Evil in a Mask (48 page)

The next day Roger could settle to nothing. The hours seemed to drag interminably. At last dusk fell. He supped, as usual, in the coffee room. Another two hours crept by, while the other inmates of the place went to bed. The inn fell silent. Having left in an envelope enough money to settle his score, he crept down the back stairs and let himself out into the yard.

After supper he had ordered Mobo to saddle his horse, and another that he had hired from Philippe that afternoon, then take them out and walk them quietly up and down at the far end of the big, barren square. Slaves normally never asked questions, and were used to exercising infinite patience; so he was confident that, even if Mobo were left walking the horses for four or five hours, he would continue to do so until his master appeared. Actually he had been out there for only a little over two hours when Roger joined him, took over the horses and told him to remain near the fountain until he returned.

At an easy pace he rode out to the house. There was a quarter moon, which gave more light than he could have wished for;
but it was not yet high in the sky, so the trees threw big patches of shadow, of which he took advantage wherever it was possible. In the outskirts of the city nothing was moving, and the silence was broken only by the croaking of the tree frogs. Without incident, he reached the back of the big barn, tied the reins of his horses to a nearby tree and, going round to the front of the barn, found Baob waiting there for him.

Together, making as little noise as possible, they got out the big ladder, carried it across the yard and set it up under Lisala's window. Roger took from his pocket a small bag containing the guineas he had promised the big Negro as the first instalment of his bribe. Baob murmured his thanks, kissed Roger's hand and took the money.

Roger then mounted the ladder. Lisala's window, like all the others in the house, was in darkness; but it was open. Immediately he tapped on the upper pane, the curtains parted and she threw her arms round his neck. After a prolonged kiss he whispered, ‘Give me your valise and I'll take it down; then I'll come back for you.'

As he spoke, he felt the ladder suddenly shift beneath him. Another moment and it was wrenched away to fall sideways with a crash in the yard. Wildly Roger clutched at the window-sill. Dangling there, he heard Baob shout:

‘Thieves! Thieves! A man is breaking into the
Senhorita
's room!'

At that awful moment, as Roger clung to the sill of Lisala's window, the question that flashed through his mind was: Why should Baob have betrayed him? By doing so, the herculean Negro had nothing to gain. On the contrary, he was throwing away twenty-five pieces of gold—more than he could have earned, had he been a free man, by a year's hard work.

But this was no time for idle speculation. Tensing his muscles, Roger heaved himself up, threw his body across the window-sill, then clambered, breathless, into the room. Baob was still shouting, ‘Thieves! Thieves!' and, by now, his shouts had roused the household. From the next room there came the sound of a creaking bed, then the opening and slamming of a door.

Lisala, staring wide-eyed at Roger, gasped, ‘Holy Virgin! What are we to do?'

Roger drew his sword. His blue eyes were blazing with anger and his lips were drawn back, showing his teeth in a snarl. ‘Fight our way out. 'Tis our only chance. Otherwise this means death for me and a living death in a convent for you. Can I but get at that treacherous slave, I'll cut his testicles off and ram them down his throat.'

He was still speaking when the door was flung open and Dona Christina burst into the room. Her hair was in curlers and her flabby cheeks unrouged. Without corsets, her breasts sagged beneath her hastily-donned dressing gown, giving her, with her broad bottom, a grotesque pear-shaped appearance. The moonlight was just sufficient for her to recognise Roger. At the sight of him her mouth fell open and her eyes bulged.

Lisala was standing several feet nearer the door than Roger.
With the ferocity of a tigress, she flung herself on the old woman, clawing at her face. Screaming, the duenna backed away, tripped and fell. In one spring, Lisala went down on top of her and pounded at her face, yelling:

‘I hate you! I hate you! You sanctimonious old cow! For spying on me all these years, take that … and that … and that!'

Stooping, Roger seized Lisala and dragged her off, crying, ‘Enough! Enough! Quick. Never mind your valise. We've got to get away. It may already be too late.' Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her after him out into the passage.

The light there was dim, but sufficient for Roger to see the Marquis, sword in hand, hurrying towards him. Halting, he cried, ‘My Lord, I beg you to put up your sword and parley with me.'

‘So it is you, Mr. Brook!' de Pombal rapped back. ‘Nay, I'll not parley with an unscrupulous adventurer.'

At that instant another door further down the passage opened and the
Senhora
de Arahna appeared. Turning his head for a moment, the Marquis snapped, ‘Anna, return to your room and lock the door. You can be of no help to me in dealing with this villain.'

Recognising Roger with Lisala behind him, and realising that this was an attempted elopement, Dona Anna wailed, ‘Lisala, what are you about? Dear child, think of your future. To leave your father's roof with a man to whom you are not married would be a terrible thing to do.'

‘He wished to marry me,' Lisala retorted angrily. ‘But Papa would not have it. 'Tis he who has driven us to this present pass.'

The
Senhora
turned on her brother. ‘Joaquim! Our reputation can yet be saved. Mr. Brook is of good birth and some fortune. Far better let them marry than have the name of de Pombal dragged in the mud by such an appalling scandal.'

‘Nay, Anna,' the Marquis cried furiously, ‘that I will never do. Have you not realised that this Mr. Brook is no other than
Colonel de Breuc
, whom we met in Isfahan? For years, on his own admission, he has played a double game, either as a
spy for Bonaparte or the English. I know not which, but it is unthinkable that I should give my daughter to such an unprincipled rogue.'

It was Lisala who caused the already boiling pot to run over. With equal fury she shouted back, ‘The choice is not yours. He has long been my lover, and I am now carrying his child.'

The
Senhora
gave a gasp, ‘Dear God! What have we done to deserve this tribulation!' Putting her hand to her head, she slid to the floor in a dead faint.

De Pombal gave a sudden hiss. Seething with rage, he raised his sword and came at Roger, rasping, ‘I'll kill you for this! I'll kill you!'

Roger threw himself on guard, parried the Marquis' first thrust and cried, ‘My Lord, I implore you to desist. I am accounted one of the finest swordsmen in the Emperor's army; and I am twenty years your junior. To have to wound you would distress me greatly, but if you continue to lunge at me, I'll have no alternative.'

Ignoring Roger's warning, de Pombal continued like a maniac to thrust and cut at him. Such wild strokes could be dangerous; but from years of sword-play, Roger found no great difficulty in warding off the attack. For a good minute their blades clashed, slithered and threw out sparks. Suddenly, Roger felt his right ankle grasped, there came a sharp pull upon it which sent him off balance. He lurched, made a wild effort to recover his stance, failed and crashed to the floor face down.

It was Dona Christina. Bleeding and battered she had crawled out from Lisala's room unnoticed, while the terrific altercation was taking place. Thrusting an arm past Lisala's feet, she had grabbed Roger's ankle and jerked it towards her with all the strength of which she was capable.

Catching sight of her duenna's outstretched arm, Lisala stooped, seized the old woman by the hair and banged her head viciously against the wall, until she became unconscious.

As Roger hit the floor, his breath was driven from his body, and his sword jerked from his hand. He needed no telling that
he was now in peril of his life. Still fighting to get air back into his lungs, he managed to swivel round his head and look up. The Marquis towered over him, his eyes gleaming with intense hatred. He had drawn back his sword, so that it now pointed downward, and was about to thrust it with all his force through Roger's body, pinning him to the floor.

Only just in time, Roger jerked himself aside. The point of the weapon passed within an inch of his side, pierced the woven matting along the passageway, penetrated an inch deep into the floorboards, and remained quivering there.

Frustrated but undefeated, de Pombal flung himself down on Roger's prostrate body, grasped him with both hands by the throat and strove to throttle him.

Roger seized his wrists and endeavoured to tear them apart. For what seemed an age, the awful struggle continued. Although getting on for sixty, the Marquis had kept himself in good condition. His tall, slim figure was almost entirely bone and muscle. With the strength of a madman he clung on to Roger's neck, forcing his nails into the flesh until blood began to seep from the wounds.

Squirming, kicking and striking at his attacker's face, Roger, half strangled, fought desperately to wrench himself free. Suddenly the Marquis gave a long, agonised groan. His grip relaxed and he collapsed inert on Roger's prostrate body.

It was the best part of a minute before Roger got his breath back sufficiently to pull de Pombal's now limp fingers away from his throat and push his unresisting form aside. He could only suppose that this unexpected ending of the conflict was due to his adversary's having had either a heart attack or a haemorrhage of the brain. Still panting, he sat up, then wriggled round on to his knees. As he did so, his glance fell on the Marquis's back. The light was dim, yet sufficient for him to see that a narrow object about five inches long was sticking up from it. Next moment, petrified with horror, he realised what it was.

The roads being dangerous, it was not unusual for ladies in southern Europe, when going on a journey, to wear a stiletto under their skirts, strapped to their leg. Lisala evidently followed this custom. She must have whipped out the weapon
and driven the long, thin blade up to the hilt through her father's back straight down into his heart.

Staggering to his feet, Roger stared at her. With her eyes half closed, her lips drawn back, she returned his stare, and whispered in a hoarse voice, ‘I … I had to do it.' Then, with a sudden change of manner, she burst out defiantly, ‘He would have forced me to take the veil. I'd kill a dozen men rather than live buried alive as a nun.'

Roger swallowed hard, picked up his sword and muttered, ‘What's done is done. Come! We are not yet out of the wood.' Lisala's aunt still lay where she had fallen, in the doorway of her room. She had not come out of her faint, but showed signs of doing so. Stepping over her legs, he led the way downstairs.

Normally he would not have been afraid of the slaves, as for one of them to give a white man even a surly look could lead to a terrible thrashing, and to lay a hand on one meant certain death. But Baob was of a different kidney and, having betrayed him, would have good reason to fear retribution if Roger got away. It was an unpleasant possibility that, on the excuse that Roger was carrying off the Marquis' daughter against her will, Baob might induce the others to attack him.

There were, too, the Portuguese servants de Pombal had brought with him: a valet, a cook and the
Senhora
de Arahna's personal maid. Their quarters were in a separate wing of the house, on the far side of the staircase. As Roger came down the hall, he found them crouching there together, apprehensively. The valet, Miguel, was holding a pistol; but his hand was trembling.

Roger now displayed the resource which had so often saved him when in a tight corner. In a harsh voice, he cried:

‘Get you upstairs. Tragedy has stricken this house. I came here late tonight to transact secret business with your master. Above us we heard a commotion. Going up, we found that Baob had put a ladder up to the
Senhorta's
window. He was in her room, and about to assault her. We fell upon him, but he fought savagely. As
M. le Marquis
bent above his fainting daughter, Baob seized on the dagger she keeps at her bedside, and stabbed him in the back. I then succeeded in driving Baob
from the room, out of the window and down the ladder. It may be that to save himself he is now persuading the other slaves to mutiny. Go up to your master and do what you can for him. My first duty is to convey the
Senhorita
to a place of safety.'

His story was thin. Dona Christina and Dona Anna had both seen him, sword in hand, quarrelling violently with de Pombal; but neither had actually witnessed the murder of the Marquis. It was Baob's shouts that had aroused the household; but he might have done so in an attempt to cover up the fact that his own act had triggered off the whole awful business.

In any case, Roger's rapid explanation of his presence there was readily accepted by the Portuguese servants, and he had implicated Baob in the investigation which was certain to ensue.

The Marquis alone knew the whole truth about what had taken place, and he was dead. It could be argued that Dona Christina and Dona Anna suddenly awakened, had not grasped the full significance of what was happening, and both had become hysterical. Lisala could be counted on to swear that when attacking her duenna, she had, in the dark, believed that she was fighting off Baob. In Rio, there was one law for the white and one for the black. Whatever view a Court might take of the affair, even the suggestion that the big Negro had attempted to assault his master's daughter was enough to ensure him a very painful death.

Without another glance at the trembling servants, Roger walked to the front door, pushed back the bolts, turned the key in the lock and swung over the thick, swivel bar. Opening the door, he peered out. The moon had risen, and its light enabled him to see for some distance. There was no sign of movement. Turning, he beckoned to Lisala. With a calm and resolution that filled him with admiration, she followed him out.