had always been a bad sailor, had already begun to feel queasy, so he excused himself and went with Mary to their cabin.

He managed to keep down his dinner and got through the night, but by midday next day the weather had worsened and he suffered his first bout of sea-sickness in the Cape Cod. Fortunately, Mary proved to be a good sailor, so was able to look after and comfort him as best she could by telling him that Captain Absolom had said that, if the present favourable wind held, they would reach Hull within two or, at the most, three more days.

It was on the following afternoon that the Cape Cod met with another American merchantman, and the two Captains exchanged news through loud-hailers. At the time Roger was still in his cabin but feeling better; so, half-an-hour later, he went up on deck to get some fresh air.

While leaning over the gunwale on the poop with Mary, he noticed that below them, amidships, Captain Absolom was conferring with a group of men which included his two mates, Silas van Wyck, the bosun and the super­cargo. A few minutes later the group broke up, the Cap­tain came up on to the poop and shouted several orders. These resulted in the ship changing course from south­west to north.

Van Wyck had followed the Captain up on to the poop. Looking far from happy, he walked over to the Brooks, and Roger asked, 'What means it that the ship has been put about?'

'It means bad news for you both,' the American replied, 'and for myself, as I'll incur a serious financial loss. So, too, will many British merchants. The ship Captain Absolom spoke with a while back gave us most unwel­come tidings. The British Government recently decided to cut off their noses to spite their faces. They have now de­creed a complete blockade against all United States ships, under whatever flag they may be flying. Do we enter Hull, or any other English port, the Cape Cod will be impound­ed and her crew become prisoners of war.'

'Surely you do not mean . . .' Roger gasped.

'I do, and can only condole with you. At the meeting amidships just held, Captain Absolom spoke with the senior members of his crew. They were of the unanimous opinion that even to lie off some small port and unload our cargo by lighter would now be too great a risk. So the Cape Cod will keep to the open ocean and head for her home port, New York.'

3

A Lovers' Quarrel

A little before midday on the day when Roger and Mary were married in Stockholm, a handsome young man was sitting on the side of the bed of a very pretty girl, who was staying at his town mansion in Berkeley Square.

The girl had auburn hair and fine blue eyes. Her name was Susan, and she was Roger Brook's daughter. She had been presented at Court the previous season and was just over seventeen.

Her companion was Charles, Earl of St. Ermins. He had inherited the tall figure and dark good looks of his ancestor, King Charles II, and was some six months older than the girl. His mother was Georgina, now, by a later marriage, Duchess of Kew.

Georgina and Roger had been life-long lovers; but, as a secret agent, he had spent much the greater part of the past twenty years abroad. In consequence, as Roger's wife Amanda had died when giving birth to Susan, Georgina had played the part of a mother to her. She had shared a nursery with little Charles and they had been brought up as brother and sister, sharing every joy, anxiety, distress and naughty prank.

Both had long held the opinion that neither could be equalled by any contemporary of the other sex and, at the age of twelve, they had secretly and solemnly become engaged. Neither of them had ever referred since to the matter, but both took it for granted that in due course they would marry and, after greeting Susan in her bed­room that morning, Charles had given her, if not a lover's kiss, something very near it.

That night Georgina was giving a New Year's Eve ball for them. For a few minutes they talked of a new dress that Susan meant to wear, then Charles said, a shade nervously:

'M'dear. I hate to break it to you, but you will have to choose another partner for the supper dance tonight.'

Susan's blue eyes opened wide and she exclaimed, 'What mean you? I fail to understand. We always have the supper dance together.'

‘I know it and am much distressed.'

'Oh, come, Charles! We agreed long since that both of us should amuse ourselves with such flirts as we wished. And you've made no secret of it that your latest is that Irish wench, Lady Luggala's daughter—what is her name?—yes, Jemima. Surely you do not intend to break our custom on her account ?'

'No, no!' He shook his head. ‘I find Jemima most amus­ing company, for she is witty and no prude. But I'd not cut a supper dance with you for any woman. 'Tis that after we have seen the New Year in I have another party that I have promised to attend.'

Susan frowned. 'A party of what kind ?'

'It is with friends I made whilst in London during the autumn. It is a very special occasion for them, otherwise I would not desert you.'

'Dam'me, I don't believe you.' Her voice rose angrily. 'Naught but a woman could induce you to throw me over in this way.'

'Nay, you are wrong in that. There will be women there, of course, but no-one to whom I am especially attracted. It is, in fact, just a club that provides unusual diversions in which I have become interested.'

'A club indeed! What sort of club? Charles, be honest. Is it that, now we are again in London, you mean to explore the pleasures of a brothel ?'

He bridled. 'No. This is no brothel. Though had I no prospect of relieving the emotions you arouse in me with some attractive woman, I'd not hesitate to go to one. Anyone of my age needs such an outlet from time to time. I told you last summer how I had first achieved man's estate with Mama's maid Harriet, and before she married our coachman last month enjoyed her a number of times. I told you, too, how I paid a midnight visit to Lady Wessex's bedroom while she was staying with us at Stillwaters over Christmas. In neither case did you show any undue perturbation, so why question my actions now?'

This was true enough. Susan had accepted the canons of her day and age that, from their late teens men were entitled to seek sexual satisfaction where they would, whereas girls of good family were required to remain chaste until they married. Then, if it was a love match, a wife could expect her husband to remain faithful to her, at least for a few years. Later perhaps both might seek pastures new, but in all other ways remain loyal to each other. Knowing that she aroused Charles's desires, she had felt it would be unreasonable to object to his satisfy­ing his physical passions with other women; but only with the proviso that she retained his love.

And now that was the crux of the matter. For Charles to be slipping away from a ball given in his own house seemed to her a certain indication that he had started an

affair with some woman, and had become so enamoured that he could not bring himself to refuse her demand to celebrate the New Year by sleeping with her. To probe the matter further, she asked:

'This club you speak of, with its unusual diversions. What form do they take?'

'That I cannot tell you,' he replied. 'I have been sworn to secrecy.'

Tears started to her eyes. 'Charles, you're lying to cover up an intrigue. Are we now, after all these years, to start haying secrets from each other ?'

'That is the last thing I would wish,' he protested, then tried to take her hand. But she snatched it from him.

Hesitantly he said, 'I pray you bear with me in this. Although I am bound to secrecy about what takes place, I can at least give you some idea of the type of gathering I mean to attend. Have you ever heard of the Hell Fire Club?'

She nodded. 'I've heard vague talk of it. Back in the last century, statesmen and other prominent men used to meet on an island up the Thames. There was a ruined abbey there, in which they performed strange rites and copu­lated with women whom they imported for that purpose.'

'You are right. And it is to a revival of the Hell Fire Club that I belong. I find the secrets of the occult that are disclosed to me there most fascinating.'

'And, no doubt, the woman you are taking with you.'

'I am taking no-one. We draw lots for the women who are to partner us in the rituals.'

Forcing back her tears, Susan cried angrily, 'Charles, I do not believe you! For you to have bedded pretty Harriet and Lady Wessex was no shame. But to pleasure any slut that is thrust upon you is a very different matter. I do not believe that you would so demean yourself. All this is a tissue of lies designed to cover the fact that you love me no longer and have become besotted by some woman who insists that you sleep with her tonight. Very well then, do so. But what is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.'

Charles came to his feet with a jerk and stared down at her in horror. 'Susan! Susan, you cannot possibly mean... .'

'Why not?' she retorted sharply. 'Surely you are aware that on reaching their teens girls are subject to the same urges as young men? Since I came out last season, half a dozen handsome beaux have implored me to give them a rendezvous. For your sake I have kept my virginity, but I'll admit that their petting has oft excited me. Why should I now deny myself the delights which several of my young married friends unashamedly extol ?'

'But, Susan! You are a girl of good family. How can you possibly contemplate lowering yourself by taking a lover?'

'Lowering myself, fiddlesticks! What of your Mama? Other mothers are oft stupid enough to keep their daughters in ignorance of such matters, but from the time I started to become a woman she has always talked to me frankly about the mating of the sexes. All the town knows that, whenever he is in England, my father is her lover; and, despite her marriages, has been for many years. Once when I pressed her, she confided to me that he first had her when they were both no more than fifteen.'

‘I know it, for it was a revelation that you in turn con­fided to me. But, as you are well aware, my mother has gipsy blood, so she is an exception to the rule.'

'Rule be demned! Well-born girls are no less passionate than those of the lower orders. Why should we suppress our desires? Go, have your new love if you will tonight, but in future, should I feel inclined I too will indulge myself with any man who takes my fancy.'

Charles was appalled. He argued vehemently, and pleaded with her to change her mind, but in vain. At length, as she remained adamant, he said :

'Since you have now revealed to me that you crave physical love, why should we not get married this coming Spring?'

She shook her auburn curls. 'I would like to, but I am convinced that we should rue it later.' 'Why so?'

'Because, Charles, you are still too young. I will now admit that the thought of your embracing Harriet with some frequency and then that older woman, pained me sorely, but I had good reason to conceal my feelings. Among other things your mother told me was that a wed­ding night can prove an unpleasant experience for the bride if she be still a virgin and, should the husband be a virgin too, the night may prove a disaster for them both. On the other hand, the more experienced the man, the sooner he will bring his bride to reciprocate his pleasure. You can as yet be only an amateur at this game, and must learn much from going to bed with a variety of women. I am resigned to that, and prepared to wait.'

'You are wrong about me, Susan. Harriet had had half a dozen lovers before me, so taught me much. And with Maria Wessex I did it no fewer than five times in a night. She complimented me upon having become as able a gallant as any woman could desire. That is proof that I've had experience enough. Now will you many me?'

Again Susan shook her head. 'No, for there is another reason why I will not. I have always accounted fools girls who marry at sixteen or seventeen. By burdening them­selves with the cares of a household and bearing children when so young, they deprive themselves of what should be some of the most pleasant years of their lives. Fve long decided that nineteen, or eighteen at the earliest, is the age at which a girl should many. I intend to enjoy at least one more London season free of all responsibility.'

Charles thoughtfully stroked his black side whiskers for a few moments. He had never allowed himself to take a liberty with Susan; but, now she had suddenly disclosed to him that her flesh and blood were just as warm as his own, he looked at her with new eyes. A trifle hesitantly he said:

'I'll agree there's sense in what you say about not saddling yourself for another year or two with the duties of a wife. But now that you have told me you feel an urge to take a lover, can we not come to a new arrange­ment? I would gladly give up the Hell Fire Club and vow absolute fidelity to you if you, for your part, would make me that most fortunate of men.'

She smiled at him. 'I've oft thought on that, and what bliss I would experience in your arms. But, alas, dear Charles, it cannot be. For one thing I could not bring myself to deceive your dear mother by having a hole-in-the-corner affair with you. For another it would spoil for us the joyous anticipation of becoming man and wife and of your possessing me for the first time as your bride. 'Tis better by far that you should get out of your system the craving I am convinced you have for some woman with whom you intend to sleep tonight, then amuse yourself with others for the next year or two. And that, while you are doing so, I should follow my own inclinations.'

He scowled. 'God dam'me! The thought of you being possessed by some other man would drive me crazy.'

'Charles, you are being foolish and making a mountain out of a molehill. Surely you must realise that love and passion are two entirely different things? The fact that you have become irresistibly attracted to some other woman does not mean that you love me, in the true mean­ing of the word, any the less. And, should I give myself to another man, that will not lessen in the least my endur­ing love for you. For both of us it will mean no more than the enjoyment of a delicious fruit, or the joy of outriding, a companion whom one believed to be better mounted than oneself—a most pleasurable experience at the time, but forgotten in a week.'

Reluctantly he nodded. ' 'Tis an argument difficult to refute. I'll admit that since Harriet left us to marry, I have hardly given her a thought.'

‘It will prove so, too, with your present infatuation and with other women whose bodies attract you for a while. Such physical contacts are of no real moment in one's life. What matters is the unity of minds, and that we have. The years we have spent together have forged between us an indestructible bond. 'Tis that, not casual fornication, that constitutes true love.'

He continued to frown. 'About the difference between love and passion you are unquestionably right. You are right, too, in maintaining that physically a girl of breed­ing must be subject to the same urges as a low-born wench. But, for the most part, the latter give themselves while still unmarried, either from lack of principles instilled when young, or to escape from poverty. You can plead neither excuse and, I repeat, the thought of you playing the wanton is positive torture to me.'

Susan shrugged. 'Do I decide to do so, you will have brought it on yourself. About you sowing your wild oats I make no complaint; but for you to have become a slave to some other woman—that I will not tolerate.'

'Dam'me! There is no other woman!'

Trove it then by not leaving the house tonight.'

For a long moment Charles considered, then he said, 'No. This meeting is of great importance to me. Should I not attend it, I'd forfeit my membership of the club.'

'Go to it then, or rather her. And in future I'll do as I list. Now leave me, for I am overlate in beginning to make my toilette.^’

'As you wish. But should I hear your name coupled with that of a gallant, I'll call him out and kill him.' Pale with anger, Charles turned away.

4

The New Hell Fire Club

Susan's revelation about her maturity gave Charles good cause for feeling both miserable and apprehensive. The Duke of Kew was his mother's fifth husband, and he had learnt from Harriet that, apart from her life-long affair with Roger his mother had taken many other lovers during the long periods Roger had been out of England. So, with his passionate half-gipsy blood on one side and that from the Merry Monarch on the other, he had accepted it as natural that his thoughts turned frequently to satisfy­ing his amorous inclinations.

That auburn-haired Susan shared his disquieting crav­ings had never occurred to him. But thinking it over, he recalled what pretty Harriet had told him about Roger and his mother. She had a gift for painting and owned a studio out on the hill above Kensington village; but she used it also as a petite maison in which to spend nights of love-making with Roger. Both of them trusted Harriet and never bothered to stop talking when she was within earshot. Several times she had heard snatches of con­versation when Roger was gaily describing affairs he had had while on the Continent. Harriet had concluded from this that he was 'the very devil with the women'. Should that be so, it could well account for his daughter Susan also being hot-blooded.

It was now clear to Charles beyond all doubt that he and Susan shared the same outlook about uninhibited immorality; but, while he had never questioned his own inclinations, he found it hard to reconcile himself to her giving free rein to hers. Even so, since she refused to marry him for at least a year, or become his mistress, he saw that he had no option but to accept her de­claration that 'what was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander'. No other course being open to him, he de­cided that he could only pray that she would not, after all, allow one of her beaux to seduce her; and, hard as it might be, do his utmost to put such a possibility out of his mind by keeping it occupied with his own diversions.

He had not lied to her when he had declared that he had not become temporarily bewitched by some other woman, and that it was a meeting of the re-created Hell Fire Club to which he was going that night.

For several generations past the occult had provided one of the principal interests of a large part of high society, in all the capitals of Europe. Such men as the Comte de St. German—who asserted that he possessed the secret of the Elixir of Life—Cagliostro and Casanova, had all intrigued many royalties and wealthy members of the nobility by holding seances and performing mystical rites. Where trickery ended and the application of unrecognised scien­tific laws began, no-one could say but, shortly before the French Revolution, Dr. Anton Mesmer had undoubtedly effected many cures by means of his magic tub.

In the previous October Charles had been in London for a week, to be measured and fitted by his tailor for some new clothes. It was then that a friend of his had introduced him at the revived Hell Fire Club. On that first visit he had been allowed only to witness the opening of a fascinating occult ceremony, and had his fortune told by a lovely woman who played the role of High Priestess.

Having then eagerly expressed his wish to be made a member, in mid-November he had thought of an excuse to go again to London, and had been duly initiated, the ceremony ending by his possessing the beautiful priestess-witch.

His lovely initiator then told him that he was now entitled to attend any of the meetings which were held once a week, and that there were five when attendance was obligatory: New Year's Eve, Lammas in February, May Day's Eve, Beltane in August and All Hallow's Eve. Failure to be present, unless a valid excuse could be given, meant expulsion from the club.

Charles had replied that he might have to remain in the country until after Christmas, but he would greatly look forward to New Year's Eve. He had not known then that his mother intended to give a ball that night. Her first mention of it, a few days later, had greatly perturbed him; but the knowledge that he would be debarred from the club for good if he did not attend the New Year cere­mony had determined him to do so, even at the cost of upsetting Susan.

In consequence, at the ball he booked no dances for after midnight and, having drunk the usual toasts, slipped away unobserved to collect his cloak, then left the house by the back door which gave on to a mews.

It had been raining hard, but now the rain had lessened to a drizzle. He had his own coach, which his mother had given him as a seventeenth birthday present, and earlier in the day he had ordered it to be waiting for him in Bruton Street. It was standing near the mews entrance, and some thirty feet beyond it stood another coach with a man and woman nearby.

By the light of the flambeaux in the sconces fixed to jthe railings on either side of the front door of the house oppo­site, Charles saw the man hand the woman into the coach. As he did so the light glinted on the auburn ringlets that dangled from beneath a scarf his companion was wearing over her head. Instantly Charles realised that she was Susan.

Running forward, he pushed aside the man, thrust his head into the coach and cried, 'Susan, what is the meaning of this?'

She started back, then replied quickly, 'Captain Hawksbury is taking me on to another party for an hour or two.'

'He'll do no such thing!' retorted Charles hotly. 'You know well enough that you are not allowed out unaccom­panied by a chaperone.'

'I am of an age to please myself,' Susan snapped back. 'And I will go escorted by whom I choose.'

Captain Hawksbury was a notorious roue, and Charles had disliked Susan's welcoming his attentions in London the previous summer; but at that time it had not even entered his head that she might possibly allow him to seduce her. Now, since their conversation of that morn­ing, he was seized with sudden apprehension that she might. Fear for her, mingled with furious jealousy, welled up in him, and his voice became sharp with anger.

' 'Tis unthinkable that you should go off alone with a man in the middle of the night. I'll not allow it!'

The Captain was a well-built man, and half a head taller than Charles, who had not yet grown to his full height. Laying a hand on Charles's shoulder, he said in a quiet, amused voice, Tray calm yourself, my young lord. Miss Brook has done me the honour to agree to accompany me to a pleasant party, where I will take good care of her. 'Tis no business of yours where she goes.'

'By God, it is!' thundered Charles. 'And I'll not let her. She shall return with me to the house this instant.'

As he spoke, he put one foot on the step of the coach and stretched out a hand to grab Susan's arm. Hawksbury's voice suddenly changed to an angry rasp.

'Damn you, boy! I'll not brook your interference.' His hand tightened on Charles's shoulder, and he gave a shove that had all a strong man's strength behind it. Charles, having one foot on the coach step, overbalanced and fell full length into the gutter, which was full of muddy water from the recent downpour.

Livid with rage he shouted at Hawksbury, 'By God, you shall pay for this! I'll call you out and see the colour of your blood!'

Hawksbury gave a bellow of laughter, 'What? Fight a duel with a stripling like you? Is it likely? You'd be lucky if you got away with a swordthrust through the arm. Aye, and within the first minute of the encounter.' Turning contemptuously away, he got into the coach and slammed the door behind him.

As Charles picked himself up, he cried, 'Don't be so certain! Age and height count for little in a duel, and I was taught to use a rapier by no less a champion than Miss Brook's father. I vow I'll prove your equal, if not your better.'

Thrusting his head through the open window of the coach, Hawksbury flung at Charles the taunt, 'Then, be­ing so fine a swordsman, my little cockscomb, why do you skulk here in England ? Have you not heard that we are at war with that brigand, Bonaparte? Get you to the Peninsula and slay a few frog-eaters. Do that, and I'll meet you in a duel, but not before.'

Leaving Charles seething with impotent fury, the coach drove off.

Having fallen in the gutter, Charles's white satin, breeches and silk stockings were soaking wet and smeared with mud. It was impossible for him to present himself at the club in that condition. For a few minutes his mind was so filled with anxiety about Susan that he no longer felt any inclination to go there. But to return to the ball, where he would have to pretend to be gay and carefree, was out of the question. The only other alternative was to go up to his room and sit there, brooding miserably. It then crossed his mind that if he did not go to the club, he would forfeit his membership. Moreover, there he would at least find distraction that for the next few hours would divert his mind from tormenting apprehensions about what Susan might be letting Hawksbury do to her.

Turning, he hurried into the house, ran up the back stairs to his room and quickly changed his clothes. Ten minutes later he left again, got into his coach, put pna mask that hid the upper part of his face and told his coachman to drive him to an address in Islington.

At that date Islington was a fashionable suburb and many of the quality had fine houses there. A little before one o'clock Charles's coach set him down in front of one in a handsome terrace. Further along it several other coaches that had brought members to the club were stand­ing. Telling his man to join them and wait for him, Charles ran up the steps of the house and gave a tug at the iron bell pull.

The bell was still clanging when a grille in the front door was opened and a pair of eyes peered out at him. From a pocket in his long waistcoat Charles produced the symbol of his membership. It was a brooch having a stone known as a 'cat's eye'. He held it up so that the person behind the grille could see it. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges. The liveried footman who had let him in closed the door behind him and bowed him towards a room on the right of the pillared hall. On entering it he took off his blue satin tail coat, his waistcoat and breeches and hung them on pegs among a row holding a number of similar garments. Then, from another row of pegs he took one of several grey robes with hoods, such as are worn by monks, and put it on. Having tied the cord round his waist, he pinned the cat's eye brooch over his heart.

He was now garbed in the traditional costume worn by the members of the original Hell Fire Club, which had been founded some fifty years earlier by Sir Francis Dashwood, Chancellor of the Exchequer and, later, Lord leDespenser.

Dashwood had founded the Order of St. Francis of Wycombe, the inner circle of which included the Earl of Sandwich, First Lord of the Admiralty, Thomas Potter, Paymaster General, and other distinguished men who, together with Dashwood himself, formed a coven of thirteen. There were also associate members to this society of rakes, among them Lord Holland, the Earls of Oxford and Westmoreland, the Marquis of Granby, the Duke of Kingston and the notorious John Wilkes.

The meetings of these gentry were held in the Abbey on Medmenham Island in the Thames, and consisted of blasphemous rituals followed by orgies. In order the better to parody their mockery of Christian rites, the men all wore the robes of monks and the women they brought with them from London—the majority of whom were among the most beautiful demi-mondaines of the day, but also some society women who concealed their identities with masks—wore the costume of nuns.

Leaving the cloakroom, Charles went up a staircase in the middle of the hall, leading to a large salon on the first floor. Some thirty to forty ladies and gentlemen were assembled there, enjoying a buffet supper, some standing at a long table carrying an excellent cold collation, others sitting at small tables to which they had carried plates and glasses.

All the men except one were clad similarly to Charles, in grey monks' robes with hoods that hid the colour of their hair, and were masked. The exception was a tall, gaunt, hook-nosed, elderly man known as the Abbot He wore a mitre on his head, in the centre of which there was a large cat's eye, a robe of mauve silk and, dangling from his neck on a gold chain, there was, instead of a cruci­fix, a diamond-studded crux ansata, the Egyptian symbol of immortality.

Beside him at the top of the stairs, receiving the guests, stood the Abbess, whose name was Katie O'Brien; a woman who, both in face and figure, had a loveliness that would have drawn the eyes of many men in a large gather­ing immediately towards her.

In striking contrast to the angelic beauty of the Abbess, the features of the tall Abbot were of a special ugliness that might have been designed in hell. His great hooked nose above a receding chin gave the impression of a bird of prey, the high cheekbones of his thin face were pitted with the scars of smallpox and his hooded eyes seemed to gleam with evil. His mouth was loose, his teeth uneven and yellow. His hypnotic glance radiated strength and power; and Charles, having on the night of his initiation seen this Priest of Satan avidly possess several women one after another, knew that his lust was insatiable.

It could be only this last characteristic, Charles decided, that made these lecherous women give themselves to the hideous Abbot so eagerly. It then occurred to him how fortunate he was to be a man, so had been initiated by the beautiful witch; whereas the women members had all had to submit to being initiated by the Abbot and, however licentious by nature, must have felt an almost overwhelm­ing horror at having, for the first time, to give themselves to this repulsive representative of the dark powers.

The women were also masked but wore the black gowns of nuns, and white, banded coifs across their foreheads, from which black weeds concealed their hair and the sides of their faces.

In their case there were three exceptions. Two were clad in the white costumes of novices and, in addition to masks, wore veils that entirely obscured their features. The third was the Abbess, who was wearing a mauve silk robe and, on her bosom, a huge cat's eye, surrounded by emeralds. She was Irish and had achieved a considerable reputation in occult circles in Dublin for her prophetic gifts. A few years earlier she had come to London armed with introductions from several of the Irish nobility to friends in England also interested in the occult. Some while after Lord le Despenser's death, the original Hell Fire Club had disintegrated, but memories of it had lingered on, and she had had the clever idea of resurrect­ing it as a means of attracting wealthy patrons.

She was a tall woman and, alone among the ladies, wore no mask. Her face was very pale and, although she was in her early forties, not a wrinkle marred the perfection of her magnolia skin. Two features made her strikingly beau­tiful: a very full-lipped mouth, which she painted scarlet, and a pair of magnificent dark-blue eyes, such as are rarely seen outside Ireland. Above them black eyebrows curved down to meet across the bridge of a Roman nose, giving her an imperious expression.

Some of the members of the club were old acquain­tances, and did not seek to hide their identities from one another, while others preferred to remain incognito; but the Abbess could have put a name to any of them, and at once recognised Charles.

From the beginning she had been particular about whom she admitted to her Order and she had accepted Charles, in spite of his youth, only because he had special qualifications. Not only was he an Earl with a fine town mansion and White Knights Park, a great property in Northamptonshire, but she had special designs concern­ing his future. Since she had personally initiated him the previous November, she had not seen him and, for the past quarter of an hour, had feared he did not mean to come that night.

Moving forward to meet him, she gave him a charming smile, extended her left hand for him to kiss and said in a husky voice with a slight Irish lilt:

'It is late you come, little Brother, but are nonetheless welcome.'

As he took her hand, his own trembled slightly from the memory of the pleasure she had afforded him at his initiation. Bowing, he murmured, 'I pray your pardon, Reverend Mother. I was detained by an unfortunate accident.'

'It is no matter.' She waved her hand, on which there was another big cat's eye in a ring, toward the buffet. 'You still have time to fortify yourself with a glass or two of wine before our ceremony, and you are called on to make liba­tion to Lilith-Venus in the person of one of my lovely daughters.'

Walking over to the buffet, Charles was handed a goblet of champagne by one of the footmen. A minute or so later he found the Abbess beside him. Holding out a small, black velvet bag, she said:

'As you are late in arriving, there is only one number left, but your chance of drawing a partner who will de­mand as much as you are capable of giving is not lessened by that'

Charles put his hand in the bag and drew out an ivory plaque on which was the number 6 and was attached to a piece of magenta ribbon. Having bowed her away, he tied the plaque on to his cat's eye brooch and, now filled with excited anticipation, began to look quickly about the room.

The friend who had introduced Charles to the club had told him that the majority of the female members were married women who had elderly or unsatisfactory husbands, and found this way of satisfying their pent-up desires greatly preferable to taking a regular lover; as, by concealing their identities, they were spared the anxiety of clandestine meetings and any possibility of becoming in­volved in a scandal. This applied also to the unmarried girls who had been introduced by cynical roues, after finding that they delighted in lechery and had a taste for variety. All of them came from the higher strata of society, as the Abbess had no mind to dispense to professional courtesans any part of the twenty guineas she charged her male members for each attendance.

Owing to their masks, coifs and nun's robes, all the women present, apart from height, appeared almost identical, and Charles had to spend several minutes mingling with the crowd before he found the nun with a plaque numbered 6 suspended from her cat's eye brooch.

That she wore this number was, in fact, no matter of blind chance. She was an Irish widow named Lady Luggala, and an old crony of the Abbess's, who had slip­ped her the plaque while Charles was standing at the buffet with his back to them. It was part of a plan they had made that Charles should partner the widow that night, and she had been impatiently awaiting his arrival.

She was seated at a small table, with a monk wearing plaque number 18. He at once stood up, kissed her hand and said, 'Sister, at our next meeting I pray that it may be my good fortune to draw the same number as you as, from your voice, I know 'twas my luck on a previous occa­sion.' Then he bowed to Charles and moved away.

Greeting her politely, Charles took the vacant chair and smilingly scrutinised her. She was tall, and her move­ments were graceful. Her cheeks were a little heavily rouged and faint lines showed at the comers of her mouth, telling him that she must be considerably older than him­self. Her firm chin and good teeth were vaguely familiar to him, so he felt fairly certain that they had met before in society, but he could not even make a guess at her iden­tity. In any case, the fact that the man who had just left them had evidently desired to partner her again seemed to Charles a good indication that he had drawn a lucky number. After a moment he said:

'It seems, Sister, that you are not a newcomer to these gatherings. Have you attended many of them ?'

She smiled. 'Yes, I was an early member of the Order and come here regularly whenever I am in London. I find our meetings most stimulating, mentally as well as physi­cally, and always eagerly await the next. What of your­self?'

'I humbly confess that this is my first attendance, as I was not initiated until last November, and have since perforce been living in the country. I can only hope that I shall not disappoint you.'

At that she laughed. 'You would not be here unless our Abbess had proved you to be virile. In fact, if I am not mistaken, it was you whom I saw initiated in Novem­ber, and with our beautiful Reverend Mother you gave a creditable performance. You are, I feel certain, still very young, so must lack experience in the more subtle ways of pleasing women. But it will lie with me to ensure the best results, and I do not doubt hat we shall enjoy our amorous encounter.'

Before Charles had time to reply a silver bell jingled. Immediately silence fell and the Reverend Abbess announced in her deep, husky voice, 'My children! The hour has come'. Let us proceed to the Temple of Delights.' On the arm of the gaunt Abbot she then led the way down­stairs, followed by the pairs of men and women, the two white-clad novices and their escorts bringing up the rear.

Behind the main staircase another, narrower one led down to the basement. It was one large room, the full length and breadth of the house, the upper floors being supported by two rows of arches on carved stone pillars. A thick black carpet covered the whole floor, but it was visible only in a three-foot-wide central aisle running from one end of the great room to the other. The whole of the rest of it was covered with scores of many-coloured silk cushions piled one upon another. Along the aisle the signs of the Zodiac had been embroidered into the black carpet with gold thread.

The temple was dimly lit, the only light coming from the far end where two seven-branched candelabra, hold­ing black candles, stood on an altar and, in front of it, two four-foot-high pedestals holding chafing dishes, from the centre of which rose slightly flickering oil flares.

A few feet before the altar stood a curiously-shaped piece of padded furniture resembling a stool, but the left half of it curved downward, while the right half rose in a hump, so it appeared impossible to sit on it in comfort. Two black curtains, forming an angle to the altar, were suspended on rods from its sides to the pillars of the nearest arches. On one was embroidered the yang and on the Other the yin—the ancient symbols for the male and female. On the wall behind the altar hung a rich scarlet banner with a black cross upside-down. Beneath it, cen­trally between the two seven-branched candelabra, stood a strange idol which no newcomer to the place could easily have identified.

But Charles, on first being taken down to the temple, had realised what it was. From his childhood he had been loved and spoiled by Roger's greatest friend, Lord Edward Fitz-Deverel—known to his intimates as 'Droopy Ned'. One of 'Uncle' Ned's hobbies was the study of ancient religions. He had often told Charles about Egypt in the distant past, and shown him pictures of the strange gods the Egyptians worshipped. Among them had been the cat god, Bast. So Charles had recognised the idol on the altar as a mummified sacred cat, which must have been brought from Egypt by some traveller.

The Abbess and the Abbot halted before the altar. Both made obeisance to the idol, then turned about to face the congregation. They, in turn, made obeisance, then the couples settled themselves comfortably among the sea of cushions. Only the two novices and their escorts remained standing. They had halted at the rear of the temple, and as Charles's partner had seated herself on the first cushions she came to, the novices were only a few feet behind them.

In a loud voice the Abbess cried, 'He who on joining our Order was re-christened Abadon shall now bring for­ward the seeker after truth whom he has brought to us.'

The man addressed led his white-robed novice up the aisle, then stood aside. The Abbot threw some herbs on the chafing dishes and they went up in clouds of aromatic smoke. The Abbess took both the novice's hands in hers, held them in silence for a full minute, then said in a tone­less voice that was barely audible to the congregation:

'My child, you are in grave trouble. Your family is noble, but now poor. They are in Very serious financial difficulties. Owing to this they wish you to restore their fortune by marrying you to a rich merchant.'

The girl gave an audible gasp of surprise, then the Abbess went on, 'You are already engaged to this man. He is much older than you, and you hate him. You are in love with a younger man—a soldier. Normally events would take their course, and a life of misery as the wife of this man you hate be yours. But your good angel has brought you here so that you may be offered a way to save yourself. Our Order has been granted power to alter the course of human lives. If you desire to join it, you must first submit to an ordeal which may seem repugnant to you. But it is of brief duration and, once initiated, we can assure you a happy future. Think well on this, my child, and let me know your decision through him we call here Abadon.'

Releasing the girl's hands, the Abbess signed to her to go and, turning about, she was escorted by Abadon back to the rear of the temple. As they halted there, the Abbess cried in a loud voice as before:

'He who on joining our Order was re-christened Nebiros shall now bring forward the seeker after truth that he has brought to us.'

The other couple advanced up the aisle. Again the man stood aside and the Abbot threw herbs on the chafing dishes. The Abbess took the novice's hands, remained in deep thought for a moment, then said :

'My child, you are fortunate. You are surrounded by love and wealth. No-one will force you to do anything against your wishes. But I see sorrow ahead for you. It arises from a breach which has very recently occurred be­tween you and a young man who loves you and whom you love dearly. The Powers tell me that separation from him threatens you, a separation that may last for years. It may even be permanent. Our Order can call upon forces that will alter the course of events. They could protect you from this grievous loss if you are willing to submit to an ordeal you may think unpleasant. By no means every novice finds the initiation ceremony hard to bear, but should you do so, a period of distress soon over is no great price to pay in order to prevent the man you love being taken from you by circumstances over which you have, at present, no control. Think well on this, my child, and let me know your decision through him whom we here call Nebiros.'

While the second novice and her escort returned to their place at the back of the temple, the Abbot disappeared behind the curtain on the left of the altar, to re-emerge a moment later carrying a great two-handled urn. At the same moment a huge negro, wearing only a loin cloth, came out from behind the right-hand curtain carrying a similar urn.

As though at a signal, the whole congregation came to its feet and, in pairs, forming a long queue, walked up the aisle. From his initiation ceremony Charles knew that the urn held by the negro was empty. Into it every Brother would drop a purse holding twenty guineas, and mem­bers of both sexes who wished to secure information about the future would drop notes asking their questions. The notes were signed with the names by which they had been re-christened on initiation, but the Abbot and Abbess knew their real names and, in a few days' time, they would re­ceive written answers. The urn held by the Abbot contain­ed wine, heavily loaded with a powerful aphrodisiac, a few sips of which were enough to double the potency of those who drank it.

The only future matter about which Charles would have liked to know was whether Susan would carry out her threat to take a lover, or if, on second thoughts, restrain herself out of love for him. But he had not dared put his question on paper and bring it, for fear that the answer would be the one he dreaded, and so add to his torment on every occasion when she had the opportunity to be alone with one of her beaux. When the Abbot presented the Hell-broth loving cup to him, he took only a single sip for form's sake, because the thought of what was soon to come had already aroused his passions to fever pitch.

While the proceedings with the urns were taking place, the Abbess threw more handfuls of herbs on the chafing dishes. The flaming oil that rose from the centre of the dishes swiftly turned the herbs into clouds of pungent smoke, filling the temple with the scent of musk and incense, calculated further to excite the lust of the monks and nuns.

As they returned to their places among the cushions, they began to embrace, kiss and fondle one another. With the impatience of youth, the moment Lady Luggala re­seated herself, Charles threw his arms about her and pressed his mouth to hers. She opened it readily and sucked in his tongue. Next moment he had pushed her over on to her back and, despite her mock chiding, thrust one of his hands up beneath her robe. Under it she had on only a silk shift and his eager fingers slid swiftly up between her thighs. Closing her legs tightly, she pushed him back and said with a low laugh:

'You wicked boy. If you go too fast you will spoil things for us later. Desist now, I beg. We must wait until the Reverend Mother has performed her ritual. Then we'll be free to rid ourselves of all our clothes and I'll let you do what you will with me.'

As Charles withdrew his hand, a bell tinkled, the Abbot and the negro disappeared with their urns behind the cur­tains either side of the altar, the company fell silent, ceased embracing and all eyes became fixed on the Abbess. With a swift gesture she, plucked her coif from her head and threw it aside. A mass of dark, curling hair fell to her shoulders. With equal swiftness she pulled undone a silk bow beneath her chin. Her robe slid down onto the floor and she stepped out of it stark naked.

Holding her arms aloft, she stood motionless for a moment, her eyes wide, staring straight in front of her. Although the majority of those present had seen her naked before, a little gasp of admiration paid tribute to her beauty. Her figure formed a perfect adjunct to her lovely face. She was close on six feet in height. Her shoulders were broad, her breasts stood out round and firm, with no sign of the sagging usual in women over forty. Her waist was slender and her hips curved out from it down to powerful thighs. The whiteness of her skin was accentuat­ed by big, brown circles surrounding her red nipples, and the Vee of dark, crisp curls that covered her strongly-developed mons veneris.

Having allowed her congregation to gaze their full, she turned about to face the altar. Raising her arms again, she cried in a loud voice:

'Oh, mighty Bast, sister of Set and daughter of Lucifer, we pray thee intercede with him—the most beautiful and most gifted of all the Archangels: the Sun of the Morn­ing, the Lord of This World, the Giver of all Power, Wealth and Joy here in the Principality bestowed upon him by the Almighty—that he may grant our desires. In devotion to you, dear Bast, and to Him, I will now receive into myself two libations of the essence that creates flesh.'

Turning about, she clapped her hands three times, then threw herself face down on the curiously-shaped padded stool. Her full breasts fitted into the downward curve on the left side and her buttocks were raised up over the hump on the right. In response to her claps, the curtains bear­ing the Yang and the Yin again parted. From the left the Abbot emerged and from the right the huge, coal-black negro. Both were now stark naked and erect. Stretching out a hand the Abbess grasped the member of the Abbot and drew him toward her. The negro flung himself upon her from behind.

The silence was suddenly broken by a girl's voice gasp­ing, 'Take me away.'

It came from one of the white-clad novices. Charles swivelled round on his cushions to stare at her. The mask and veil entirely hid her face and hair, but he could have sworn that the voice was Susan's.

Her escort whispered angrily, 'Be silent!'

Again the girl's voice came, louder this time. 'Take me away at once! I refuse to witness this disgusting spectacle.'

As she spoke she had turned towards the stairs. The man grasped her arm to pull her back. In a low, harsh voice he said, 'Shut your eyes if you will. But you must remain till the ceremony is completed.'

When the girl had spoken the second time, Charles could no longer doubt that she really was Susan, and now he recognised the man's voice as that of Captain Hawksbury. Jumping to his feet, he covered in a matter of seconds the short distance that separated him from the arguing couple. Addressing Hawksbury, he whispered fiercely:

'Unhand this lady! I intend to take her out.' 'Hell's bells! What has this to do with you?' Hawksbury exclaimed in surprise.

'No matter,' Charles snarled. 'She is coming with me.'

Hawksbury had let go Susan's arm and turned to face him. Cockfighting and contests between pugilists were the favourite sports of the day, and many a young man of gentle birth prided himself on his performance in the ring. When at Eton Charles had learned to box and had proved himself a formidable opponent against others of his weight. Now, with the precision of a professional, he lashed out and landed a terrific punch under the side of Hawksbury's jaw. The Captain went over backwards, landing with a heavy thud at full length on the floor of the aisle.

All this had happened very quickly, but those nearby among the congregation had heard the fierce whispering and several had called, 'Hush! Hush!' or 'Be quiet there!' in low, angry voices.

As Hawksbury was bowled over, Susan let out a scream. Within a minute everyone present sprang to their feet. The nearest men scrambled over the cushions and ran at Charles. He turned to defend himself and knocked down the first to come within striking distance. The next landed a blow on his ear. A third struck him hard in the stomach, momentarily winding him. Others seized his arms and, strive as he did to free himself, he was soon overpowered.

His mind was in a whirl. What they would do to him he had no idea, but he felt certain that they would regard as an appalling sacrilege his violent interruption of their satanic ceremony at its highest point. It was possible that they might content themselves with expelling him from their Order. But, if the Abbess proved vindictive, she might put some terrible curse on him, perhaps even render him impotent. Between the faces staring at him he glimpsed her now. She had risen from the stool and was standing, still in her splendid nakedness, between the Abbot and the negro. Her dark eyebrows, which met over the bridge of her imperious nose, were drawn down in a ferocious frown, and her mouth was set in grim lines that showed her to be in a most evil temper. Scowling, she be­gan to walk forward.

Charles's mind flashed to Susan. It was she who had been the cause of the ugly scene that had ruined the tri­bute to the dark gods. He was now powerless to get her away from this company of rakes and licentious women into which, all too late, he now realised he had allowed himself to be drawn by fascination with the occult and his urge to satisfy his lust in exciting surroundings.

Had he been brought up to be religious, he would never have done so, but neither his mother nor 'Uncle' Roger, for whom he had an unbounded admiration, ever went to church. Both of them had told him that they believed every person to have many lives, and that the original teaching of Jesus Christ had been perverted almost from the beginning by the fanatical St. Paul, followed in the early centuries by ignorant and often evil priests.

Susan, he knew, had absorbed the same ideas: a belief that no man could absolve another from his sins, and that the only sin one could commit was deliberately to cause others to be unhappy. Such a belief could explain why she had allowed herself to be brought here, but she could have had no idea of the rituals performed at Satanic cere­monies, otherwise she would not have attempted to leave the temple.

Yet the fact remained that it was her attempt to do so which had led to this abrupt disruption of the night's pro­ceedings; so Charles was filled with fear that the Abbess would regard Susan as the principal offender and vent her wrath even more severely on her than on himself.

He was now powerless to protect her, and it was cer­tain that no-one else there would. She was helpless in their hands, and was incapable of resisting anything they decided to do to her. They were gathered there to slake their lusts on one another. The Abbess's ritual was to have been followed by an orgy. They would not be content to go home without it taking place. The Abbess might decree that Susan was to be stripped, and that any number of men who liked should possess her forcibly. At the awful picture this possibility conjured up, sweat broke out on Charles's forehead.

Suddenly a tall man near the altar cried in a loud voice, 'Unhand that young fellow and let him take the novice hence. 'Tis not fitting that anyone should be brought here who is not a willing participant in our revels.'

'Aye, aye!' several other voices supported him, and a woman's treble called out, 'We want no squeamish young prudes in our joyous company.'

But the majority of those present howled down the pro­testors, and one man shouted above the rest, 'She'd not be out with our Brother who brought her at this hour of night if she were all that innocent. She'll make good sport for us. Strip her and let's see if she is a virgin.'

'Well said,' yelled another. 'And if she is, let Aboe make a woman of her on the altar.'

Charles's heart lurched in horror. Aboe was the giant negro.

During this altercation the two men holding Charles had released their grip on him. With a sudden plunge forward he broke free. For him to reach Susan and get her away was impossible, but he swiftly backed against a pillar, his fists clenched, ready to fight again.

The Abbess had halted, undecided, half-way up the aisle. A lull in the clamour enabled Charles to make his. voice heard, and he appealed to her:

'Reverend Mother, I pray you let me take her away.

On her account as well as my own, I swear that neither of us will say aught to anyone about what takes place here.'

'No! No!' came an angry chorus, and someone called, 'She should pay for having interfered with our lady Abbess's receiving the libation to Lucifer. Give her to the negro.'

The tall man who had first intervened shouted, ‘I’ll not have it! And you know who I am, Katie O'Brien. 'Twill pay you ill to cross me.'

The Abbess did know. He was a Duke and one of the wealthiest men in England. She was greatly averse to offending him, but loath to disappoint the many opposed to him, so she sought refuge in a subterfuge and cried:

'Brothers and Sisters, we are all equal here. We will put it to the vote. All those in favour of letting them go, put up their hands.'

A dozen hands were raised. Then she called, 'Now those who would have her pay a forfeit.'

Over twenty hands went up, a clear majority. 'So be it!' she cried, then beckoned to the negro. 'Gome, Aboe, take her.'

Susan was being held, so could not get away. As the negro took a step forward, she screamed. At that moment the masked Duke sprang out of the crowd and dashed at him. To avoid the attack, Aboe stepped back and can­noned into the pedestal just behind him.

It went over with a crash. The oil that fed the flame in the centre of the chafing dish gushed out across the carpet. An instant later the flames caught the curtain with the Yin upon it. As it flared up the nearest cushion caught, then the flames seemed to leap from it to others.

Pandemonium ensued. Everyone was shouting, 'Fire!' and scrambling through billowing smoke toward the entrance to the temple. Charles did not lose a second. No sooner were the curtains ablaze than he swivelled about, sprang towards Susan, grasped her by the arm and ran with her toward the stairs. Rushing up them, they reached the hall breathless. The footman there stared at them in astonishment. Brushing past him, Charles wrenched open the front door. Within two minutes of the fire having started, he and Susan were out in the street.

Side by side they hurried to Charles's coach. He roused the dozing coachman and told him to drive back to Berk­eley Square. Susan was weeping and, getting into the coach, huddled back into a dark corner. But Charles was in no mood to be sympathetic, and demanded angrily:

'Since when have you become fascinated by the mys­teries of the occult?'

'I am not,' she sobbed, 'and know nothing of them.'

'How then could you be so great a fool as to let Hawks­bury take you to the Hell Fire Club ?'

'I ... I had no notion that is what it was. He simply told me that... that he would like to take me to an amus­ing party for . . . for an hour or two. He said that it was being given by one of his friends and... and that he would bring me home well before the ball was over.'

'He deceived you, then. But that is no excuse for having gone off alone with a man in the middle of the night. He might well have taken you to his own apartment, or some other place, and there seduced you.'

At that she, too, flared into anger. 'You are right! As I found him attractive, he might have. But had he attempted me, the odds are that I should have prevented him by saying that I had my affairs, and consoled him by half-promises about the future.'

'You were then seriously considering taking him as your lover?'

'Yes; and why not? I told you this morning that, while you sowed your wild oats, I should consider myself free to sow mine if I had a mind to it. But when you said that tonight you intended to disport yourself at a club that provided special diversions, I never dreamt that it would be in such company. Oh, Charles! How could you become a Satanist ? The thought appals me.'

'I am not a Satanist, any more than were those distin­guished men who belonged to the original Hell Fire Club. The ceremonies are only a means to render amorous en­counters more exciting.'

'So you say. But you cannot deny that the occult enters into it, and that evil powers are invoked to better the pros­pects of those who attend these meetings.'

For a moment Charles was silent, then he replied, 'I believed it to be hocus-pocus. Although most members know only their introducer, the Abbess knows them all, so it would be easy enough for her to find out the state of their affairs through tittle-tattle and shrewd interpretation of their reactions to remarks made by her when conversing with them. I had no means of judging if her predictions are always right, and assumed that, in many cases, they enabled those to whom she made them to avoid threatened calamities or better their prospects by their own efforts. But tonight has proved me wrong. The powers of evil must have been potent in the temple, otherwise the powers of good would not have intervened to save us by causing that fire.'

'Indeed, you are right. The fire could have been no ordinary accident, occurring as it did at the critical moment. And, apart from having saved us, I do thank the good Lord that Captain Hawksbury took me there to­night, for it brought about your having to sever your con­nection with that abominable woman.'

Charles nodded. 'Yes. It seems that unwittingly you have played the part of my guardian angel.'

After a moment he added, 'It can as yet be barely two o'clock, so when we get home they will still be dancing; but some of the older guests may have started to leave. It would be awkward to encounter any of them, dressed as we are, so we'll go in by the tradesmen's en­trance. Fortunately, I have a key to it. With luck we'll get up the back stairs to our rooms without being seen by any of the servants; but we may run into one of them. If so, we'd best start talking of a masque at Covent Garden, implying that we have returned after spending an hour there with friends.'

'I'd as lief no-one saw me dressed as a novice,' Susan replied, pulling off her coif. 'Let down the window so that I can throw this out, and the robe after it. Then, if I'm seen, I'll be ordinarily dressed.'

While Charles did as she asked, he said quickly. 'Of course. What a fool I am to have supposed that Hawksbury would have risked suggesting you should rid yourself of your dress and petticoats in the ladies' room, as did the other women before putting on their nuns' robes. I'll have to keep mine on, though, for I had to leave my coat, waistcoat and breeches with my cloak in the men's closet.'

'So you had made ready for the fray,' Susan remarked acidly. Then she went on, 'If we do meet any of the ser­vants, they'll not think it so strange that you have ex­changed your cloak for a friar's robe as they would if they saw me dressed to take vows in a convent.'

As she spoke, she was wriggling out of her white novice's attire, and she shivered from the blast of the chilly air now coming through the open window. Up till that moment her mind had been so agitated that she had not realised that she had left her furlined cloak behind. Now she spoke of her loss with bitter anger, wondering how she could possibly explain its disappearance to Georgina. But when she had thrown her white garments out of the window and Charles had pulled it up again, he promised to go out before midday and buy a similar robe for her.

At that she said in a calmer voice, 'Charles, it would be most generous of you to do so, since 'tis no fault of yours that I had to abandon such an expensive garment. I'll admit now that I was plaguey foolish to let Captain Hawksbury take me off on my own; and, but for your presence in that house, God alone knows what might have befallen me.'

'Then let us have no more recriminations, and say no more about it,' he replied. Putting his arm about her, he kissed her gently and they completed their drive back to Berkeley Square in silence.

On entering the square, Charles told his coachman to drive round the corner into Bruton Street. Before handing Susan out, he took three guineas from his purse, gave them to the man and said:

'Here, Jennings, is money enough to keep your mouth busy for a long time with good ale; so you'll not open it to mention to anyone that Miss Brook and I tonight attended a masquerade. Is that understood ?'

The man gave a broad grin. 'Indeed it is, m' lord, and I thank 'e for this generous present. Hope be I'll drive you and the young mistress to enjoy many a good lark, and never a word will pass me lips 'bout it.'

Confident that the man would not now tell his fellow servants about the night's doings, Charles led Susan through the mews to the entrance at the back of the man­sion. Unlocking the door, he opened it cautiously and peered inside. No-one was about, so he whispered to her to follow him in, and together they tiptoed up the back stairs. On the landing that gave on to their bedrooms, he said in a low voice

‘It will take me only a few minutes to put on suitable clothes, but longer for you to redo your hair, so when I'm dressed I'll come for you; then we'll go down together as though we had been sitting out a dance.'

Five minutes later he joined her in her bedroom and sat in a chair until she had finished making herself present­able.

When she had done, she turned to him and said:

'Dearest Charles. On the latter part of our drive home I did some serious thinking. That I should have caused the Hell Fire Club to be barred to you in future I have no regrets. But I realise that, as a man, you must satisfy your passions and, as I told you this morning, I now feel a simi­lar urge. Even if we refrain from telling each other of those with whom we indulge ourselves, neither of us can escape thinking of the other in such situations, and that will cause misery to us both. Rather than we should suffer that, I have changed my mind about insisting that I should enjoy another year of freedom to flirt with whom I will. Instead I have decided to accept your proposal that we should marry in the Spring.'

Sadly Charles shook his head. 'Alas, my love. I would we could, but it is now too late. Come Spring, I shall no longer be in England.'

Her eyes widened. 'Charles, what. . . whatever do you mean?'

His face suddenly became grim. 'You must have heard the taunt that Hawksbury flung at me after he had pushed me over into the gutter. He as good as called me coward, because while claiming to be a man well versed in the use of weapons, I was skulking in England instead of going to the war against our enemies in the Peninsula. The round of easy pleasures here have so filled my mind, that such a thought had never before entered it. But he was right. It is my intention, no later than this coming afternoon, to see my trustees and have them purchase for me a commission in the Guards.'

5

A Tangled Skein

It was getting on towards mid-January, and a few morn­ings after Roger had learnt to his fury that, unless the Cape Cod chanced to meet with a British ship-of-war, he and Mary would be carried off to America, that Lady Luggala was sitting up in bed drinking her morning choco­late and Jemima came into her room.

No-one unacquainted with them would have taken the two women for mother and daughter. Maureen Luggala had kept her figure, but her brown hair was streaked with grey, her pale blue eyes had crow's-feet round them and she looked considerably older than Charles had taken her to be when he had seen her masked and rouged at the Hell Fire Club.

Jemima's hair was black, so were her heavy eyebrows, but her eyes were a deep blue, her complexion milk and roses and her full-lipped mouth sensuously attractive. She was tall, with a big bosom and hips, but narrow waist and carried herself well. With a cat-like grace she settled her­self on a chaise-longue opposite the bed and flicked the skirts of her chamber-robe across her shapely legs.

The 'little season' was in full swing and the previous night they had both attended a ball given by Lord Ponsonby. Having greeted each other, the elder asked:

'Well, child, did you chance to learn anything of impor­tance last night?'

Jemima shrugged. 'Little of value. Young Gorton told me that his regiment, the 42nd, is to form another bat­talion and he hopes to purchase a Captaincy in it. A Naval Lieutenant, who had landed at Portsmouth only two days since, bored me to distraction by an account of hardships endured in the Channel these winter months. His name I disremember, but his ship was the Intrepid, so she will be off station for several weeks while refitting. Out of Robert Henage I had hoped to get some tidings of Sweden's changing attitude, as he is in the Northern Department of the Foreign Office. On that account I gave him three dances and, half-way through the last, let him whisk me up to a room on the second floor. But his mind was so filled with the hope of seducing me that he'd give not a moment to serious conversation.'

'He is a valuable source, so I trust that you have kept him on a string by at least letting him hope that on some future occasion....'

'No.' Jemima's voice was sullen. 'I did not even permit him the usual familiarities.'

'That is unlike you,' Lady Luggala remarked acidly.

'I admit it. Since half a loaf is better than no bread, and it is essential that I should protect myself from becoming known as a society whore by letting men go the whole way with me. But I was in no mood to have him frig me.'

'Why this sudden reluctance, and the aggrieved state of mind you still display this morning?'

'Because last night I was mightily disturbed concerning my own prospects. During a dance with Charles St. Ermins he exploded a bombshell beneath me. He told me that only that morning he had seen the Commander-in-Chief at the Horse Guards, who has arranged a commis­sion for him in the Coldstream Guards.'

Lady Luggala sat up with a jerk and exclaimed in con­sternation, 'It cannot be true! And this without a word of warning?'

Jemima nodded. 'I've seen him half a dozen times since Christmas, and he gave me not a hint of his intention.'

'But this is terrible. It means that within a few months he may be sent to the Peninsula.'

'In a matter of weeks, more like. He made it clear that he has not joined the Army simply to strut about in a fine uniform. He is going to the war as soon as he can get there. And, as he has influence, they will not keep him here for long.'

'Then, child, you must work fast, or you will lose him. Let him seduce you at the first opportunity. Then he'll feel in honour bound to become engaged to you. If fortune favours us, we might even rush the marriage through before he leaves for Portugal.'

'Do you think me such a fool that I have not thought of that?' Jemima's voice was angry. 'But my chances of doing so are slender. As soon as he has his uniforms he is leaving London for Canterbury to start his initial train­ing.'

Lady Luggala wrung her hands. 'Oh, my! Oh, my! Just to think that after all we may lose him. I've thought so much on it. Yourself a Countess, and all his riches. His mansion in Berkeley Square and White Knights Park with its thousands of acres. His mother, too, is worth a mint of money. Two husbands have left her fortunes, and her father yet another. Charles is her only child and she dotes on him. When she dies, he will be one of the wealthiest men in the three Kingdoms.'

'Stop!' Jemima snapped. 'I know it all. But for months you have been counting your chickens before the eggs were even warm from the hen's bottom. Charles likes me, finds me amusing and good company. I've given him cause, too, to know that I'd be all that he could wish for in bed. But he has never yet even got as far as hinting that one day he might ask my hand in marriage.'

'Yet recently he has shown his preference for your com­pany over that of all other young women. The frequency with which he escorts Susan Brook counts for nothing. They were brought up together, and the attentions he pays her are no more than those to be expected from an affectionate brother.'

'You are right in that I credited myself with a good lead in the St. Ermins stakes and, given another London season, might have been first past the post. But now all is altered. How in a week or so can I possibly secure him? Unless . . . yes, I have it. You must seek the help of the Irish witch.'

'Alas!' Lady Luggala sadly shook her head. 'She lacks the means to help us. Had all gone well on New Year's Eve we would have had him in our power. We laid a pretty plot. She fixed the draw so that he should be my partner. In my nun's robe I had concealed a small pair of scissors with intent, when we had had a frolic, to snip off a small tuft of his pubic hair. I should have told him that it was my custom to secure such a souvenir from every man who enjoyed me; so he would not have objected. With that in our possession and a tuft from your own bush we could have cast a spell that would have made him crazy to have you; and, naturally, your price would have been marriage.

'But, as I told you afterwards, all was brought to ruin. And by Charles himself, through that fool Hawksbury having brought young Susan there without telling her what to expect, and making certain that she would prove an eager witness to our ritual. Since the little prude objected, and Charles looks on her as a sister, one can hardly blame him for carrying her off. That he should have acted as he did proved disastrous. We were lucky to have saved Bast, and that the men got the fire under con­trol as quickly as they did.'

Jemima was silent for a moment, then she said, ‘I appreciate your good intentions on my behalf, but take it hard that you have always refused to have me made an initiate of the club. That Susan, although she proved un­willing, should have been put forward rankles with me still more, for she is only seventeen, whereas I am twenty.'

‘I had my reasons for refusing you. And why complain ? Ever since I chanced upon you being straddled by that stable boy in Ireland, you have never lacked for lovers.'

'True. But what lovers! To protect my reputation I never dare let a man of quality have me, lest he talk. I am compelled to make do with that bean-pole of a music master once a week, who would never dare tell of it lest he was prosecuted for slander and found himself in the stocks. How infinitely more enjoyable I'd find it to par­ticipate in these luxurious orgies you have told me of.'

'That I understand, although I blame myself now for having spoken to you so freely on these matters. Had I in fact been your mother, I would never have done so. But the major interests in both our lives are the same—to free our dear Ireland from the tyranny of the hated English and to enjoy to the full our amorous encounters. There is no-one else I could trust to be my confidante and I'm sure that you, as well as myself, have greatly enjoyed discussing our experiences.'

'I have indeed,' Jemima agreed more warmly. 'Since that day when I was little over fifteen and you caught me being tumbled by young Conan, you have taught me much. Had it not been for your prompt dosing of me with ergot of rye, I'd have had a child by him and, on the few occasions since when over-eagerness has led me to be care­less, you have got me out of trouble. But, knowing my love of variety in licentious pleasures, I still cannot understand why you refuse to have me initiated into the Hell Fire Club.'

'It is not I who refuse, but your mother.'

Jemima's blue eyes opened wide.

Lady Luggala gave a gasp of dismay. 'There! Oh, Satan help me! By throwing me into a tizzy about Charles going off to the war and our losing him, you've led me into disclosing that she is not dead, as I'd given you to under­stand.'

Springing up from the chaise-longue, Jemima cried, 'Who is she? Who is she? I insist that you tell me.'

'No, child! No! That I cannot do. I am sworn to secrecy.'

"Tis too late!' Jemima flared. To me it is a secret no longer. Who could have refused your request that I should be initiated into the Hell Fire Club? Only one person. The Irish witch. It is she who is my mother.'

Tears had filled the older woman's eyes. Stifling a sob she murmured, 'How can I deny it! But long since we agreed that we would always keep it from you lest you inadvertently gave it away, and so spoiled your chances of an advantageous marriage by everyone believing you to be the daughter of myself and an Irish baronet.'

Jemima had gone white, and she was biting her lower lip. Suddenly she broke out, ‘I want the whole story. Everything! Everything about my birth.'

'That I refuse to tell you, girl,' Lady Luggala replied angrily. 'It is not my secret.'

'Very well, then,' Jemima retorted with equal anger. "‘I’ll go to my mother and find out. I'll go this very after­noon.' Then she flounced out of the room.

At three o'clock a hackney coach set Jemima down in front of the house in Islington. When a footman answered the door to her ring, she said, 'I am Miss Jemima Luggala and I wish to see your mistress on a matter of importance.'

The man bowed. 'You are expected, Miss.' Having taken her furs, he said, 'Be pleased to follow me,' then led her to a charmingly-furnished boudoir overlooking a small garden at the back of the house. The witch was sitting there, looking like no witch that Jemima had ever imag­ined, but a beautiful, imposing lady dressed in a flower-patterned satin gown with white lace fichus over her full breasts.

As Jemima's mouth fell open in surprise, the witch smiled and said, 'Come in, my child, and seat yourself on the other side of the fire. It is surprised you are by my appearance. No doubt you supposed me to be an evil-looking old crone. But Lucifer can prevent the appearance of lines in the faces of his votaries, which come with age in other women.'

‘I . . . ' Jemima stammered. 'I hadn't expected . . . expected to find you so beautiful.'

'It is happy I am to reciprocate the compliment, al­though I am not surprised by your good looks, for I have seen you many times in my crystal. Now look you in the mirror over the mantel.'

As Jemima obeyed, a thing by which she had already been struck was brought home to her more forcibly. Except that her black eyebrows did not quite meet over her nose and it was less arched, she was extraordinarily like her mother.

'You see now,' the witch went on, 'why I refused to allow Maureen Luggala to make you one of us.'

'You mean on account of my resemblance to you? But she told me that everyone who attends your meetings does so masked.'

'That is true. But whilst in the throes of passion, masks can slip or their strings snap. Such accidents do not occur often, yet they have been known to at times. I meant to run no risk that you would be recognised by some gallant who might afterwards talk and so perhaps spoil the plan I had made with Maureen for you to become the Countess of St. Ermins.'

'Now, by evil chance, my hopes of that are sadly jeopar­dised. Charles has secured a commission in the Guards and . ..'

'I know it, and we will talk of that anon. Let us first go into the prime reason for your coming to see me. It is the circumstances of your birth that you wish to learn and why, for all these years, Maureen has passed you off as her daughter. Now she has given it away that I am your real mother, I see no point in concealing from you how that came about.'

‘I thank you . . . Mama. I have wondered about my parentage ever since, by another slip, Lady Luggala re­vealed to me that I was not her daughter. It occurred when she caught me out in my first affair. The youth was handsome and merry, but only a stable boy. She re­proached me angrily, not so much for the act as for my choice of a lover, declaring that my lack of good breeding showed in it, for no daughter of hers would have allowed herself to be seduced by a menial.'

The witch laughed. 'My dear, like many a woman of her class, Maureen is a stupid snob. 'Tis a man's physique and mentality that matter, not his blood. But she was right in that you cannot claim yours to be blue, for I was born out of a slut in a Dublin slum.'

'How came it then that you were able to foist me off on Lady Luggala as her daughter?'

'My grandmother was a follower of the Old God and learned in the secret rituals. When I was still quite young, she came from her home in the country to live in Dublin, and passed on to me much of her wisdom. That enabled me to transform myself from a child of the gutter into a seemly young woman, and secure a post as Maureen's lady's maid. By various means I was already able to fore­tell the future, and she was greatly intrigued by predic­tions I made for her coming to, pass. They were mostly in connection with men whom she was eager to have as lovers. You must know her well enough to be aware that she is almost obsessed by thoughts of cooling the heat that generates between her thighs. A time came when I induced her to come with me to a meeting of my coven, where I promised that a spell could be put upon a young man she desired but who had so far rejected her advances. The spell had the desired effect, and she became a member of the coven. From then onwards it was in my power she was, because she knew that did she threaten me I could have her denounced as a witch. Then, without involving me, my associates could have brought enough evidence to have had her hanged.'

At the revelation of this terrible blackmail, Jemima paled a little, but she listened eagerly as the witch went on:

'It was about that time that both Maureen and I con­ceived. She desired a child, hoping that it would be a male and provide an heir for her husband, Sir Finigal. I could have rid myself of mine, but had no wish to, because I was in love with the man by whom I had become preg­nant. Maureen gave birth five days before I did. She, of course, had her child in her lovely bedroom with me, a midwife and a doctor fussing round her. I had you in my ill-furnished upstairs room, without anyone in the house­hold knowing. But Maureen, being aware that my time was approaching, had agreed to engage my grandmother as a temporary sewing woman. She looked after me and by her arts rendered the birth almost painless.

'That night I carried you down to Maureen's room and, while she slept, put you in her baby's cradle. Next morn­ing she was amazed to find that the child she believed to be hers had grown and changed from fair to dark, so I had to tell her what I had done. Naturally, it was very angry she was, but she dared not reveal the substitution from fear that I would have a curse put on her, or worse.'

'But did not Sir Finigal notice the difference in appear­ance of his lady's child after you had changed it for my­self?' Jemima asked.

'He was not there to do so. He had died some weeks earlier after being thrown from his horse in the hunting field.'

'And what became of Lady Luggala's infant?'

With a smile the witch drew a slim finger slowly across her throat. 'My grandmother took it away. To achieve some things the personal intervention of Lucifer is required. That entails a Black Mass and the offering up of the blood of a newly-bom babe. The two infants might have been born as much as a month apart. Others than jnyself could have been prevented from seeing at close quarters the child in Maureen's room, but not Sir Finigal. For the deception to succeed he had to be disposed of. My grandmother had promised to offer up an infant in pay­ment for his death.'

Jemima felt her spine creep and stammered, 'Then ...

then you ... you agreed that she should use her powers to kill my father?'

Her question was answered with a shrug. 'Child, any­one who seeks the power to ensure that all his wishes in life are fulfilled must put his scruples behind him. The mite was too young to realise what happened to it and, in any case, Sir Finigal was not your father.'

'Was he not?' Jemima exclaimed in surprise. 'Lady Luggala has often spoken to me of him as an insatiable lecher. She once said that when he had tired of her he could not keep his hands from under the petticoats of any new maid who had been in the house more than a week. I am amazed that he did not invade the bedroom of a girl as lovely as yourself.'

'Oh, he did. He had me many a time, but it was not by him that I became pregnant.'

'I see. The reason for substituting your own child for Lady Luggala's is obvious, and I am deeply grateful to you. Had you not, I might well now be a servant girl instead of a society belle. But it surprises me to learn that neither of my parents was of gentle blood; that is, unless the man who begot me on you was of the Dublin aris­tocracy.'

'Fie, fie, girl! I see you have imbibed something of Maureen's snobbery. That you have health and good looks is all that counts, no matter where they came from. But, if you set a value on lineage, you may well be proud, for in your veins runs some of the noblest blood in all Ire­land.'

'It was then an Irish noble who sired me?'

'Nay. 'Twas no empty-headed lordling, but a hero whose efforts to liberate our people cost him his life. No lesser man than Wolfe Tone.'

'Wolfe Tone!' Jemima cried, her blue eyes lighting up.

'Then I am proud indeed. He was the greatest patriot of them all.'

'Child, you never spoke a truer word. A genius he was and had the heart of a lion, yet tender and gay. He was {he very darling of a boy. Do you know much of him other than that he died for Ireland ?'

'Only that he aroused in our people a great enthu­siasm for the cause, came over with the French in an attempt to liberate us, was captured by the brutal English and, rather than allow himself to be hanged, cut his own throat while in prison. But that I am his daughter makes me impatient to hear all you can tell me of him.'

"Twas in the winter of '90/91 that I first met him. Rising twenty-eight he was then and already a well-known figure in Dublin. At both Mr. Greig's school and later at Trinity College he had been incorrigibly idle, yet he seemed to acquire knowledge as lesser men breathe in air. In the middle of the eighties he eloped with and mar­ried a girl of fifteen called Matilda Witherington. Martha he called her, but had not enough money to keep her, so they had to live with her family. Finding that insupport­able, he went off to London and became a student-at-law in the Middle Temple. There he loafed again until he became reconciled to his father-in-law, returned to Dublin and in '89 took his degree of L.L.B. He practised as a barrister for a while on the Leinster circuit, but he detested the law and threw himself into politics.

'In 1790 there occurred the affair of Nootka Sound, about which I doubt you have ever heard. The place was a sheltered anchorage thousands of miles away on the Pacific coast of Canada. Both Spain and England claimed it and came to the verge of war. Wolfe's pamphlet on the subject, published under the name of "Hibernicus", first drew the attention of other patriots to him. In it he argued that Ireland was not bound by any declaration of war on the part of England, and ought to insist on remaining neutral.

'It was during the following winter that we secretly became lovers. I conceived so great a passion for him that I ceased to go with any other men and, when I knew myself to have become pregnant by him, refused to let my grandmother abort me. My greatest regret is that I failed to persuade Wolfe to join my grandmother's coven, for had he done so we could have invoked power to further his projects and protect him personally. It was no case of his being a bigoted Catholic. On the contrary, his secret intention was, when Ireland had become free, to work for a general revolt against all Christian creeds; although, in order to first achieve political freedom, he strove to unite Catholics and Protestants. His rejection of my pleas was due to the fact that he was fully occupied in forming a club with William Drennan, Peter Burrowes, Thomas Addis Emmet and other patriots.

'The news of the success of the French Revolution enor­mously increased the urge among our people to throw off the yoke of England—especially among the Scottish Pres­byterians in northern Ireland. On July 14th they celebrated in Belfast with great rejoicing the anniversary of the fall of the Bastille. It was then that Wolfe issued his great manifesto, which ran, "My objects are to sub­vert the tyranny of our execrable government, to break the connection with England, the never-failing source of all our political evils, and to assert the independence of my country" And, although himself nominally a Catholic, he had the honour of being elected an honorary member of the first company of the Belfast Green Volunteers. It was in Belfast, too, that he assisted in the formation of a union of Irishmen of every religious persuasion; then he returned to Dublin and, with James Tandy, founded the club of United Irishmen, which became the mainspring of all endeavours to achieve the Republican principles of liberty and equality.

'All over Ireland there were demonstrations against the English but, by '94, Wolfe and his friends realised that if our tyrants were to be overthrown armed help was needed from France. He prepared a memorandum declar­ing Ireland ripe for revolution, which was to have been taken to Paris by the Reverend William Jackson, but Jack­son was caught, tried as a traitor and died in prison. Wolfe then emigrated to the United States and in Philadelphia secured from the French Minister there an introduction to the Committee of Public Safety which then ruled Revo­lutionary France. Although he could speak hardly a word of French, he convinced the famous Carnot, who was Minister for War, that, given armed support, a rebellion by the Irish would prove successful, and Ireland could then be made a base for the invasion of England.

'General Hoche was nominated by the Directory to command the expedition, and Wolfe given a commision as Adjutant-General. The preparations met with long delays, but at length, in December '96, they sailed with forty-three ships and fourteen thousand men. Alas, those delays brought ruin to our hopes. Mid-winter tempests four times dispersed the fleet, and it straggled back to Brest.

'It was not until '98 that another attempt was made. In May of that year the Wexford insurrection took place, and Wolfe used the news of it to re-arouse French interest in Ireland. General Bonaparte had sailed to Egypt with the finest regiments of the French Army and the greater part of the French Navy, so Wolfe could be given only inferior ships and a few thousand men. Again misfortune befell our hero. The expedition arrived off Lough Swilly early in October but, before the troops could be landed, a powerful English squadron arrived on the scene. Wolfe commanded one of the batteries in his ship and fought it for four hours most gallantly; but she was then forced to surrender and he, with the other survivors, was made prisoner.

'He was taken to Dublin, tried and condemned to death by his enemies. As an officer in the French Army, wearing the uniform of that country, he insisted on his right to be shot; but the vindictive English decreed that he should be hanged as a traitor. Rather than suffer such a disgrace, he took his own life. So ended the life of the valiant man who, for a brief season, I was privileged to have as a lover and whose daughter you are.'

The account of Wolfe Tone's ceaseless endeavours to free his country had brought Jemima to tears. Dabbing at her fine eyes with a wisp of handkerchief, she mur­mured. 'Thank you, dear mother, for revealing to me that my father was so splendid a man. How I wish I had had the opportunity to throw myself at his feet in admiration, and aid him in some way.'

The beautiful witch smiled. 'Although it is long dead that he is, you aid the cause for which he died. As indeed I have done for many years. France still remains Ireland's only hope, and may yet free our people. In his ill-starred attempt to conquer Russia, the Emperor lost a great army, but I know him to be back in Paris and, with his bound­less energy, now raising another army. The coming sum­mer may well see a revival of his fortunes and the defeat of his enemies on the Continent. We must continue to aid him by sending to Paris all the intelligence we can glean of England's plans and resources. You are well placed for such work and, through Maureen, have sent me many useful items of information. Monsignor Damien was prais­ing your efforts only a week ago.'

'Monsignor Damien? Who is he?' Jemima asked with quick interest.

'I first met him in Ireland some years ago, and brought him to England with me. He is a Frenchman who came over to escape the Terror, and was later unfrocked for insufflating pretty women who came to his confessional, in order to seduce them.'

'Insufflating. What is that?'

'Breathing upon them. The practice arouses sexual desire. When I learned of this I decided that he might be the very man to act as High Priest for me, and he readily agreed. He already had contacts with the French in Dub­lin, through whom he was sending information, and has since made contact with a Dutchman, through whom we correspond with Paris.'

' After a moment's silence, Jemima said, 'Tell me now, dear mother, can you aid me in the matter of Charles St. Ermins?'

'The Powers help those who help themselves. He is an honourable young man. If you could seduce him . . .'

Jemima shook her head. 'In the limited time I have at my disposal, 'tis most unlikely that an occasion will arise when I'd have the chance.'

'Then you must procure something for me impregnated with his essence.'

'Lady Luggala suggested a snippet of his pubic hair, but I can think of no means of procuring it. We are not sufficiently intimate for me to request it of him without his thinking me immoderately immodest, and so unfitted to become his wife.'

'True; and to give him any such idea would be fatal to our plans. Nail parings or a handkerchief he had used would have no such suggestive association, but are second best. Even something he has worn could be used by me to cast a spell of sorts upon him. But something impregnated with his emanations I must have if I am to aid you. Eager as I am to help you, child, I must leave it to your ingen­uity to get possession of some such thing and bring it to me.'

For another hour the mother and daughter talked on. They had not only the features but minds that had much in common, so they delighted in each other, and when they parted it was with expressions of deep affection.

One week later Jemima came to the witch's house again. She had seen Charles only twice since her last visit, as their mutual attraction had not reached a point of meeting in secret. Much as Jemima would have welcomed an afternoon drive alone with Charles, it was for the man to suggest any such rendezvous, and Charles had done no more than pay special attention to her in society, express his admiration for her and, on several occasions, embrace and snatch kisses from her when sitting out in secluded corners during dances.

But the previous night Lady Luggala had given a rout at her house in Soho Square. On the excuse of giving Charles some Irish linen handkerchiefs to take away with him, Jemima had got him up to her boudoir. She had hoped that he would take the opportunity to seduce her there, but his code forbade him to go so far with a young lady of breeding; so they had got no further than a pas­sionate session on a sofa, which had left them both pant­ing.

Having failed to entrap her quarry to a point where she could afterwards say to him with starry-eyed inno­cence, 'Charles, my love, we must let my mother and yours know that we are now engaged,' Jemima had had to resort to her second string. When they had got back their breath, she said with a deep sigh :

'Charles, I am desolate at your going away. I shall miss you most terribly. I pray you, give me something of yours that I may treasure in your absence.'

'I'll do so willingly, sweet Jemima,' he replied. 'But what?'

After a moment's apparent thought, she exclaimed, 'I have it! Let me cut off a lock of your dark hair. I'll put it in a locket, then wear it between my breasts at night and dream of you.'

Pleased and flattered to find her feeling for him deeper than that he had aroused in his other flirts, Charles readily agreed. Then, as they would not be seeing each other again before he left two days later, they embraced again in affectionate farewell.

The following afternoon, when Jemima related to her mother all that had taken place, and produced a small, enamelled box in which reposed a dark curl snipped from the back of Charles's head, the witch took it and said :

'In the circumstances, you have done well, my daugh­ter. Were this his pubic hair, mingled with some of yours, I could bind him to you. That I cannot now do. But at least I can use this hair for his protection, so that he is neither killed nor injured while he is at the war. While there 'tis most unlikely that he will meet with anyone he wishes to marry; so, on his return, you will have another chance to make him yours. Come here again late tomor­row night; by then I will have kneaded his hair into wax and formed a puppet of it upon which we will perform a magic'

When Jemima came again to the house, her mother showed her a wax figure, about nine inches high. Etched down the back was the name, Charles St. Ermins. They

talked affectionately for some time while drinking a bottle of wine, then, a little before midnight, the witch took Jemima down to the temple.

It was lit as it had been for the New Year's Eve meet­ing. But in front of the altar there stood, instead of the curiously-shaped stool, a brazier filled with glowing coals, above which was an iron pan on a tripod. Both women stripped themselves naked, then performed certain curious rites that included the use of a leather phallus.

The witch then set the wax puppet upright in the iron pan and, while it melted, recited an invocation to the figure of Bast. The intention was to preserve Jemima's image in Charles's mind, and give him protection from all the normal hazards of war: from, sword^ lance, pike and bayonet, from lead bullets, fragments of iron cannon balls and explosions.

But they failed to include rope, and by rope a man may be hanged.

6

The End of the Road

On February 28th Roger and Mary landed in New York. For him, having all his life been a bad sailor, the voyage had been one of almost unmitigated misery. Sometimes for days on end the winter storms had churned the ocean into great masses of water, seeming mountain-high, that threatened to engulf the ship as easily as a whale swallows a herring. For hour after hour she slithered up the long green slopes until the crests of huge waves broke over her, then plunged at terrifying speed down into watery valleys. While she ran, often with bare masts and hatches battened down, before such storms, Roger rolled, sick and weak, on his narrow berth in the little cabin.

During the worst storms Mary had also been seasick, but she proved the better sailor and had tended him most of the time like a ministering angel. On days when the weather was less inclement she bullied him into stagger­ing up on deck to exchange the stuffy air of the cabin for freezing wind and sometimes driving rain. On such occa­sions Silas van Wyck helped her with him and at other times, when Roger could not be persuaded to leave the cabin, gave her his arm on the heaving deck and proved a most pleasant companion.

For most of the time Roger had eaten very little and, when he did feel well enough to join the others at table, he found the fare meagre and unappetising. This was because the ship had not been provisioned for an Atlantic crossing, so during the last weeks of the voyage both pas­sengers and crew had to make do mainly on weevilly bis­cuits and brackish water.

Added to these discomforts Roger was greatly worried about what would happen to Mary and himself when they reached America. His expenses in getting out of Russia and while in Stockholm had sadly reduced the consider­able sum he normally carried on him when abroad. In his money belt he had now only a dozen gold pieces and the little wash-leather bag containing a few small diamonds that he always kept there against emergencies. But how long would such slender resources last? And, above all, how could he and Mary possibly get home from a country at war with Britain ?

During a spell of bitter weather, a few days before they sighted land, Roger had talked over his problems with van Wyck, and the friendly American merchant had proved most helpful. He could offer no suggestion about the Brooks' securing a passage back to England, but he said that his house in New York was large and comfort­able, and insisted that they should be his guests there while exploring the possibilities of recrossing the ocean. In con­sequence, when they landed at the snow-covered dock in the Hudson river, they went ashore with him.

Van Wyck had not exaggerated about his home. It was a three-storey, brownstone mansion some quarter of a mile from the tip of Manhattan Island, looking across the water to Brooklyn village. His wife and family were natur­ally surprised and delighted to see him. Mrs. van Wyck was a rosy-cheeked, buxom lady in her early forties, and there were three teenage daughters: Prudence, Guelda and Faith. While the mother made the Brooks welcome, the girls smiled at Mary and dropped curtseys, then two young negress house slaves were sent bustling off to light fires in the upstairs rooms and prepare them for the visi­tors.

An hour later they all sat down to an excellent dinner to which, after their weeks of privation, the three voyagers did ample justice. Roger had lost nearly two stone in weight, and had come ashore in very poor shape; but after this hearty meal, washed down with an ample supply of red wine followed by port, he began to feci more like his old self.

There was little to tell of the war. After the disaster to the American force under General Van Reusselaer in mid-October, winter had closed in, rendering further major land operations impossible, and it was not expected that they would be resumed until mid-April. At sea the Ameri­cans continued to harass British commerce, but the British had considerably increased their squadrons off the United States coast, and it was feared that, as the weather im­proved, the ports in the north would be as closely block­aded as those in the south already were.

Roger had had no reason to fear that while in America any restriction would be placed on his liberty, because the States were at war with Britain. It was Napoleon who, after the brief Peace of Amiens in 1803, had originated the arrest and internment of all civilians who, later, were termed 'enemy aliens'. This innovation in warfare had profoundly shocked all other nations and had been gener­ally regarded as a most barbarous infliction on thousands of harmless people. But Roger had anticipated that, al­though van Wyck had so generously offered Mary and him hospitality, owing to their being English, the majority of Americans would not conceal their bitter resentment at having had to resort to war with Britain in defence of their right to trade freely.

However, this proved far from being the case. During the next few days, having learned of van Wyck's unex­pected return, scores of his acquaintances came to call on him. When introduced to Mary and Roger, they con­doled with them on their plight, showed a warm friendli­ness and expressed the hope that they would be able to help in making the exiles' stay in New York enjoyable.

This attitude was due largely to the fact that, although some forty years earlier they had had to fight Britain to gain their independence and were now fighting her again, their sympathies were still with her in the desperate war she had for so long been waging on the Continent against the French.

Generals Lafayette and Rochambeau and numerous other French officers having come to the aid of the Ameri­cans during their revolution, had not materially altered the fact that, from the earliest times of settlement along the Eastern coast, in both the north and south, the French had been the hereditary enemy. Louis XIV had succeeded in establishing a thriving colony in New France, as Canada was first called, and another in Louisiana on the Gulf of Mexico. The former had not been conquered until fifty years earlier, when General Wolfe had scaled the heights of Abraham and defeated the Marquis de Mont­calm ; and the latter acquired by purchase from Napoleon as recently as 1803.

Roger soon learned that the New Yorkers differed greatly from the population of all other States in the Union. In the earlier part of the seventeenth century the two major British settlements in America had for many years been separated. That in the north was inhabited by the Puritan New England farmers, that in the south by the sugar and cotton growers descended from Catholic Elizabethans and Stuart cavaliers. Between them had lain Dutch and Swedish colonies, known as the New Nether­lands, which consisted of Manhattan Island and the lands adjacent to the Hudson river, and New Sweden, north of Delaware Bay.

In 1655 the Dutch had attacked and absorbed the Swedish colony. Then, in the Anglo-Dutch war of 1673, while England had suffered the indignity of having a Dutch fleet sail up the Thames, on the other side of the ocean they had conquered the New Netherlands, and its capital, New Amsterdam, had been renamed by Charles II after his brother and High Admiral, James Duke of York.

These changes in sovereignty, together with the immi­gration of Italians, Germans, Spaniards, Portuguese, Swiss and others, after their countries had been conquered by Napoleon, had resulted in New York becoming the most cosmopolitan city in America; and, when Roger arrived there, it was said that the native tongues of its citizens ran to more than sixteen languages. Very few of the popu­lation had any longer a special loyalty to any European country, as for a hundred years the Dutch had placidly accepted British rule and, after the States had achieved independence, the English who remained loyal to the Crown had emigrated to Canada. All this resulted in the New Yorkers having become almost a race apart. The same applied to the New Englanders and the Southerners for, although they had all accepted the Constitution and, as the United States, were technically one nation, as yet they were far from having coalesced into one people.

Most of the houses in the city were built of wood, and down by the Battery, on the point, there were still some narrow streets of Jacobean buildings; but further inland the streets were wider, with houses of brick or stone. To the north there was open country, with many farms and, along the bank of the Hudson, a number of mansions with extensive grounds. They could not compare in size with the stately homes of England, but they could in design, as most of them were fine examples of the best Georgian architecture.

The van Wycks took Roger and Mary to visit two of these lovely homes, which belonged to friends of theirs, and this resulted in a piece of great good fortune for Roger. The owner of one of them was Gouverneur Morris.

This distinguished American had been born in what was known as Morrisania Manor and, many years later, had purchased it from his brother. After holding several important posts in the newly-formed independent Govern­ment of the United States, in 1789 he had gone to live in France, and in '92 been appointed American Ambassador there. A born aristocrat, he favoured strong government by well-educated men of good birth. His open hostility to the revolutionaries after they had imprisoned the Royal family had led to the Convention demanding his recall. But before returning to America he had spent four years travelling in Europe, and for a considerable part of that time he had lived in London. While there he had been made a member of White's, and Roger had met him at the club on several occasions.

Mr. Morris was now a man of sixty; cynical, intelli­gent, witty and having enormous charm. Like most New Yorkers, he had been strongly opposed to this new war with England, and when he learned of the plight of the exiles he showed his sympathy in the most practical man­ner by asking Roger how he was placed for funds.

Roger promptly disclosed the slender state of his re­sources, and added that as he was unable to produce evidence that at home he was a man of substance, he could not approach anyone in New York for a substantial loan on his note of hand, even if they were prepared to wait for repayment until after the war. To this Morris replied:

'Mr. Brook, the fact that your father was a British Admiral and that you are a member of White's is security enough for me, and I should be happy to finance you to any reasonable amount.'

It was then arranged that Roger should write a letter to Hoare's Bank, inforrning them that Mr. Morris had lent him five hundred pounds and that this sum was to be repaid on presentation of the letter, together with the cur­rent rate of interest for loans from that date up to the date of presentation. Mr. Morris said that he would have the money next day, and invited the Brooks and the van Wycks to dine with him so that he could hand it over.

When Roger and Mary were in bed on the night they had received this generous assistance, he said to her:

'Mary, my love, although I have done my best to hide it from you, I know that you must have guessed how des­perately worried I have been about our situation here. If we could have got a ship to land me in any European port, either in Britain or, as the Comte de Breuc, any­where on the Continent, I could with ease have procured the money to pay our passage. But Silas van Wyck's en­quiries among his shipping friends have made it certain that no American merchant will any longer send one of his ships to sea, owing to the certain chance of her being captured by the British blockading squadron.

'That meant I would have to seek some clerical post to provide us with the means of subsistence during our virtually enforced captivity here; for we could not remain as the good van Wyck's guests indefinitely. But now, with the five hundred pounds that Gouverneur Morris has so generously lent me, an alternative is open to us. With ample money to pay our way, we could proceed north to the Canadian border and, given good luck, succeed in crossing the war zone. Then from Quebec we'd have no difficulty in securing a passage home. What say you to this project?'

'That we must embark upon it,' she replied at once. 'The war may last for years, and working as a clerk in some merchant's office would be misery for you. The loan has proved a god-send, and the sooner we set out for Canada the better.'

After a moment he said, 'Were I alone I would not hesitate to do so. But nothing could induce me to leave you behind, and such a journey would prove no light undertaking for a woman. Once past Albany you would have to face great discomfort. Further north winter con­ditions still prevail: ice on the lakes, snow, possibly bliz­zards, and uncertainty about securing even barely edible food. Added to that, when endeavouring to cross the frontier, we would be in grave danger, not only from the Americans catching us and believing us to be spies, but also from falling into the hands of a band of Indians, who might treat us with the utmost savagery.'

'No matter,' Mary declared. 'No conditions could be worse than those we faced together in Russia. Mr. Morris's loan will not last indefinitely, and it would be misery for you to earn a pittance here in some subordinate position. And still worse for me, to witness your unhappiness daily for months, perhaps for years. If you refrain from asking. Silas tomorrow to do what he can to facilitate our jour­ney to the north, then I shall do so myself. Now, either make love to me, or let us go to sleep.'

Turning over, Roger took her in his arms and mur­mured, 'My sweet, brave Mary. Since you are determined to face this venture, I'll no further labour the risks we must take, for if we do not take them we condemn our­selves to an indefinite period of dreary frustration which would be near intolerable to support.'

The following morning they told their host and hostess of their decision to try to get home by way of Canada. Silas van Wyck endeavoured to dissuade them from the attempt, stressing the difficulties and dangers they would encounter. His wife added her plea, describing the dis­comforts she had once endured during a journey of only a week in a covered wagon. But Mary replied that she had suffered far worse, and Roger added that they could travel the greater part of the way by water.

This was true, as the supply' route to the American forces on the St. Lawrence river front was due north from New York, first by way of the Hudson then across Lake Champlain, and there was a regular service of river boats up the Hudson as far as Albany.

Having failed to persuade his guests to stay on, van Wyck procured passages for them on the next boat going north, sailing on March 14th. That morning the van Wyck family accompanied them to the landing stage and, having said good-bye to these excellent friends Roger and Mary started on their long journey.

There had been settlements on both sides of the Hudson river for well over a hundred and fifty years, and there was a regular service between New York and the con­siderable town of Albany, so the boats were moderately comfortable. The passengers were mostly farmers or store keepers, some of whom were accompanied by their wives and negro slaves. There was also a group of Redskins, who had been down to New York to exchange furs for tobacco, powder for their muskets, fiery spirits and various domestic articles such as iron cooking pots.

Roger was told that the Indians were Mohawks, one of the tribes of the Five Nations that, united, were termed Iroquois. Hiawatha had been one of the founders of the Confederation, and it had the highest form of government of any Indian people north of Mexico. The group on the boat wore, beneath their furs, fringed tunics of fine deer­skin, and their moccasins were decorated with coloured beads. Their heads were closely shaved, except for the traditional scalp lock, from which a single eagle plume dangled over the left shoulder. Mary and Roger had seen a few Indians, mostly half-breeds, in New York, but they had been shoddily-dressed by-products of semi-civilisa­tion, whereas these Mohawk braves were obviously the real thing. All day they sat cross-legged, seldom speaking but passing their pipe and taking unhurried draws in turn from it. Thin-faced, with high cheekbones, hooked noses and impassive features, they presented a picture of proud independence. At night they remained on deck and slept wrapped in their bearskins.

It was very cold, but the weather was fine and the wind favourable. Every twenty miles or so the boat went along­side the wharf of a small township to disembark or take on passengers and stores; then, when she reached Albany, she berthed for the night before preparing for her return trip.

In Albany Roger and Mary stayed the night at an hotel the name of which had been given them by van Wyck. Fortunately, as it now turned out, they had bought fur coats, hats, gloves, muffs and fur-lined boots while in Stockholm, as further north it was still winter. Knowing that for part of their journey they would have to sleep rough, they went out the following morning and bought a number of things they might need, including beaver sleeping bags.

Next day they went aboard a smaller boat which would take them another forty-five miles up the river to Hudson Falls, which was the most northern point to which it was navigable. There they landed at Fort Edward, about which there had grown up a small settlement. In an open space some troops were being drilled, but otherwise there was little military activity, as the campaign was not expect­ed to open for another three weeks. Nevertheless, owing to the place being on the supply route for the operations of the previous summer, it had grown considerably and now had several large rest houses, at one of which Roger was able to secure accommodation.

The next stage of their journey entailed twenty miles overland, past Glen Falls to Fort George, which lay at the southern extremity of the lake of that name. Again the past summer's campaign made their journey easier, for what had earlier been a rough track through the wilder­ness had been greatly improved to facilitate the passage of convoys. The scenery, with its rapids, waterfalls and wooded slopes, was magnificent, but the gradients were often steep, so it took them twelve hours to do this part of their journey in a covered wagon.

A settlement had also grown up round Fort George and, at a rest house that night, Roger made enquiries of the owner about transport up the lake. Next morning the man produced two Longhunters who were going north in their canoe and willing to take two passengers for a reasonable price.

The name of one was Ben Log, the other was known as 'Shorty'. Both of them were bearded and had mops of ill-trimmed hair under caps of skin which had been shorn of the fur. They were dressed in green hunting shirts, with girdles of wampum and-breeches and leggings of buckskin, the latter laced at the sides and gartered above the'knee with deer sinews. Each had a knife and a small hatchet thrust through his girdle and, hanging from it, powder horns and pouches. The rifles they carried were very long and the barrels polished to mirror brightness.

They naturally wanted to know why the Brooks wished to go north, and Roger produced a story he had thought up in New York. Knowing that they had no means of checking up his account of himself, he said he was a carto­grapher employed by the Government to make more accu­rate maps of the country south of the St. Lawrence. To support his story he had bought a theodolite, a number of maps and a big roll of paper suitable for making others. He added, before he could be asked why he was taking his wife into the wilds with him, that he, although an expert surveyor, was a poor hand at drawing, whereas Mary had a gift for it; so she was indispensable as his assistant.

By midday, the Brooks' baggage and gear—including a bivouac that Roger bought at the local store, as they would have to camp at nights on shore—had been carried down to the canoe and, with the two Longhunters paddling in prow and stern, they set off up Lake George.

The scenery on either side was more beautiful than ever for, on the east, the Green Mountains, and on the west the Adirondacks, ran down to the shores of the long, narrow lake. For most people who normally lived in comfort the prospect of having to camp out in such bitter weather would have been highly disagreeable. But after the ter­rible weeks that Roger and Mary had spent in the icy wastes of Russia, they could face it without apprehension. There, for a great part of the time they had had to fend for themselves; here they had with them two strong men who would do all the chores. There, too, towards the end of their journey, they had been near starvation; now they had ample supplies of food with them.

For many months each year the Longhunters lived far from civilisation, so making camp was for them a long-perfected drill. With a practised eye they selected sites where canvas could be stretched between neighbouring trees at an angle that would screen the campers from the wind. The canoe had no sooner grounded than they threw out fishing lines. Jumping ashore, they swiftly collected rotten branches and, starting it with a small log soaked in resin, within a few minutes made a good fire. While Shorty set up the bivouac and brought furs, stores and cooking utensils from the canoe, Ben Log went off into the woods with his long rifle to see if he could sight a bird or game for the pot. So they ate heartily every evening while the Longhunters remained with them off a fresh-caught fish or savoury stews of venison, hare, or turkey.

At the northern end of Lake George lay the settlement of Ticonderoga. There they had to land and cross a narrow isthmus to reach the far larger Lake Champlain. A party of Indians from among those who lived in the settlement was hired to do the porterage. Four of them carried the big canoe, the others the tentage, baggage and equipment.

Roger noticed that none of them wore feathers in his hair, and Ben Log told him they were known as 'naked foreheads'—men who had failed to pass the agonising ordeals by which an Indian became a 'brave'. They were, he added, squirting out the juice of a tobacco plug he was chewing, men of the Oneides tribe, who with the Mohawks, Onondagas, Cayuga and Senecas made up the Five Nations.

As they advanced up the long lake, whenever they passed a small bay a part of which faced nearly north­ward, they noticed the ice there had not yet melted and fringed the shore. Further up it made a white line all along the coast, and the trees were still coated in snow. Several times they had to turn their fur collars up round their faces while passing through snow storms and, when they went ashore, flail their arms to warm themselves up until a fire could be got going. The Longhunters had brought a good supply of spruce—a fiery spirit—with them, and every night before settling down to sleep in their beaver robes, they all drank a good ration of it.

Occasionally they passed other canoes, manned either by befeathered Indians or bearded whites, and twice they were passed by small sailing barques carrying troops up to the front. But usually there were no other humans in sight, and nothing moved except, now and then, a fish-hawk diving on its unseen prey. For long spells the silence was broken only by the rhythmic splashing of the Longhunters⁵ paddles as they drove the canoe steadily forward.

Dusk still fell early; then, while they sat round the camp fire, the denizens of the forest awoke to go on their nightly prowl for food: coyotes barked, badgers screamed, owls hooted and wolves howled. One night a small pack of wolves, attracted by the fire, approached near enough for their yellow eyes to reflect the light. Mary gave a little cry of fright, and Roger quickly put his arm about her while, with his free hand, he pulled out one of his pistols. But the Longhunters did not even bother to pick up their rifles. Shorty plucked a burning brand from the fire, hurl­ed it at the nearest wolf and chuckled when it hit its mark. The singed beast gave a high-pitched whine and bounded away, followed by the others.

At that date the head of Lake Champlain, and the Richelieu river, which connects it with the St. Lawrence, were in Canadian territory. Roger had been greatly tempted to offer the Longhunters a good sum to take. Mary and himself as far as the border, but decided not to risk it. They were naturally posing as Americans, and as many New Yorkers had English accents, neither of the men had shown the least suspicion that they were not. But if they were given cause to think that their passengers meant to cross into Canada, they might very well guess the truth and cut up rough, which would be very awkward and dangerous.

In consequence the party landed at Plattsburg, which was about twenty miles below the frontier, and where Roger had originally hired them to take him. There was a considerable number of troops in the town, as it was the base for the northern front. In an open space a company of American troops was being drilled and, after watching for a few minutes, Roger took a very poor view of them. They were nearly all good specimens of manhood, strong-limbed and with healthy, bronzed faces; but their dress was slipshod, their movements had no snap and obviously they were recruits unused to discipline. Having spent much of his time for many years with both the French and British armies, he knew that one quarter of their number of Napoleon's Imperial Guard, the British Grenadiers or a regiment of the Line, would make mincemeat of the poor fellows.

Every foot of the original accommodation in the place was occupied, and many new huts had been built, but only as quarters for the military, so Roger and his party had to pitch camp on the edge of the town and sleep in their bivouacs. Normally the Longhunters would have gone off into the forest to shoot and trap game until they had collected as many pelts as they could carry back to

the lake and take down to Fort George for sale, but Roger now made them a handsome offer to accompany him and Mary westward as far as the St. Lawrence.

Next morning Ben Log succeeded in hiring a covered wagon with a half-breed driver. That afternoon, having loaded their tentage and freshly-bought stores, they set off on their ninety-mile trek along a trail that had develop­ed into a rough road after convoys and troops had so frequently used it.

The forest trees were still bare of leaves, but Shorty who, although uneducated, was by instinct a naturalist, told Mary that in the autumn the turning leaves made a sea of gold and pointed out to her the different barks on giant hickories, beeches, maples, black walnuts, pines and silver birches. Many of the tree trunks were overgrown with moss and others half-smothered in tangles of ivy. He warned her against the latter, as much of it was poison ivy, and a very nasty rash would have resulted from touch­ing it. Shorty could also tell the species of a bird from its cry, and quite frequently they saw jays, ravens, hawks, crows and catbirds sailing overhead.

On the fourth evening they, came to St. Regis, where the Sulpician Fathers had a mission which was part hospital and part school to which Indian Chiefs sent their sons to acquire a smattering of the white man's education. Two days later, Thursday, April 1st, they reached French Mills, now a fully-garrisoned American strongpoint with­in a short distance of the river. It had taken them nineteen days to get there from New York.

The Fort itself consisted of two square, two-storeyed block houses, with overhanging upper floors roofed with bark. These were connected by palisades made of high’ pointed and pitched stakes lashed securely together. The palisade enclosed a large area into which, in times of

trouble, settlers with their families and livestock could take refuge. It was entered by a single sally port. Now that French Mills had become a frontier post during active warfare, the palisaded enclosure was nowhere near large enough to accommodate the garrison. In consequence, a cantonment had grown up round it, consisting of long hutments for barracks, storehouses and stables. Some of the troops were being drilled and others carrying out fatigues. Among the latter were a number of Indians and, at a cookhouse, Mary noticed with interest a number of fur-clad women collecting rations.

As Roger and his party approached the sally port his heart and Mary's began to beat a little faster, for they both knew that this might prove the end of the road for them. By suffering considerable hardships and discomfort they had succeeded in getting to within a mile of the Canadian frontier. If they could now manage to get across it, they were as good as home.

But there can be many a slip 'twixt cup and lip. Roger had long since learned that Mary had a natural gift for calligraphy, and could even write in Elizabethan script: so a few days before they left New York he had bought a sheet of parchment and asked her to write on it in copper­plate what appeared to be a letter of authority from the Department of Rivers and Forests stating that he was a surveyor.

When she had done so and he was about to sign it with a fictitious name, she stopped him and said :

'Would it not be better if we could secure the Minister's signature and I forged it?'

'Forged it?' he had repeated with a frown. 'Are you really capable of doing that ?'

'Oh yes,' she laughed. 'When I was at my academy, on quite a number of occasions I earned a little money by writing essays for lazy rich girls in hands that were near enough to pass as theirs.'

‘It would certainly make the document appear valid, and so save us from dire trouble if anyone to whom we showed it chanced to know the Minister's signature. But how could we get hold of it?' He asked and she had replied.

'You must recall that I bought an autograph book while we were in Stockholm, and that several members of the Royal family were gracious enough to sign it. I could add the signature of Mr. van Wyck, and copy from the draft he gave you last night that of Gouverneur Morris. I'd take my book to the Minister, get him to sign it, then copy his signature onto this document.'

Roger had agreed to Mary's plan and the following day she had succeeded in carrying it out.

But the document's acceptance by the Commanding Officer at French Mills still entailed one very nasty risk. If at his Headquarters there were trained mapmakers, it would soon be realised that Roger was entirely ignorant about such work. Suspicion of his bona-fides would be aroused, a careful watch kept on them, which would pre­vent their crossing into Canada, and a letter of enquiry about them dispatched to New York. It would emerge that the document was a forgery and further enquiries elicit the fact that they were English. They would then be arrested and charged with having come up to the war zone as spies.

Striving to hide their apprehensions under a calm, un­concerned manner, they walked towards the Fort, eager yet fearful to learn what Fate had in store for them.

7

Disaster

A sentry, smoking a pipe, was lounging by the entrance to the sally port. Roger asked him where his commanding officer could be found. The man jerked his thumb toward the nearer of the blockhouses. 'Colonel Jason be yonder.'

Leaving the Longhunters outside, Roger and Mary entered the stockade. After further enquiries they located the Colonel in one of the buildings, sitting with another officer at a rough, plank table in a back room. It had a dirt floor, was sour-smelling and dim, the only light coming from loopholes in two of the walls. The uniforms of the two officers were dark blue serge, with dull red facings, worn and grease-stained. They were sorting through a small pile of papers, but, greatly to Roger's relief, there were no maps to be seen, or other evidence that this was a military headquarters similar to those he was accustomed to frequent in Europe.

Bowing politely, he took a paper from his pocket, handed it to the elder of the officers and said, 'My name, Sir, is Roger Brook. Permit me to present my wife. These are my credentials.'

As Mary curtseyed, the two men stood up and bowed. The Colonel, who was grey-haired, with a lined face, took the paper.

At Roger's dictation Mary had headed it, 'To whom it may concern,' then written :

⁽Mr. Roger Brook of this city is a qualified surveyor in the employ of my department, and his wife is his assistant. This is to request that every assistance shall be given to them to carry out their work and, where possible, accom­modation be provided for them/

Beneath this she had forged the signature of Andrew Stapleton—the name of the Minister concerned—then had carefully printed underneath: DEPARTMENT OF RIVERS AND FORESTS.

For a long moment they waited in acute suspense while Colonel Jason read it He then looked up and, to their immense relief, showed no suspicion that the document might be a forgery. 'Well, Mr. Brook,' he said. 'What can I do for you?'

'As you must be aware, Sir,' Roger replied, 'the maps of this remote part of New York State are most indifferent. I have been sent here to make better ones. If you can pro­vide my wife and me with accommodation we should be most grateful. And rations. For the latter I am, of course, quite willing to pay, as they will be charged to my department.'

The Colonel nodded. 'That's no great problem. The fort itself is fuller than a barrel of herrings; but, as you'll have seen, we've built scores of shacks nearby. Long huts for the men and cabins for the officers and some of the wives who've been living here witii them all winter. But now the fighting'll soon start again, several of the ladies have already left.'

With a wave of his hand toward the other officer, he added, 'This is Captain Dayho. He'll take you along and allot you quarters.'

The Brooks exchanged bows with Dayho, then thanked the Colonel. All had gone smoothly and they could now hope that within a few days they would be across the river.

The Captain, a sprightly, youngish man with bushy side-whiskers, escorted them to the sally port, where Roger presented Ben Log and Shorty to him. Accompanied by the two Longhunters, they walked for some distance through dirty slush along a path to a large clearing in which there were a score or more of cabins. Most of them were still occupied, but several had been abandoned, the wives having left and their husbands having moved into one of the long huts reserved for officers. After looking into several, Mary chose one which had been left in a cleaner condition than the others. It was furnished only with a broad, leathermesh bed on which there was a thin palliasse stuffed with straw, a rough-hewn table, several empty packing cases that could be used either to sit on or keep spare clothes in, and an iron brazier.

Smiling at Mary, Dayho said, 'Not much of a place for a lady like you, Ma'am, but it's the best we can do. There's a woodstack behind this row of cabins, from which you can collect logs for your fire, and any of the other ladies in the clearing will tell you where you can draw your rations. As you are from New York, I fear you will find social life here very dull. Colonel Jason takes the view that parties should be discouraged, as they distract his officers from their dooties.'

Turning to Roger, he went on, 'You suggested paying for your rations, Sir, but that is quite unnecessary. And we shall be happy to make you an honorary member of our Mess whenever you care to come to it. Now, if you will excuse me, I must get back, as we are exceptionally hard at it preparing for the new campaign.'

When he had left them Shorty went round to the wood­stack, collected some logs and got a fire going in the brazier, while Ben Log went to fetch the covered wagon. They unloaded all their belongings, then Roger paid off the half-breed driver.

The Longhunters realised that now Roger and Mary had been installed in the camp they would no longer need their services so, after a drink of spruce all round, the good-byes were said. Roger offered them a bonus on the sum agreed, but smilingly they refused to take it, declar­ing that it had been a privilege and a pleasure to escort such a gay and uncomplaining little lady as Mary on a trek. Not to be outdone, she kissed them both on their bearded cheeks. Then, with their long, loping stride, these two of Nature's gentlemen went on their way.

After distributing their things about the cabin and arranging it as comfortably as possible, Roger and Mary went out to make acquaintance with their nearest neigh­bours. The men were on duty with their troops and there were only a few, furclad women about. They were all of a type that Americans describe as very 'ornary', and a little over-awed by Mary's ladylike appearance, which she could not disguise; but they were pleasant and helpful about telling of the life of the camp.

That evening Roger tactfully acted on Captain Dayho's invitation to make use of the Officers' Mess, and spent an hour or so drinking with several of the members to whom Dayho introduced him. As he had expected, only the few seniors were regulars, the others being Militia and mostly farmers or storekeepers from small up-country towns. Nearly all of them wished the war soon over, as their hearts were not in it, and Roger felt sorry for them because they obviously knew next to nothing about soldiering and could not hope to stand up against equal numbers of well-disciplined British troops.

When he got back to the cabin he found that Mary had succeeded in making a stew from some venison left them by the Longhunters, but it had proved a far from pleasant task, as the only means of cooking was the brazier and there was no chimney, only a hole in the roof to let out the smoke. The cabin was half-filled with it, and her eyes were smarting painfully.

She had also had an unnerving experience when going to the woodpile for more logs. Strange noises were coming from it, and she had feared they were from some wild animal. But she had been reassured by another woman coming up, who laughed at her, then told her it was only a chipmunk and quite harmless.

Anxious to get away as soon as possible from these com­fortless conditions, they went out early the following morn-, ing, armed with Roger's theodolite and a book for making notes. On reaching the river they found, to their dis­appointment, that the bank there was a sheer cliff nearly a hundred feet deep, and that the river below was only partly frozen with, between the ice along both banks, a raging torrent caused by the melting snow.

Pretending to take observations now and then, they made their way upstream for several miles, only to find that, although dangerous-looking paths wound down the cliff here and there, at no place was it possible to cross the river. Next day they explored the territory in the oppo­site direction, but met with no better fortune. At one place there was a tangle of rocks where it would have been possible in summer to cross by scrambling from one to another, but now the rocks were half-submerged in clouds of white, foaming water cascading over them.

Their third day being a Sunday, convention prohibited them from appearing to do any work but, after attending service they went for a long walk. At dusk, tired and de­pressed, they were about to re-enter the camp when, just outside it, they came upon a group of men. In the centre was an Indian and standing round him were half a dozen soldiers. As Roger and Mary approached they saw that he was a youngish man and, by the scarlet feather that dangled from his scalp-lock, a brave. His furs had been taken from him, one of the soldiers had put a noose of rope over his head, while another threw the other end over the low branch of a big tree. Although the native was half-naked in the biting cold, and obviously about to be hanged, he stood erect and unmoving, his proud face showing no trace of fear.

Halting beside the group, Roger asked the sergeant in charge. 'Why are you about to hang this man?'

'Because 'e's a dirty spy, Sirre,' replied the N.G.O. 'We roped him in this mornin' an' we're wise to 'is tribe. 'E comes from over thar, across the river.'

Mary's heart was wrung with pity for the impassive brave, and she exclaimed to Roger, 'Can we do nothing to save him?'

Not wishing to show pity in front of the American soldiers for one of their enemies, she had spoken in French. Immediately the Indian was galvanised into speech. In the French patois that was the lingua franca of the Indians in Canada, his dark eyes flashing, he cried:

'I beg your help! I am a Christian. The rich furs you wear and those of he who is with you tell me that he is a great Chief. Beautiful lady, I implore you. I implore you do not stand by and let them take my life.'

Roger well knew that hanging was the normal penalty for any spy who was caught, but he also felt a natural pity for this brave man. Suddenly, he had had an inspira­tion, and said to the sergeant:

'As I am not one of your officers, I cannot give you an order; but I can give you a very good reason why you should not yet hang this fellow. He tells me he is a Chris­tian. As you probably know, nearly all Indian Christians in Canada have been converted by the Fathers. He is therefore a Roman Catholic. As such he naturally wishes to make confession before he dies, and receive absolution for his sins. It is only reasonable that he should be kept prisoner for a few days until one of the priests from St. Regis can be brought up here to perform the last rites for him.'

There ensued an argument between Roger and the sergeant, but one of the soldiers happened to be a Catho­lic, and broke in strongly to support Roger's contention; so it was decided that the prisoner should be taken to the fort and brought before the Commandant for his decision.

After a wait of half an hour the grey-haired Colonel Jason received them and listened to what Roger had to say. As the Colonel could speak no French and wished to interrogate the Indian, Roger acted as interpreter. It transpired that the man was a Cree Indian named Leap­ing Squirrel. He was twenty-four years old and son of a Sagamore who ruled over many lesser Chiefs. At the age of fourteen his father had sent him to the Jesuit mission at Caughnawaga, near Montreal. There he had been baptised and remained for two years, learning to read and write in French, and about the life of Jesus Christ. To prove his assertion he recited the Lord's Prayer and some passages from the Gospels.

There could be no doubt that he had been sent across the river to get some idea of the strength of the American forces in that area, so the Colonel was in no mood to show him mercy; but he did agree to grant a reprieve until a Catholic priest could be brought up from St. Regis to hear the man's confession.

Roger then said, 'That may take a week or more, Sir. In the meantime would you allow me to take charge of him? As a servant he could relieve my wife for a while of some of the menial tasks, to which she is unaccustomed. More­over, since he must know a good deal about the territory in this neighbourhood, I have no doubt that he would be willing, out of gratitude, to help me with my surveying.'

The Colonel considered for a moment. As the Brooks were supposed to be Americans, they had agreed when leaving New York that Mary should be known as Mrs. Brook instead of Lady Mary. But on his visits to the Mess Roger had casually mentioned that he had been a friend for many years of Gouverneur Morris, and named several other prominent New Yorkers he had met while a guest of the van Wycks. In consequence the Colonel had come to regard him as a man with influence, whose wishes it would be wise to humour. Looking up, he said:

'Mr. Brook, realising that your wife is a lady of quality, I should have liked to provide her with a servant. But to do so would have been unfair to the wives of my officers, who have to fend for themselves. However, I see no rea­son why you should not have the use of this man while he remains with us. In the daytime, of course, you will be armed, so could shoot him if he attempts to escape. But what of the nights? I have no other prisoners as yet, every room in the fort is occupied, and I am loath to spare men to stand guard over him in a cabin.'

Roger swiftly countered that by saying, 'If he is given back his furs, Sir, he is used to sleeping in the open. He would be as much a prisoner if he dosses down within the compound as he would be in a cell, for without help he could not possibly climb out over the palisade.'

So the matter was settled. The thongs that bound the Indian's hands behind his back were cut, upon which he knelt down before Mary and kissed the hem of her fur robe in gratitude. His furs were brought to him and, as night had now fallen, a soldier took him to a place along­side the palisade where he could sleep. Then Roger and Mary returned to their cabin to eat a cold supper.

Next morning they collected Leaping Squirrel from the compound, gave him the theodolite to carry and set off on their daily walk along the cliff. When they had covered a couple of miles, Roger pointed to a small mound from which anyone approaching could be seen from a distance, and said, 'Now, let's sit down there and talk.'

When they were all seated, he addressed Leaping Squirrel in French. 'You realise that, within a week at most, one of the Fathers will have come up from St. Regis, and that when you have made your confession there will be no way in which you can secure a further respite from being hanged?'

The Indian gravely inclined his head. ‘I accept that. Leaping Squirrel was told before he started on the trail that if he fell into a snare his end would be as that of a robbing stoat dangling from a tree. To you, noble ones of the Americani, Leaping Squirrel is grateful for these few extra days of life.'

'We are not Americani,' said Roger quietly. 'My wife and I are Englesi.'

The dark eyes of the Indian suddenly lit up. 'Then Leaping Squirrel is not the enemy of the noble ones, but their little brother.'

Roger nodded. 'Yes. We three are as one people. My wife and I are very anxious to get to Canada, but we can­not find a way to cross the river. By showing us a way you can not only earn our gratitude, but save your own life.'

No longer impassive, the Indian spread wide his hands, bowed his fine head then exclaimed joyfully, 'Noble ones, the Lord Jesus sent you to Leaping Squirrel. You are to him as the hand of the Father when He held it over Daniel in the lion's den. Leaping Squirrel will lead you to Canada. But the trail is long. Three sleeps from here. No, four or more for the tender feet of the gracious lady, be­fore we can cross the rushing water.'

'No matter,' Roger smiled. 'And the sooner we are on our way, the better. We will start tonight.'

The Indian's face fell. 'How is that possible, noble one? Leaping Squirrel is a captive. He sleeps within the stockade.'

'We will get you out. It means running a certain risk, but with a little luck it can be done. Fortunately, the moon is in its last quarter, so the stockade will be in semi-dark­ness; and you must pick a place in which to sleep where the shadow from one of the blockhouses will conceal you. I'll then throw a rope over to you so that you can haul yourself up and get over the palisade.'

'But what then, noble one? When it is found that Leap­ing Squirrel has escaped, Indian trackers will be sent after him. Given a few hours' start, he could outdistance them. What, though, of the gracious lady? She could not travel at such speed. After our first sleep, at best our second, they would catch up with us.'

That most unpleasant possibility had not occurred to Roger. As he looked anxiously at Mary, she said:

'It is a chance we must take. Unless we do, in a few days' time a priest will arrive from St. Regis to hear Leap­ing Squirrel's confession, and then he will be hanged. Be­sides, I am stronger than I look.'

Roger smiled. 'That's true, my love; and you are right about Leaping Squirrel. If we can get a good start, we should be able to throw any trackers off our scent. There is also the fact that, without a guide, the possibility of our getting across the river seems very slender. I think we should risk it.'

Having taken this decision, they left the mound and went into a nearby neck of the woods, with the object of sleeping through the afternoon, so that they would be able to travel all night without needing to rest. Leaping Squirrel gathered some young branches of sassafras to make a couch for Mary, then they settled down.

Early in the evening, filled with suppressed excitement, ~ they returned to camp. While Mary went to the cabin to cook supper, Roger accompanied Leaping Squirrel into the stockade, and the Indian indicated the spot against the palisade where he would lie in his furs when night came. Roger, while apparently looking uncon­cernedly about him, counted the number of posts in the palisade from the spot chosen to the south-west corner. Walking out through the sally port he again counted the posts up to the same number, picked up a large stone and put it against the post, so that he could find it easily again; then he went to the Mess, bought a bottle of brandy, had his usual evening drink there, and afterwards rejoined Mary.

When they had had their meal, they packed all the belongings they felt they could not do without, and such food as Mary had been able to get hold of, into two bundles in the canvas of the bivouac under which they had slept on the way up to Fort George; but Roger had first tied the greater part of the ropes by which it was pegged out into one lengh of about eighteen feet.

Having completed these preparations, they had to wait with such patience as they could muster until the hour that had been agreed for Leaping Squirrel's rescue. For­tunately, the garrison at French Mills kept early hours.

One by one the lights in the other cabins went out, then they doused theirs and sat on the hard bed, with their arms about each other, occasionally kissing or talking in low voices. The time of waiting seemed interminable, although they had decided that, to get as long a start as possible, they would make the attempt as soon as it could reason­ably be assumed that the officers and men who lived in the stockade were asleep. At length, at about eleven o'clock, Roger felt that they must risk everything to carry out their plan.

Each of them took a bundle and Roger, in addition, threw over his shoulder the rope he had made and the straw palliasse from the bed. Walking as quietly as they could, they made their way along the track through the wood until it ended a hundred yards or so from the fort. There, in the shadow of the last trees, Roger left Mary with the two bundles and continued on toward the stockade.

Since the river bank for several miles on either side of the fort was a high cliff, it was almost impossible to take French Mills by surprise, so no sentries were posted, except for one man inside the now closed sally port, and he was stationed there only to open it in the event of a despatch rider arriving during the night. Taking care not to tread on any small fallen branches, Roger advanced until he reached the large stone he had left outside the palisade. There he took from his pocket a whistle made from the wing bone of a turkey, which Leaping Squirrel had given him to signal with. He blew gently on it, so that the sound should not be audible at a distance of more than a dozen paces. It was answered from the other side of the palisade by the low hoot of an owl.

Standing well back, Roger threw the straw palliasse up so that it landed on the spikes of the eight-foot-high stakes forming the palisade. He threw after it one end of the rope, then tied the other end round his waist, so that he could take a strain upon it. A moment later it became taut and he caught the sound of a faint scram­bling noise, then Leaping Squirrel's head appeared above the mattress. Wriggling over it, he slid down to Roger's side.

Five minutes later they were with Mary. The two men took the bundles and, in Indian file with Leaping Squirrel leading, they set off, three silent shadows, into the almost dark woods.

For about two hours the moon, filtering through the bare branches of the trees, continued to give them just enough light to see their way. By the time it set they were sufficiently distant from the camp for there to be no risk of their being seen on the open ground along the cliffs by any restless person who had left his quarters to go for a midnight stroll; and, for the remainder of the night, the dim illumination from lingering patches of snow enabled them to press on without any danger of walking over the edge of the cliff. By dawn, although leaning on Roger's arm, Mary had to admit that she could not go a step further. But her dogged courage had enabled them to cover the better part of fifteen miles.

As it was unlikely that Leaping Squirrel's escape would be discovered before dawn, and after that some little time would elapse before a party of trackers could be sent in pursuit, they reckoned that their night march had given them about eight hours' start. Having rested for ten minutes every hour, Mary had been able to keep going, but Roger realised that unless fatigue should overcome her later, they must now sacrifice several hours of their lead; so he called a halt and they made camp.

At ten o'clock, after a good sleep, they roused and

Roger set about collecting sticks so that they could get a fire going and cook a meal. But Leaping Squirrel stopped him, giving the disquieting reason that they were in Mohawk country, and the smoke of a fire might be seen by an Indian out hunting. If that happened, he would fetch others, and they would be lucky if they were not scalped and killed.

Having made do on cold food, they set off again, re­-entering the forest, as the river curved away in a great arc at the place where they had slept, and Leaping Squirrel told them it would save many miles if they cut across it. After they had penetrated for some way among the trees, the Indian asked them to wait where they were for a while. He then padded to and fro, sometimes dis­appearing for several minutes; but at length he beckoned them to follow him. When they had done so for two hun­dred yards or more, he pointed to a gash about five feet up on a big tree, where the bark had been chipped away. Turning east, he walked on some distance, then pointed to a similar gash on another big tree, and told them these were the marks by which he had blazed a trail on his outward journey, so that he could easily find his way back.

Just as evening was closing in, he stopped beside one of the blazed trees which also bore a buzzard feather wedged in the bark. With a stout stick, which he had picked up an hour or so earlier, he began to dig in the earth behind the tree, and soon turned up a foot-long package. Unwrapping a covering of elk skin, he showed them a chunk of dried bear meat and some strips of pemmican. Roger was delighted at this unexpected addition to their supplies as, although they had brought all the food Mary had had in the cabin, he had feared it would not last them for more than a few days; and his pistols were useless for hunting, owing to their short range.

After eating, they slept for some hours. When they awoke, moonlight lit the glade, so they made the most of it to cover several more miles; then, when the moon set, they slept again.

Half-way through their second day's trek, Leaping Squirrel, who always led the party, suddenly halted, swung round and put his finger to his lips to enjoin silence. He then signed to them to take cover among some black­berry bushes,-which were the only low-growing vegeta­tion within sight. Reluctantly, but seeing, from the alarmed expression on the Indian's face, that danger threatened, they waded in among the long, prickly stems and crouched down among them.

For several minutes Roger and Mary could hear noth­ing, although they listened intently. Then they caught the faint sound of snapping twigs. Peering out from their hiding place they saw a dozen figures some twenty yards away. It was a party of Mohawk warriors, moving silently in single file and resembling a band of gliding spectres.

Fortunately they were heading in the direction of the river, but a good ten minutes elapsed before Leaping Squirrel signed to his companions that they might leave their cover. They emerged from the tangle of bushes with several nasty scratches, and Roger's buckskin leggings had been badly torn on a cat briar.

Roger and Mary feared that the Indians they had glimpsed were trackers sent out from French Mills. Leap­ing Squirrel reassured them that the men were a party of hunters intent on their own business, and to be avoided only because they might have proved hostile. But, he added grimly, their lead must be lessening, as they had to take much longer rests than the trackers would need, and the time had come when they must try to hide their trail by wading in a lake which he knew lay a few miles head.

That evening they came to it and, for a quarter of an hour, splashed through the bitterly cold water along its shore, entering and leaving it several times to confuse their pursuers.

Now that the danger of capture had become ominously nearer, Roger could not keep his mind off that possibility. It would certainly mean death for Leaping Squirrel. There was no way of preventing that. But what would happen to himself and Mary after they had been marched back to French Mills?

Colonel Jason could hardly have failed to connect their disappearance with Leaping Squirrel's escape on the same night. In any case, their being captured with him would be indisputable evidence of it. What, Roger wondered, was the penalty for assisting an enemy spy to escape? Al­most certainly a sentence of several months in prison. But would matters end even there? At French Mills there was no prison, so he would be sent down to Albany, or perhaps New York. A trial would also lead to an investigation of his past. It would emerge that the document stating him to be a surveyor in the employ of the Ministry of Rivers and Forests was a forgery; and, quite possibly, that he was an Englishman. The discovery of his nationality, together with the fact that he had secured a guide known to be a spy to get him over the frontier into Canada would lead to the assumption that he, too, was a spy. The pos­sible result could be, not months, but years in prison, or worse.

And what of Mary? It was hardly likely that they would imprison her. But she would be stranded. As the van Wycks knew the truth about them, they would almost certainly help her. Even so, she could not live on them indefinitely. She would have to take some dreary job in a shop, or become a dressmaker, and live in constant misery at the thought of him in prison.

It was not to be wondered at that, during their third day in the forest, Roger was constantly looking over his shoulder, and frequently tempted to force the pace. But he could not do that for, although gallant little Mary trudged doggedly on, she had now to lean on his arm for most of the time, and was fast approaching exhaustion.

At last, on the Friday, their fourth day after leaving French Mills, they emerged from the forest to see again the valley through which the St. Lawrence ran. A high cliff still prevented them from getting down to the river, but Roger heaved a great sigh of relief when Leaping Squirrel told him that within two hours they would be across it.

After walking for a little over a mile, the Indian led them to the edge of the cliff and pointed to the right. Immediately below them were rapids with water foaming between a number of big, flattish rocks, and nearer the bank several large, swirling pools. But further along the cliff was rugged and broken, where there had been a landslide, making it possible to climb down to the water, and there it was smooth.

For some minutes they gazed down at the river; then, just as they turned away, a great bald-headed eagle swooped, screeching, down upon them. Evidently its nest was below the place where they were standing on the edge of the cliff, and it feared they were about to harm its young.

Mary gave a cry of fright and swiftly backed away from the big, terrifying bird. Next second she uttered a pierc­ing scream. She had retreated too far and put a foot over

the cliff edge. Roger dashed forward, but was too late to grab her. Flinging himself flat, he looked over, praying that she might have landed on a ledge. But she had not. His eyes starting from his head, he saw her, a whirling bundle of furs, hurtling downward until, with a great splash, she hit one of the pools and disappeared.

8

News out of Portugal

It was on the evening of April 6th, while Roger and Mary were on their way with Leaping Squirrel from French Mills to the place at which the latter hoped to get them across the St. Lawrence, that a Captain John Harley of the 47th Foot delivered to Lady Luggala's residence a packet addressed to Jemima. She did not receive it until she returned from a rout soon after two o'clock in the morning.

Seeing that it was addressed in Charles's writing, Jemima bade Lady Luggala a swift goodnight, went straight up to her room and tore open the packet with eager fingers. To her delight, she found that it contained a letter several pages in length. Its opening, 'Most beauti­ful and adorable of the Sex", caused her to flush with plea­sure, and quickly she read on:

'You will, I trust, have received my missive despatched by a sloop sailing from Lisbon within a few hours of my landing, just to inform you that, although we met rough weather in the Bay of Biscay, being a good sailor I arrived none the worse for that’

Jemima had not received such a missive, but at once assumed that either it had gone astray or the sloop had been sunk. The letter continued:

'In Lisbon I spent several very pleasant days, as I had brought with me a letter of introduction to the Rt. Hon. Sir Charles Stuart, our Minister in that city; and, after reporting to the Garrison Commander I went straight to the Legation. There I was most kindly received by Sir Charles and his lady, who insisted I should be their guest until I received orders to proceed to the front.

'At two dinner parties given by the Stuarts, and other entertainments to which I was invited, I met as well as numerous British officers several Portuguese Generals and Ministers and their wives, and all cannot speak too highly of His Grace of Wellington's conduct of the campaign. And well they may, since with an army that until recently rarely numbered more than sixty thousand men, for four long years he has bedevilled the French, who at times had four hundred thousand men in the Peninsula, driven them from Portugal and has now freed half Spain.

'The Stuarts have living with them their niece, Deborah —a poor, pale hop-pole of a girl who suffers from shyness, but is a kindly creature. On two occasions I drove out, with her as my guide, to see the now famous "Lines of Torres Vedras", behind which our army remained secure during the winter of 1810-11. The earthworks and innumerable bastions in this great double line of forti­fications are of such amazing strength that no-one, having seen them, can be surprised that Marshal Massena, despite his great superiority in numbers, realised that any attempt to force them would have led to the massacre of his army. For his failure to make the attempt Bonaparte recalled and broke him. That, to my mind, was cutting off his nose to spite his face, for it is generally held that Massena was the ablest of all the French Marshals.

'It transpired that Deborah had known Uncle Roger, as he stayed here with the Stuarts during the Spring of 1811. At that time she had with her an ex-school friend, one Lady Mary Ware with whom, I gather, Uncle R had a secret affair, during which Miss D acted as their con­fidante. The last Miss D heard of Lady M was in the following autumn—that she was about to marry a wealthy merchant. Since then D's letters have been returned marked "gone from here", and I could give her no news of Uncle R, since he left England on one of his secret mis­sions some fifteen months ago.

'I need no telling how distant our war here is to people at home in England. It is scarcely even mentioned by society belles like yourself, except when news comes of some relative killed or seriously wounded. And I'll confess that I hardly gave it a thought myself except when there had been occasion to celebrate a victory. But now that I am involved, I feel you will want to know something of the situation in the Peninsula and of our prospects.

^‘It has been a grim struggle and our army would long since have been defeated and driven into the sea had it not been for the brilliance of our great commander, and the fact that the enemy had for years to hold down all but a tiny corner of Spain, and the greater part of Portugal. It is this last that, in spite of their enormous superiority in numbers, has prevented them from ever being able to bring against us in the open field a force greatly exceeding our own. And the Duke is truly inspired. Again and again, whenever he has found himself in an unfavourable posi­tion, he has had the courage to invite censure by retiring, as he has twice done from Madrid; yet, time after time when opportunity offered, he has caught the French off their guard by clever stratagems, launched a lightning attack and destroyed whole divisions of them.

'We also owe far more than people realise to the Portu­guese and the Spaniards. While behind the lines of Torres Vedras the Duke embodied and trained many regiments of the former. They are well disciplined troops and in battles since have displayed high courage. The contribu­tion by the Spaniards has been still greater, although at times their forces have proved a dubious asset.

'As at least you will know, owing to Cadiz being situ­ated at the end of a narrow eight-mile long peninsula the Spaniards succeeded in retaining that city and there formed a Junta which, after the flight of their King, assembled a Cortes that declared itself the government of Spain, and later entered into an official alliance with us. Incited by their fanatical priests, all but a very small part of the population in the north and south of Spain accepted the orders of the Junta and rose in revolt against their conquerors. Not only did they raise half a dozen armies, but also innumerable bands of fierce irregulars living in the mountains have constantly harassed the French from one end of the country to the other, cutting their communications and capturing convoys of supplies.