The Mark of the Golden Dragon Page 15

  You sure are getting a lot of information on this from your ... contacts, Doctor. Hmmm...

  "He robbed the broad highway, true, but he was searching, always searching for a way to get at either of the hated pair. As a condemned criminal, he could not call them out on the Field of Honor for neither would be required to respond to the challenge of a low felon. No, he would have to bide his time. 'Tis plain that Bliffil let his guard slip first. It was from a prostitute that Fletcher got his lead. She worked at a brothel on Carey Street, one visited often by Agent Bliffil. Apparently Bliffil enjoyed beating up the girls a bit before ... you know ... and this one girl didn't like that much, and when Fletcher found her at Ducks Inn, an especially low dive, and plied her with gin and found her connection to Bliffil, she agreed to supply the Highwayman, the very handsome Black Highwayman, with information as to Bliffil's movements."

  Jaimy, my lad, you are getting around. But that is exactly how I would go about it, so I shall not lay blame.

  "Please go on, Doctor."

  "Anyway, it came to pass that one evening this girl informed Fletcher that Bliffil, the night before and well into his cups, had boasted about an important mission he had planned for the morrow—to deliver a diplomatic pouch to a ship lying at Plymouth.

  "That was enough for Mr. Fletcher. He knew there was only one way down to Plymouth and that was directly through Blackheath. With grim determination, he knew he would be ready."

  "But how do you know...?"

  "Later, Miss. Please, let me conclude, if you will."

  "All right, Sir. Please go on."

  "Ahem. The next day, in the early afternoon, a coach came rumbling up the Blackheath Road, heading for Plymouth, not expecting trouble but vigilant all the same. Suddenly, when they rounded a turn, there was the Black Highwayman, standing bold before them on his great black horse, both pistols drawn, black cloak swirling about him.

  "'Stand and deliver!' he shouted. 'Everyone out of the coach! Quickly, if you value your lives! Coachmen, make a false move and I'll kill you where you sit.'

  "The driver and the footman did not move.

  "Timidly, two ladies got out, and then Bliffil, full of indignation, also stepped out.

  "'Do you know who I am, you blackguard? I am an agent of the British government, and you shall pay for this!'

  "The Highwayman slid out of the saddle and grinned at Bliffil. 'Oh, Sir, I know full well who you are, Mr. Bliffil. Now stand your ground, you miserable bastard.'

  "'Who...?'

  "'You know who I am. We met, you will recall, on the Dolphin. Here is a pistol. Take it and stand your ground. You shall have the first shot, and I will take the second.'

  "'What? I won't—'

  "'Here is the pistol,' said the Highwayman, tossing the gun to the ground at Bliffil's feet. 'Take it up and stand your ground, else die like the dog you are, for I will surely kill you in cold blood on your knees if you will not stand and face me like a man.'

  "Fletcher aimed his pistol at Bliffil's chest. Bliffil quivered and fell to his knees.

  "'No! No, please! I beg of you!'

  "The Highwayman sneered at the cowardly display and turned away, disgusted. Bliffil, seeing this, grabbed at the gun lying beside him and raised it...

  "'Dog, am I?' he snarled. 'We'll see about that!'

  "...and fired."

  Gasp!

  "The shot took Fletcher on the right shoulder, and he staggered forward, then slowly turned. He put his pistol in his left hand and lifted it, aiming it carefully at the crouching Bliffil.

  "'You have had the first shot, and now I will take the second.'

  "'Mercy!' cried Bliffil, his hands clasped before him.

  "'I will be merciful,' said the Highwayman Fletcher, as he pulled the trigger.

  "The pistol bucked and a neat hole appeared in Bliffil's forehead and he pitched forward into the dust.

  "'That's as merciful as I can manage right now, Mr. Bliffil,' panted Fletcher, putting his pistol back in his belt and mounting, with great difficulty, his horse. 'About as much mercy as you showed my girl. Rot in Hell, Sir. Give my regards to Satan. Assure him that a Mr. Flashby will be joining him shortly. The rest of you, adieu.'"

  I sit astounded. Oh, Jaimy, how can we get you a pardon after that?

  "With that, he was gone," concludes Dr. Sebastian. He lifts the wine beaker and pours me another glass, figuring that I need it. He is right.

  "But how ... how did you come to know all this?"

  "I am a doctor, expert at removing bullets from the flesh of foolish humans, as you well know, Miss."

  Gasp!

  "How...?"

  "It is simple. Wounded though he was, he cautiously made his way down to Plymouth to seek medical help. Had he asked in the usual ways, he would have been treated but then found out and arrested. Instead he held off till he found that the Dolphin had docked across the bay at Spithead. He hired a boat and knocked against our side, slumped over and barely conscious. I am sure he figured that he would find help there, and failing that, at least he would die among friends."

  "Then you know where he is! Please!"

  "No, I do not know. As soon as the bullet was removed and his shoulder bandaged, he struggled to his feet and staggered away, over our vehement protestations. But he did tell me the story before he left."

  I sit silent for a while ... then I rise and ask...

  "Have you told anyone at the Admiralty about your caring for Mr. Fletcher's wound?"

  "No. As I've said, I no longer have the ear of the First Lord."

  "Then they do not know for absolute sure that the Highwayman is Jaimy Fletcher?"

  "No, but I am sure that they have their suspicions."

  I think on this, then rise and say, "Thank you, Doctor, for all you have done. Now, I must go. If you would continue your efforts on our behalf, I would greatly appreciate it. Please do not tell anyone at the Admiralty about treating Jaimy's wound, if you can avoid it, as the less they know about the Highwayman's identity, the better."

  "Where will you go, Jacky?" he asks, rising to his own feet.

  "If you would handle the politics, Sir, I will contact the military, as I am more comfortable in that sphere," I answer. "And I know that if anyone is ever sent in pursuit of highwaymen, it is always soldiers, not police, and certainly not politicos. Good day, Doctor, I shall be in touch."

  The cavalrymen of the Horse Guard are done with their exercise for the day and they retreat from the field.

  It's getting toward evening, so I expect there will be no more prancing around this day. Time for the lads to hit their pubs, I'm thinking, and there's a likely looking tavern right over there. Its sign proclaims it the Spur and Stirrup, and red-coated patrons are pouring in.

  I bounce on in, a very small sailor boy amongst all these big, loud, coarse, foulmouthed, red-coated soldiers. Ah. There's an open-faced bloke at that table by himself. He looks pleasant enough. I head for him and plunk myself down.

  He looks at me quizzically.

  "What you want, swabby?"

  "I wants to buy you a drink, chappy," says I, reaching into my money belt.

  "Well, all right, pull out yer tin and put it on the table, lad, and you'll find a true friend in Private Thomas Patton."

  A barmaid comes over and I say, "A pint fer me mate 'ere and one fer me, too ... and one for 'im, too."

  Another grinning bloke has come up and sat down and asks, "What's up, Tommy?"

  "This 'ere navvy is buying us fine fellows some pints, is what," he announces.

  When the mugs come, I bury my face in the foam of my mine and say, "In returns for me kindness, maybe you can help me find a fellow soldier, one who done me a good turn, onc't."

  "Well, spit it out, boy. 'Oo is it?"

  "Have you ever heard of Captain Richard Allen of the First Dragoons?"

  "Ha! Lord Allen himself, the tyke asks after! What could you have to do wi' 'im?"

  "He ... he done a favor for me mum once."
/>
  Gales of laughter.

  "So you're lookin' fer yer daddy, are you, boy. Ha! Lord Dick, as handy with a maid as with a sword, I'll own!"

  Hmmmm...

  "I already know that, Sir"—and indeed I do—"but if you could just tell where I could find 'im?"

  "I'll wager yer mum was a pretty one, wasn't she, boy?" crows Patton, pounding the table and roaring with laughter.

  "Well, give us a song or two, and we might just tell you, Richard Junior!"

  Why not?

  I pop up and whip out my pennywhistle and do the "British Grenadier" and then sing "The Girls Along the Road" to great hilarity, and Private Patton takes me outside and points up to a window on the barracks across the way.

  "Y'see that window, lad? Well, if you see a light there tonight, then you'll know that our commanding officer, Lord Richard Allen, will be in residence."

  "Thanks, Thomas, you're a good mate, you are," I say, marking well the window and the handy drainpipe that runs down alongside it. "Now let's get back to the party!"

  Get back we do.

  I do a few more bits on the pennywhistle. Hey, might as well make some tips while I'm at it. Someone produces a fiddle and I find myself doing a full set, far into the night.

  Later, I nip outside and see with some satisfaction that there is a light in that window. I bid farewell to my new mates and I'm off.

  ***

  I wrap my hands and toes around the drainpipe and work my way up. Just after I left the Spur and Stirrup I had ducked into an alley, pulled from my kit bag my black burglar's outfit, and donned it quickly—black pants, black jersey, and black hood.

  As I get close to the window, I see that it is open, due to the mildness of the night.

  Good.

  I stick my head in and listen ... Deep breathing ... Only one set of lungs, it seems... Good.

  I step into the room and go stand next to the bed...

  Ah, Richard, it is so good to see you again.

  His sandy blond hair is spread out on the pillow, his chest bare, the sheet below spread across his hips.

  I pull off my hood and put my face close to his and sing, very low...

  There once was a troop of British Dragoons,

  Come marchin down to Fennario,

  And the Captain fell in love with a lady like a dove,

  Her name and it was pretty Jacky-O...

  His eyes pop open and look into mine.

  "Princess...?"

  "Yes, Lord Allen ... Now move over, for I am very, very tired."

  Chapter 28

  "Ummm..." I murmur as I snuggle deeper into the side of Captain Lord Richard Allen, as morning light slips into the room.

  "It is good to see you, Princess," comes his deep voice from close beside my ear. I feel my pigtail being lifted. "I note that my simple little woodland nymph has gained a new decoration on her lovely self. A nice match for the one that sits so gaily on her hip, I must say."

  "Yes, Richard, I will explain soon ... But right now I want to sleep, just a little bit more ... Mmmmzzzzzzzz."

  I do slip back into a lovely sleep, but gradually, I reluctantly come back into full consciousness. I reflect, as my senses return, that I have never before shared simple slumber with this Richard Allen as I have done with others of my acquaintance ... Jaimy ... Joseph ... Jean-Paul ... and, well, never mind.

  Hmmm ... funny, that. Oh well, chalk up yet another bedmate to my wild and wanton ways, and I must say the past night was quite pleasant. Yes, he did kiss me and I did kiss him back, but then I did fall asleep in his fond embrace and awakened only now in that same warm entanglement of arms and legs and nearness of bodies... ummmm. And he was gentleman enough not to disturb my rest with any more questions ... or other advances of an amorous nature ... or I don't think he did ... I dunno ... I was out like a light.

  Fully awake now, I feel him rise above me, resting on an elbow and gazing down. I think he means to kiss me, but, no, it is not that ... Instead, my brow feels the touch of a gentle hand that is placed upon my smooth and shaven head.

  "Ummm. It is very warm," he says.

  "Aye, Richard," I say, looking up from under his hand. "I suspect it is"—as that is exactly the same comment other males have made when they have laid their hand to my shaven brow—"but there is work to be done."

  I throw back the sheets and rise. Yawning, I stretch and grab for my kit bag.

  "And what work is that, Princess, other than getting you out of those rather snug-fitting clothes?" says Allen, leaning back against his pillow, arms crossed over his head and looking at me with some appreciation.

  "The job of rescuing Mr. James Emerson Fletcher from the gallows, and from himself, is what."

  "Oh, him again," he says, also rising from the bed. "I had hoped that the primary object of your love and affection had gone off somewhere very remote."

  "No, I suspect he has gone off only as far as Blackheath Moor and is in great danger of doing himself harm. Turn around and let me change, and then I shall tell you all about it."

  "Tsk, Prettybottom, why so suddenly shy? I would remind you, Princess, that I have on at least two separate occasions seen you in the lovely altogether."

  I work up a blush on that.

  "Yes, well, that might be true, milord, but those times are past and this is now."

  "Oh, very well. There is a washroom through that door. I shall call down for breakfast."

  "Sounds good, milord," I say, as I duck into the privy.

  Hmmm ... Good ...a washbasin, a pitcher of clean water ... chamber pot ... soap...

  I get down to it—strip off burglar gear, do necessaries, wash face and parts, run soapy finger over my teeth, work up some froth and spit into basin.

  I notice a bottle with a fancy curlicued label on it—Fariña Eau de Cologne—so I uncork it to give it a bit of a sniff. It smells wondrous good—very much like lemons and limes—so I spread some about the Faber frame ... Some here, and some ... there.

  Outside, I hear Richard speaking to someone, probably his orderly.

  Then I slide back into my sailor togs, thrust cap back on head, empty basin into chamber pot, and go back out. Breakfast does sound good, especially in the company of my very handsome and gallant Lord Richard Allen, who I see has now donned a red dressing gown.

  He laughs when he sees me emerge, dressed as a Dolphin's ship's boy.

  "Oh, Princess, you are such a delight!" he says, coming to me and putting his hands upon my shoulders. He looks me over, continuing to chuckle. "However, when my man brings up our breakfast, if you could just duck behind that dressing screen there?"

  "Oh?"

  "Yes, dear, it would not do my reputation any good should it be found out that I had entertained a sailor boy overnight in my digs, now would it?"

  "Why, Richard, I am surprised that the black sheep of the Allen family would care about what anyone thought," I tease, my feet doing a little sailor boy jig. "Besides, from what I hear from your men, your reputation as a ... swordsman ... is quite secure, you dog."

  "And where did you hear that?"

  "From your men, last night—Patton and Jiggs," I simper. "How else could I find out where you lived?"

  "Damned loose-lipped scoundrels! Suppose—"

  "Now, Richard," I purr. "Do not be too hard on your lads. After all, you do know that I have my ways."

  He chuckles at that. "Oh, yes, you do, Princess, you certainly do."

  He puts on a quizzical look and sniffs at the air, nods, and then wraps his arm around my waist, putting his face to my neck and inhaling even more deeply. "And I do believe my cologne smells better on you than on me."

  "I would not be so sure of that, Lord Richard," I purr.

  There is a knock on an outside door and I retreat behind the screen. Presently, I hear the sound of silverware being placed on a table and I figure I'll add to Richard's ... standing ... in the male community.

  I take out my burglar pants and flip them across the top edge of
the screen, figuring they'll look like any pair of black stockings, if one does not look too close, and then I start to sing, in a high, very feminine voice.

  Oh, Richard is my darling,

  My darling, my darling,

  Yes, Richard is my darling,

  My bold Gren-a-dier!

  That oughta take care of milord Allen's precious reputation, I'll own.

  Presently, my host calls me back out.

  "That was choice, Princess, well done," he says. There is a table set, and he pulls out a chair for me and waves me to it.

  "Think nothing of it, Lord Dick," says I, sitting down and surveying the spread—eggs, bacon, toast, butter, marmalade, kippers, and a pot of hot coffee. "Let's get down to it."

  As we eat, I tell him the story of what has befallen me and mine since last he saw me at my trial in the Old Bailey...

  "...and thank you so much for standing up for me at that awful trial, when I was in such distress."

  "I don't think you really needed any help after all, seeing that Princess Prettytail has that precious bottom warming the seat of my unworthy chair right now."

  "Oh, no, Richard, if you and Captain Hudson had not used your influence, I am sure I would have been hanged."

  "Oh, well, thanks accepted. Go on..."

  ...and over to Bombay and down the Straits of Malacca to Australia ... the Lorelei Lee and the mutiny on the Cerberus... and Cheng Shih and the Divine Wind and Chopstick Charlie and the treasure of the Orient and ... and ... and ... until I finally washed back up on Britannia's shore ... only to hear of Jaimy Fletcher's new profession.

  "Quite a story, Princess," he says, mulling it all over. "Here, have some more coffee, sweet one, and tell me about Mr. Fletcher."

  I accept another cup and proceed to recount what Dr. Sebastian had told me.