Love and the Loathsome Leopard Read online

  Then surprisingly and unexpectedly she heard the sound of the sea and knew it was the waves breaking against the cliffs.

  “Where are we going?” she asked aloud, and felt as though the mist forced the words back into her throat.

  Although she thought she spoke loudly, it was obvious because he did not reply that Jeffrey Farlow had not heard her.

  ‘How could Richard have got so far as this?’ she asked herself.

  Even if he had borrowed one of Mr. Farlow’s horses he could hardly have had time to take it from the stables and ride this distance.

  She urged her horse forward, wishing to ride beside Jeffrey Farlow and ask him for an explanation. But suddenly there were men all round them and one look at their faces told her that they were the smugglers.

  Jeffrey Farlow’s horse had stopped and hers did too, and, as he dismounted and came to her side, Wivina asked,

  “What is happening? Why are we here? Where is Richard?”

  The words seemed to fall over themselves so quickly that they were almost incoherent.

  Looking down at Jeffrey Farlow’s face, she saw a glint of what looked like triumph in his eyes and felt as if her heart stopped beating.

  “What is – happening?” she asked, and now her voice was hardly above a whisper.

  “You are going on a little journey,” he answered, and there was a smile on his lips which made her want to scream.

  “A j-journey?”

  “To France. It’s a country I am sure you will enjoy”

  “But – Richard? You told me that – Richard–”

  “Richard is already on board. Come and join him. He is waiting for you.”

  So this had been a trick!

  It struck her with the impact of a thunderbolt and in a wild effort to escape she turned her horse’s head, kicking at him with her heel, but it was too late.

  A smuggler’s hand was on the bridle and the next moment Jeffrey Farlow lifted her down from the saddle and to the ground.

  “I will not come with you,” Wivina protested. “You know that. Let me go immediately.”

  He looked at her and said quietly,

  “Either you come willingly and quietly or I take you by force, gagged if necessary!”

  Her eyes widened in fear, but she looked into his face and knew that he meant what he said.

  The men were standing round waiting and she knew most of them by name.

  She was aware how hopeless it would be to struggle, knowing that Jeffrey Farlow had only to give the order to seize and hold her and he would be instantly obeyed.

  With the pride that prevented her from screaming, she lifted her chin and said scathingly,

  “I hate and despise you, but, if Richard is on board, I will join him.”

  “I thought you would,” Jeffrey Farlow said, again with that unpleasant smile on his lips.

  Feeling as if she was going to her execution, Wivina moved away from him, walking in the direction of the sea.

  As she did so, the smugglers ran ahead. Following them down into the creek, she had to walk slowly for the path was rough and she was afraid of slipping on wet stones.

  Then she saw what she knew was a lugger standing a little way offshore.

  As she reached the water’s edge, she stopped, not knowing how to proceed.

  She heard Jeffrey Farlow behind her give an order and one of the smugglers bent down and picked her up in his arms.

  With an effort Wivina prevented herself from screaming. Then as he carried her into the water she realised he was a boy she knew, in fact he was one of Mrs. Briggs’s nephews.

  “How can you do this to me, Clem?” she asked.

  “I be sorry, Miss Wivina,” he answered, “but orders be orders and I canna’ help meself.”

  That was true enough, Wivina thought.

  He waded until the water was above his knees and by this time they had reached the lugger.

  It was anchored in the centre of the creek and the huge lugsails had not yet been set.

  It was a large ship, far bigger than Wivina had expected, and as Clem helped her on deck she saw that there were a number of other smugglers busy getting the vessel ready for sea.

  “I did not expect to invite you on board until this evening,” she heard Jeffrey Farlow’s hated voice say behind her.

  She turned and saw that he too had been carried on board by one of the smugglers, having, she realised, no intention of getting his polished boots wet.

  “You have no right to bring me here,” she hissed in a low voice.

  “It’s a perfect day for a sail, when you wish to avoid being seen,” he said mockingly.

  “That is your problem, not mine!” Wivina answered.

  “Still spitting at me!” he exclaimed. “Make up your mind to enjoy yourself. Most women would look forward to a trip to France.”

  “I am not like the sort of women you know,” Wivina retorted. “Where is my brother?”

  “In the cabin.”

  He put out his hand to assist her across the deck, but Wivina had moved rapidly ahead of him.

  She knew where the cabin would be situated and she climbed down the companionway.

  It was quite a sizable cabin and at the far end of it seated on a bench was Richard. At the sight of him Wivina gave a little cry.

  Not only were his arms bound with ropes but there was a handkerchief gagging his mouth.

  She gave a little gasp and ran towards him.

  “Richard! Oh, Richard!”

  As she reached his side, she turned to scream at Jeffrey Farlow, who was behind her,

  “How dare you! How dare you treat my brother like this!”

  “He was fighting like a bantam-cock and making enough noise to wake the dead!”

  “Quite right! I only hope he has alerted the Revenue Officers and they will catch you,” Wivina replied.

  “They won’t interfere with the cargo we have at the moment,” Jeffrey Farlow replied. “A pretty woman is not contraband.”

  “Set Richard free!” Wivina commanded.

  “To hear is to obey!” Jeffrey Farlow replied sarcastically.

  He undid the handkerchief which had been forced between Richard’s lips and tied at the back of his head.

  “Curse you!” Richard said as soon as he could speak. “You hurt me, Farlow, and you had no right to bring me here.”

  “I wanted to give your sister a treat. Besides, I thought you would wish to be present at our marriage!”

  Wivina made a strangled sound of protest.

  “We are going to be married in France,” Jeffrey Farlow told her, his eyes on her face. “It’s far easier there. All we have to do is go in front of a Mayor and we don’t have to wait for banns and all that sort of Church bunkum!”

  Wivina drew in her breath.

  “I will not marry you! You know I will not do that, whether it is in front of a Mayor or in St. Paul’s Cathedral!”

  “You will marry me because you will have no choice,” Jeffrey Farlow answered. “Your brother will explain, in case you don’t understand, that in the circumstances, some men might not offer you marriage.”

  He loosened Richard’s bonds as he spoke and now the boy was rubbing his wrists together.

  Wivina turned aside, feeling suddenly sick and at the same time faint with the horror of what was happening.

  She understood without need of any explanation what Jeffrey Farlow was saying to her and she knew that once she was in his clutches, once she was his prisoner, for there was no other word for it, she must accept his offer of marriage or be prepared for a worse fate.

  Now, she told herself despairingly, she was lost.

  She wanted to scream and cry, to run up on deck and beg the men of the village whom she had known ever since childhood to save her.

  But she knew they would not do so.

  They were far too afraid of Jeffrey Farlow to do anything but obey any order he might give them.

  “I say, Wivina, what are we going to
do?” Richard asked.

  She looked to find that Jeffrey Farlow had left them alone.

  “Oh, Richard, Richard!” she cried. “How can this have happened? How did they get you here?”

  “I was only halfway down the drive when a man came out from behind one of the trees,” Richard answered. “I did not recognise him at first, then I remembered he was Lockett’s brother, you know, the blacksmith in Havant.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “He told me Farlow wanted me, but I said I could not stop, I had to go to the Vicarage. When I said that, he picked me up and started to carry me over his shoulder.

  “I shouted and screamed and kicked at him, and then two other men appeared. They gagged me and brought me here hanging over the saddle of a horse.”

  Richard paused for a moment, then he said disgustedly,

  “It was not only uncomfortable, Wivina, it was beastly humiliating.”

  “I am sorry, dearest,” Wivina said, sitting down beside him and putting her hand in his. “I am afraid this is my fault.”

  “You should not be so pretty,” Richard said. “If you were ugly, Farlow would leave you alone.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “What can we do?”

  He looked down at his arms.

  “They have rubbed my wrists raw and they hurt. It hurt my leg, too, hanging over a horse’s back.”

  Wivina knew it was his pride that was hurt more than anything else and she could only say miserably,

  “I am sorry, Richard. At the same time, I am glad you are here – it would be terrifying to be alone.”

  “Captain Bradleigh said I was to look after you and protect you,” Richard said, “but I don’t see how I can do anything like that at the moment.”

  “What do you – think he will – do when he finds out we are – gone?”

  Richard looked at her sharply.

  “You mean – he is coming back?”

  Wivina nodded.

  “He will not know where we are.”

  “I expect he will find out,” Wivina replied. “I told Emma you had had an accident and that Mr. Farlow was taking me to you.”

  “Do you think he will guess that we have gone to France?”

  “I hope so,” Wivina answered. “I hope so!”

  But she spoke despondently. Once they were in France, what could the leopard do?

  She heard the anchor being raised and now the ship was moving. The sails were being set and the noise of men’s footsteps overhead seemed, each one of them, to strike a blow at her heart.

  She held on tightly to Richard’s hand.

  “I am frightened,” she said after a moment, “but perhaps Captain Bradleigh will save us.”

  “He will have to be very clever to do so,” Richard replied despairingly.

  *

  Lord Cheriton came through the woods by the way he had approached Larkswell the day before.

  Then, instead of descending into the valley, he led the troops who followed him by a devious route known only to himself so that they could approach the village from the East.

  He had known when he left Larkswell with Nickolls that the first place he must go was to Havant, and then beyond that to where, he had learnt before he left London, the Dragoons had a summer camp.

  “It is convenient for Portsmouth and other places in that part of the country to have troops there,” the Prime Minister had told him, “and in an emergency you can always enlist their help, although I don’t envisage that will be necessary.”

  There was certainly an emergency at the moment, Lord Cheriton decided.

  Not only had he to inform the Prime Minister that there was a plan to rescue Bonaparte. He was also convinced it was imperative that Tom Johnson should be behind bars and with him his confederate, Jeffrey Farlow and the sooner the better.

  He had realised from what he had overheard that the larks gang was a large one, and while his mission was to obtain information, the sooner the authorities got to grips with gangs like the larks and the blues, the quicker the country-folk would be freed from fear.

  Anyway, he had no intention of allowing the grass to grow under his feet, and as he and Nickolls rode with the greatest possible speed towards the camp, with his usual efficiency he was planning his despatch to the Prime Minister.

  It was fortunate that the Commanding Officer of the Dragoons was a man he knew and who, like himself, had been under Wellington’s Command in Spain and France.

  “Good heavens, Cheriton!” he exclaimed when they met. “What are you doing here?”

  “I have something of great import to tell you, Oakhampton,” Lord Cheriton replied and led him to his tent where they could talk alone.

  When he heard exactly what was happening, General Oakhampton exclaimed:

  “If I did not know you to be a truthful man, Cheriton, I would think you must either have been drinking or been bewitched.”

  “I assure you, every word I have told you is the truth,” Lord Cheriton replied.

  “Of course I believe you, but, while I knew smuggling in this part of the world was highly organised, I had no idea that the French might think they could actually use it to rescue Bonaparte.”

  “These men have excellent qualifications for the task,” Lord Cheriton said ironically. “They are first class shipbuilders, for one thing. They are expert navigators at sea, and they have an audacity which defies every law of the land.”

  “And what do you want to be done?” General Oakhampton enquired.

  “I want thirty of your best men, if possible men who have served in France,” Lord Cheriton replied.

  “I will arrange that.”

  “I shall want them mounted and well armed.”

  “Of course,” the General agreed.

  “There is a cargo coming in on Thursday night,” Lord Cheriton said, “and I have my own plans as to how we shall capture it and if possible the two leaders of the larks gang.”

  “Then I will leave everything to you, Cheriton,” General Oakhampton said. “I know your tactics of old and they are invariably successful.”

  He left Lord Cheriton to write his report for the Prime Minister, which was put in the charge of a younger Officer who was told to ride with all possible speed to London and deliver it personally to Lord Liverpool.

  Then Lord Cheriton interviewed the men he intended to take with him and later on showed them the plans he had made.

  He had learnt during his campaigns under Wellington that it was essential that every man should know exactly what was happening and be prepared to use his own initiative without further orders.

  He liked not only the men, two of whom had served under him in France and were Normandy leopards, who were chosen to accompany him, but also their enthusiasm.

  Now, as they were within sight of the village, keeping under cover of the trees, Lord Cheriton wondered if he had left anything to chance.

  If he had, he could not think what it could be, and he knew an impatience with himself to get the operation over and done with so that he could be with Wivina.

  But he knew that it was absolutely essential to dispose of the smugglers and the menace they had proved to Larkswell Village before they could find happiness together.

  As soon as the sun began to sink, the men, who had been relaxing under the trees, began to get ready for what they knew would be a tough assignment.

  Lord Cheriton had warned them what the smugglers were like and he knew that, when it came to a fight, every one of them would be ready to do battle with a ferociousness that even those who had encountered the French might not have met before.

  The smugglers had nothing to lose. If they died it was not much worse than being hanged or transported, unless the Courts could be intimidated into releasing them.

  This might work on charges brought only by Revenue Officers, but when it was a question of the Army intervening, then the possibility of getting off was fairly slender and every one of the Larkswell men would be a
ware of this.

  The sun sank and at last it was dark enough to move forward, although only for a little way.

  There was a wood which Lord Cheriton had known well as a boy where he planned to leave the horses. Then it would be a matter of the men advancing on foot, or on their stomachs as he had done, to get into position round the creek without being observed.

  As there was a cargo coming in, there would probably be sentries stationed to watch for the Riding Officers, although Lord Cheriton had the idea that, owing to the fact that they had not been interfered with for so long, the larks gang had become a little slack.

  Anyway, he was not prepared to take risks and he told the men to move like Red Indians through the woods.

  Others had been sent, in the charge of a Sergeant, a long way round to the other side of the village so as to converge on the creek from the West.

  Nickolls insisted on coming with them and Lord Cheriton had not the heart to dissuade him.

  “Where you go, I’m going, my Lord,” he said firmly when Lord Cheriton had said there was no reason for him to risk his life unless he wished to do so.

  “Very well, Nickolls,” he answered. “Try not to get yourself wounded or killed. I have no wish to have to find another batman.”

  “I’ll not do that, my Lord,” Nickolls said confidently.

  Actually Lord Cheriton was glad to have him with him.

  It seemed an even longer crawl than he remembered from the wood to the bushes round the creek where he had heard Tom Johnson and Jeffrey Farlow talking.

  Now they had to move more slowly and more carefully because there were so many of them.

  Seventeen on this side and fifteen on the West side, Lord Cheriton thought, should be enough, and he was glad that the men he would be attacking tonight were the ones who came from France and not those who belonged to Larkswell.

  Those, he imagined, if Farlow had kept his word, would have left in the other boat before dawn or perhaps early in the afternoon.

  He had learnt that yesterday there had been a thick sea-fog, which was the greatest blessing a smuggler could ask of the elements.

  Today there was mist over the sea, which deepened as it grew dark. It was certainly advantageous for them to have it swirling over the cliffs like the wraiths in which the country-folk believed.