The Masked Lady Of Wakefield Hall free porn video

THE MASKED LADY OF WAKEFIELD HALL By Sylvia Who? It was in March 1774 that the rural district of Wakefield in the County of Leicestershire had its first experience of robbery on the King's highway, following the sudden appearance of a mysterious woman, dubbed by the local populace 'The Masked Lady', who was considered either a legend - or to some people a scourge - until she melted away once more into the shadows just as suddenly, never to be seen or heard of again. Loved and admired by the commoners, but mostly feared and hated by the rich and powerful in the parish, she had set about depriving the wealthy of their cash and jewellery and by all accounts redistributing the booty to the poor and needy. In particular she seemed to target associates of the Marquis de Vere, who's seat was Wakefield Hall, a stately home of 100 - odd bedrooms, innumerable day- rooms and guest-rooms, requiring an army of servants, musicians and entertainers to keep the endless stream of house-guests and other hangers-on amused and happy, but his largesse never included his tenants, who helped to finance the lavish parties it pleased him to preside over. The Masked Lady began her career with night time raids on the carriages of guests returning from week-end mid-summer soirees at Wakefield Hall, and she seemed to know precisely when and where to strike. Most Sunday nights or Monday mornings, two or even three carriages were robbed, though she was most selective in her choice of victims. A two thousand guinea bounty offered by the Marquis for her arrest was never, ever paid out, despite the efforts of bounty hunters from as far afield as the cities of London and York,. She always seemed to outwit her pursuers on her sturdy steed, ably assisted by a masked accomplice, but her thirst for adventure led her to take more and more risks as she even extended her activities to the hours of daylight, and thus was able on several occasions to separate Jacob Sharpe the Marquis's land agent from the tenants' rent on his way back to Wakefield Hall. But her most daring exploit followed an overly-long evensong service in Wakefield Parish Church, attended by the De Veres' in honour of their wedding anniversary. After the congregation had eventually left the church to return home by coach or by torchlight, the masked lady swished silently through the door and into the dark and empty church. Since she knew more or less where the Claude de Vere the rector hid his ill-gotten gains, she only had to get him to pinpoint the exact location of his cache in order to complete her task. So she made her way to the ringing chamber at the foot of the bell tower from where she could hear the rector scrabbling about in the bell-loft, counting up the days collection. Having protected her eardrums with scraps of wool, she then heaved on one of the bell ropes, and the dislodged tenor bell swung into life as she set about heaving the other bells into motion. In seconds the pealing bells filled the tower with a cacophony of sound, and without further ado she made her way over to the wooden spiral staircase, and lifting the wide skirts of her gown out of the way with one hand, and carrying her empty carpet bag in the other, she began the long climb to the bell chamber hoping and praying her prey would still be incapacitated by the din. The bells had well and truly done their job, with the rector lying curled up in a petrified heap on the wooden floor, clutching at his ears and moaning and groaning, his rapier lying alongside the strong- box on the floor beside him. She crouched down and quickly transferred the money to her carpet bag before going over to the still oscillating bells, grabbing one of the bell-pulls, hauling the loose end up through the hole in the floor and tying the rope around the handles of her bag. She then struggled over to one of the arrow slits, hauled the bag onto the ledge, and slowly lowered it down the outside of the tower and on to the roof of the nave where her accomplice was ready and waiting. But down in the darkness of the churchyard there were angry shouts and the sounds of shots being fired to summon help as a group of men ran into the church in response to the peeling of the bells. Her accomplice waved frantically and tried to shout a warning to his mistress, but she was otherwise engaged trying to squeeze herself through the tiny opening, but her skirts were too bulky to pass through such a narrow gap so she had to risk going back the way she came. Knowing time was short, she dashed over to the door only to find her escape already blocked by a group of armed Bow Street Runners who were mounting the rickety staircase. She withdrew her pistols from the folds in her dress and aimed carefully at the man leading the charge but held her fire to allow her assailants time to draw their weapons and discharge a fusillade of shots, at which point she stepped smartly out of the line of fire, re-appearing a moment later to discharge her weapons through the swirling gun-powder smoke. The two leading figures staggered and fell backwards upon their companions and they retreated down the staircase to lick their wounds, reload and regroup. Although the bell-loft door didn't have an inside bolt, she slammed it behind her as her first line of defence, while realising she would be trapped in the tower in her bulky clothing, and with little time to reload her flintlocks, the Masked Lady brazenly removed her mask and proceeded to rip off her cape, dress and petticoats, wrapping her garments round her trusty pistols. Then clad only in her stays, chemise , drawers, and riding boots, she stepped over the inert rector's body, made her way back to the rope and threw her clothing down to her manservant. She was about to follow her clothing when she saw the door slowly open, so without hesitation she seized the rector's rapier from the floor and with a loud scream rushed the door as her pursuer came into view. In the half light, and stunned by the noise from the bells, he never even had time to aim and fire, as the blade ripped through his leather coat and onwards into his arm as with a grunt he dropped his firearm, lost his balance and disappeared the way he had come. This was her last chance of freedom, so squeezing her tiny frame through the arrow slit she slid down the rope to join her accomplice and make good her escape. Burdened by the bag and her clothing, the pair had to shin down a lead pipe to reach the ground, but as they crossed the grave-yard somebody shouted a challenge, followed by a shot, which whistled harmlessly between them. "This woy me Mi-Loidy!" called a croaking voice from the shadows, so the offer of safe passage was taken up, since they had no idea of how many armed bounty hunters were at large. The gangly village woman took them back to her hovel, and despite the indescribable smell they remained until the hue and cry had subsided. "Why did you help us escape de Vere's men back there?" Her face saddened - "You is our only ope! I don't fink 'is Grace is a bad lot! It's 'is agent is the bad-un! Moi man was killed boi Sharpe's old geng of cut-throats. Ee was a blacksmith and was attacked and robbed in Grantham - Eee told me 'oo diddit afore 'ee died. I 'ope yoo git rid of im for us poor folk and thet's why I 'elped yoo." Milady just nodded her head and with her servant keeping look-out at the window, she took the opportunity to restore her clothing in the dim light of a single tallow candle, while the old crone looked on in admiration, even pawing at the luxurious material of her gown with her filthy wrinkled claws as she shrank away in disgust. "Bootiful and good Liody!" she murmured contentedly, though 'Milady' felt far from beautiful or good at that moment in time, her hands and legs still smarting from the rope burns during her perilous descent from the bell-tower, and worse still! - there was a rip in her favourite gown! - but she felt some sort of reply was in order - "It is very kind of you to say so Madam!"- Which brought a smile of pleasure from the crone's blackened and rotting teeth. On 'All Hallows' night she was even more daring, as she struck within the safe confines of Waverly Hall itself where she was able to mingle easily with the frolicking revellers in their fancy dress, including several 'masked ladies' suitably attired and equipped with wooden imitation pistols. The would-be 'victims' unwittingly accepted her challenge of "Stand and deliver" as a harmless joke and in their semi-inebriated state willingly handed over their purses and jewels in anticipation of their safe return at the close of the evening, but it proved not to be as she fired a volley into the ceiling of the ballroom before making her escape in the ensuing melee. A week later the annual ball held on Guy Fawkes night to commemorate the attempt to blow up King James's Parliament in London provided more surprises than just a bonfire and a few fireworks! It was about midnight and the ballroom was crowded with revellers when there were loud shouts from the outside and the double doors suddenly burst open flooding the darkened room with light from the grand hall as the bloodied figure of Redruth, the deputy coachman staggered into the room "My Lord, she has struck again!" The feeble voice from the doorway drew an immediate response from the assembled company within as the poor fellow fell upon the ballroom floor in a dead faint. Mistress Flora, sister to the Marquise promptly collapsed in a swoon amidst terrified cries from the other ladies present, who reached for their smelling-salts, while their menfolk snorted in disgust as the pathetic lackey lay senseless at their feet, while in the background the musicians tried to maintain some semblance of rhythm to their playing. All eyes now turned towards the Marquis, who had risen from his seat to tower over his guests, his piggy eyes scarlet with rage, as he bellowed - "Rouse that oaf at once and bring him here to me! Where are those Bow Street men, - they were supposed to protect my property! - and cease that infernal din!" He had rounded on the musicians who promptly retired in disorder leaving music-stands awry, and their music scores fluttering about the floor. Timidly a group of flunkeys had gathered round Redruth and carried him into the light from a chandelier, but their half-hearted efforts to revive the coachman prompted the Marquis De Vere to swagger across the room, wine-goblet in hand, to deliver the contents full in the face of the coachman, to be followed by a savage thrust with his foot into the man's groin, but he remained insensible as De Vere continued to harangue the onlookers. "This is the fourth time she has struck - she must be stopped - he must be in league with that woman - she knows my every move! When he comes round we must find out all he knows and dismiss him instantly - can't even get decent servants, these days!" By now the hubbub within the room had subsided as De Vere turned on his heel and stalked out, flanked by his favourites, his cousins, the Honourable George and Bertrand Curtis, to be followed by the other gentlemen present, while the Marquise, having successfully revived her younger sister, Flora, now bustled over with her entourage to render assistance to the young coachman, as she absentmindedly muttered, "Now where is that errant brother in law of mine,- never here when needed!" "He was locked in his room, Ma'am, on His Grace's orders." replied a footman. "Oh dear, drunk again, I s'pose better go and let him out." The footman departed, post-haste to do his mistress's bidding. "My- oh-My, such excitement! Seems our Masked Lady hath been busy again." The slightly built person who minced into the room ten minutes later was dressed in a powder-blue embroidered silk frock coat, white satin breeches, a ruffled lace choker in white silk, edged with lace, white silk stockings and dainty embroidered slipperettes, while on his head he was wearing a powdered peruke, framing a heavily-rouged, chubby, but attractive face, ornamented with jewelled patches, his lips painted in a scarlet bow, similar to the ladies with whom he seemed to compete. Honourable Harry the family fop chuckled contemptuously to himself as he hovered alongside his sister-in-law, the Marquise, as she nursed the young coachman, now laid out on a settle. Slowly Redruth regained consciousness and he blinked in the light from the oil-lit chandelier as the other Ladies crowded round expectantly, awaiting choice morsels of gossip to pass on in their salons and drawing-rooms. "Now my man, try to tell us what happened, but please take your time, and we might even permit the surgeon to examine your wounds." Redruth winced as he sat up and gingerly rubbed the lump on his head and began his story. "Well my Lady, Joseph Sharpe had collected the tenants' rents in the Black Swan in the usual manner and we were on the return trip and passing through the darkest part of South Coppice towards Wakefield House, moving along very slowly because of the condition of the track when a rear wheel suddenly collapsed, throwing me onto the track, and while I lay there I could hear Collins jumping down and steadying the horses and whilst Sharpe stayed in the coach, he ordered the other two coachmen to inspect the damage to the wheel." "Meanwhile I had staggered to my feet and heard that the spokes had been smashed to matchwood, apparently with a simple device - a stout pole suspended at right-angles from trees at the side of the track, which was then swung out in order to disable the coach. Sharpe could see I was hurt, so he sent me on ahead to sound the alarm while the others stayed behind to guard the Marquis's purse." Whilst the other ladies waited, Elizabeth held a mug of beer to the coachman's lips, as he drank thirstily from the mug, and then continued with his tale. "I had staggered some way along the track when I spotted her, riding side-saddle, the horses hooves muffled to reduce the sound as she steered the gray carefully through the bushes - I went to shout a warning to the others, but she had seen me, and her cocked pistol pointed towards me kept me quiet as I continued on my way." The ladies gasped in horror that the wicked woman had dared strike so close to Wakefield House. "Later, I heard a brief exchange of shots and men shouting in alarm behind me before all was quiet again. Later still as I crossed Gibbet Plain in the moonlight she came past me at the gallop. She was wearing a black hooded cape, covering a light yellow brocade riding frock, a marvellous horsewoman, riding side-saddle, yet still carrying a brace of pistols in her hands, with two of the others in hot pursuit, riding bareback on horses which must have been unshackled from the coach." "We are not interested in her equestrian skills, man - she is a felon - not some folk-hero! - Continue with the story this instant!" Milady expressed her displeasure with her lackey and hastily he resumed where he left off. "Collins fell from his mount not far from me, but the fall must have broken his neck. He lived just long enough to tell me she had stolen the purse and made off. Fortunately I managed to scramble onto poor Collin's horse which was grazing nearby and ride back to Wakefield." "You say she was riding a gray?" "Yes Ma'am, - about fifteen hands." Redruth's face was still pallid from the blow to his head as he lapsed once more into semi- consciousness, while the Marquise quietly murmured, "Not many mounts of that description in the district, and all thoroughbreds and ridden by gentlemen - apart from Harry's that is," as she recalled the most difficult horse to ride in the stables. Ignoring the titters, Harry took a pinch of snuff from his enamelled snuff-box, "I was a-bed, remember," and the daintily minced to the far end of the room. "That wicked, wicked, woman - she deserves to be made to suffer on Gibbet Plain," babbled Flora excitedly. "Hush child, that will be for a court to decide, - when and if she is caught." With these soothing words to her sister, Elizabeth slowly rose to her feet and looked thoughtfully and hard at the Honourable Harry, the family fop, standing at the far end of the room, brazenly relieving himself in a chamber-pot being held by a flunkey, grinning a foolish grin in response to her grimace, and as he finished his chore he sidled down the room towards his sister-in-law. "Why so deep in thought Madame?" but he stopped in his tracks in response to her searching gaze, so he turned to look silently out of the window at the full moon, now low on the horizon. The Marquise beckoned to the footmen, "Please remove this poor man and take care of him and inform 'His Grace' of the situation - and ladies, please leave me now, I must have private words with Harry." As the music-room doors closed on her house-guests, Elizabeth glided over to her brother-in-law, and took him warmly by the hands."Your brother is not the easiest of men to get along with, as you are well aware; but he is my husband and we have so far sired three children, and I know you consider his treatment of his tenants to be vile and inhuman, but the management of this estate just seems to run away with the money for some reason, despite Mr. Sharpe upping the rents every three months. But it has come to my attention that this woman, who-ever she may be, has been doing something to redress the balance at great personal danger to herself, but is placing a greater strain on the finances of my husband - to such an extent that your brother is up to his ears in debt to usurers and moneylenders and may have to sell the few valuables we have left." She looked Harry full in the face as he tried to avert his long eyelashes from her gaze as she continued, imploringly, "And it grieves me to see my husbands servants getting hurt while protecting what he sees as his property, and the only key to solving his problems, but I would hate her to get caught - even if only for my own reasons." Harry was momentarily startled at her final comment, but laughingly he responded, "My Dear Elizabeth, I know of no such woman - so your fears are groundless - she is probably some trollope from town, dead- set on leading the hangman a merry dance, until she is finally caught." He then became serious, "Or until the Marquis changes his ways." "Well, he is your brother and Lord of us all, so you should know if there is any hope of that?" and Harry slowly shook his head in resignation and led her back to her guests, now assembled in the dining-room. As Harry prepared for bed that night, he had much to ponder over. His lukewarm relationship with Flora had begun to blossom despite her timidity and his apparent effeminacy, an observation not wasted on her older sister Elizabeth, who also appeared to have second sight in other directions. He thought back to the days of his childhood and his bullying older brother Charles, still unchanged, but burdened down with problems in his role as the Marquis, following the death of his father some six years ago, and he weeped inwardly at remembrance also of his mother and two older sisters - struck down by disease while still maidens - and with whom he shared his young life in so many ways. His younger, dashing brother, Gerald, away on the Continent with General Clive, was now a full-blown Colonel, accompanied by the pick of the finest men from the farms and villages on the estate, leaving the care of their properties in the hands of the young, the old, and the infirm, with only the womenfolk supplying an efficient labour force. But their strength was also sapped by Harry's youngest brother, Claude , who was rector of the parish of Wakefield, who also exploited his living with demands for excessive 'alms' at the Sunday service, re-inforced by the threat of hell and damnation being called down upon his flock if they did not supply enough funds for his miserly needs. He frequently boasted to the family how much of his parishioners' money he had managed to salt away over the years, so it pleased Harry to have given his mean brother a nasty ear-ache, as well as relieve him of most of his booty. But Harry knew the biggest drain on the parish was the huge sums paid over to the Marquis, his brother, who made ever-increasing demands for rents from his hapless tenants, while Harry revelled in the reputation in his 'grace and favour' role as the black sheep of the family, as he powdered, perfumed, and shamelessly preened himself to perfection as he enjoyed all the benefits of his 'grace and favour' role, but with none of the responsibilities his brothers shared. It was upon this unhappy scene that the 'Masked Lady' had descended some nine months before, and had terrified the elite of the district with her daring raids, earning the fear and respect of rich and poor alike with her consummate skill with a brace of flintlocks - and although she hadn't murdered any of her victims, she was a match for any man - hence a thousand guineas upon her head, offered by the Marquis himself. Harry had always prided himself on his horsemanship, and it was during a lively fox-hunt that he had found his true vocation. The hounds had scented a fox in lower paddock and were soon pursuing their quarry across the fields towards the hamlet of Easton, and our hero on his sturdy gray had soon outpaced the others as the pack raced along a muddy track between the cottages. As he rounded a sharp corner the dogs had parted to avoid a small child sitting in the middle of the muddy track. Harry immediately reined in his mount, jumped down, picked up the child in his arms and dashed to the shelter of a cottage doorway as the other riders thundered past, with no thought of the safety of any the inhabitants who may be out and about, although Harry had undoubtedly saved one poor soul from an untimely death. He was about to leave the child on the ground when curiosity got the better of him, and he banged on the door behind him. The wizened creature, who opened the door mumbled a few unintelligible words to Harry's enquiry and pointed across the track to a tumbledown hovel. The filthy bundle was soon nestling in the arms of its mother whose sad eyes beckoned him to come inside, and although the squalid surroundings and the smell made Harry feel faint, he felt obliged to accept the mother's hospitality and went inside to be confronted by a sad scene of hopelessness and despair with half a dozen potbellied souls huddled together for warmth as a substitute for their lack of sustenance - a sight which prompted Harry to throw his purse upon the empty table as he departed. This shattering experience was a turning point in Harry's life as he realised where his future lay, and he set about putting the world to rights with the crazy plan he had dreamt up. His main problem was finding a suitable disguise, since he would be easily recognised, even with a mask, so he soon realised that a change of gender, along with a change of clothing would be the only answer. He also knew his insider's knowledge of the workings of the De Vere household would prove an invaluable source of information, while his servant and drinking companion would make an ideal partner in crime, having told many a tale about his colourful past which could now be put to the test, and so a successful partnership was soon forged. Using his knowledge of the hidden passageways built into the fabric of the house thoughtfully provided by Harry's Great-Great-Grandfather in the English civil wars, Harry would be able to roam freely through- out the building and come and go as he pleased since there was no shortage of suitable garments he had concealed in the lofts of Wakefield House - quality gowns which had previously been worn by his deceased siblings, and lovingly cared for and frequently worn by their devoted custodian. Although his servant didn't hesitate to ridicule his young master's plan to adopt female disguise in order to fulfill his quest, Blake proved to be adept at mastering the skills of a 'ladies' maid', and he was highly amused the first time he helped Harry try on his panniers, dressing him in white pantaloons and a cotton shift, then squeezing and moulding two globes out of what little flesh covered Harry's chest to create a modest display of decolletage and subjecting his master to excruciating pain as he set to with gusto at tightening Harry's pink corsets to reduce his waist to a more feminine shape - although for a time both men were reduced to shaking wrecks since they laughed so much on the first few occasions that Harry donned his novel garb in preparation for his forays into the real world. But eventually the novelty wore off as Blake found himself thinking more and more in terms of his 'young mistress' and treating her as such as she blossomed into a beautiful young lady, and displaying all the airs, graces and charm befitting a lady of her rank! But despite Blake's pleas for him to desist and return to his former dissolute self, Harry would have none of it as 'she' became the dominant element in his life. It was as a youth and having deferred breeching as long as possible, his mother and sisters had frequently attired him as a girl, but only within the privacy of the their appartment, so to prepare fully for his acceptance as a woman he began to venture a few paces along the corridors of Wakefield House, using Blake's quarters to change into attire befitting a ladies maid, since just one more maid belonging to a house-guest in such a vast retinue of servants would go un-noticed. This proved to be the case, and he roamed far afield within the confines of the house, and although his heart went a pitter-pat on these occasions he - or rather she - was never challenged, and having plucked up the necessary courage, decided to put his appearance to the sternest of tests - a confrontation with his kinsman - Charles de Vere! A few nights later Blake had ridden off to the village for a few flagons of grog, so Harry made his way through a maze of secret passages to Blake's tiny room in the servants quarters, and having made his elaborate preparations for his forthcoming adventure, he trotted off in search of his quarry. He had to run the gauntlet of some of the servants and ladies, who were moving about the house, but eventually found the gentlemen engaged in a tete-a-tete in the library. It didn't take an eagle eyed Charles long to notice a movement dimly reflected in a cheval mirror, so he rose from his seat, walked across the room to one of the book cases where he found one of the ladies maids engrossed in thumbing through a book from one of the shelves. "What business do you have here my child?" he asked gently, "I'm afraid the servants are not permitted in the library." Her embarrassment was matched by her hesistant curtsey. "I'm sorry sir, I didn't know that!" The Marquis hadn't set eyes on this little filly before, but she could tell he was impressed from the gleam in his eye. "To whom does a pretty little thing like you belong? - Who is your mistress, pray?" She looked troubled as tears welled in her eyes. "Umm, please don't tell my mistress sir - but she is Lady Hortense!" She began to sob quietly which unnerved Charles, whose short fuse couldn't stand snivelling women at the best of times. He patted her hand and coughed awkwardly, "There, there m'dear, run along now and I will think no more of it." She stepped forward, stood on tiptoe, and pecked him lightly on his scarlet cheek as through her curtain of tears she gave a triumphant smile and with a "Thank you sir!" she put down the book and scampered off the way she came, leaving a bemused brother in her wake trying to place the face hidden beneath the raven locks and floppy mop cap. Harry scurried back the way he had come trembling with tearful emotion at the only compliment his brother had paid him ever in his life as he breathlessly returned to Blake's room only to find his servant stumbling about inside in a drunken stupour. To be confronted by a delectable young maiden was more than the older man could ever hope for as he staggered across the room to take full advantage of the situation! Harry had never felt so frightened in all his life as Blake began to fondle and grope through the flowered dress, and all Harry could manage was a strangled cry, "Get off you fool! it is me! your Master!" But Blake was too far gone to realise who he held in his powerful arms, as the front of the young girl's dress was ripped away and his fumbling fingers feverishly sought to find her fanny in the folds below, and thereby satisfy his sexual needs in a desperate burst of masculine energy. Harry screamed, scratched, kicked, and punched in his desperate efforts to escape and avoid being buggered by Blake, as he felt himself being dragged towards the bed. Fortunately as they fell, Blake was underneath, and his body suddenly went limp as the back of his head struck the wooden bedstead and laid him out cold. But even so, Harry had to use all his strength to free himself from the ponderous grip of the wretch and stagger through the door, while trying to retain what little dignity remained concealed by the tattered remnants of his clothing, and although the distressed and tearful young maid was observed, her obvious plight was totally ignored by servants and house-guests alike, as Harry made his way safely back to his rooms flinging himself still half dressed, across the bed to recover from the shock. However, he could hardly blame Blake, who wasn't privy to Harry's plans for the evening, so finding a girl willing to share his bed was the best surprise that his servant could hope for, and in his inebriated state he had acted in the way that Harry would be inclined to do in such circumstances. But having suffered such a terrifying ordeal at the hands of one he could normally trust, he now understood how nauseating it must feel for a girl to be an unwilling partner in a social relationship, de-flowered by a man just for his gratification or to add to his growing tally of 'conquests', it was an experience he would never, ever, force on a girl again. He was determined more than ever to persevere with his plans, having personally experienced just one of the pitfalls of a girl's life outside of the privileged protection of those born 'above the salt', where the safe, cosy confines of the ladies rooms normally ensured total security, except of course should she become subject to the attentions of the Lord and Master of the House, who in certain cases considered the women's quarters his own private harem, though the gruff Marquis was the perfect gentleman in this respect. It was apparent to the local gentry that the booty retrieved from the purses of the rich was finding its way back into the economy of the district, the health of the local population had improved dramatically with full stomachs for all, just less money to be poured into the coffers of that zealous fellow, Sharpe, agent to the Marquis. Harry had an intense dislike of this ferrety little man - which was duly reciprocated in the contemptuous way Sharpe addressed the Marquis's foppish brother. But Harry smiled inwardly to himself as he recalled the way Joseph Sharpe's pistol had been struck from his hand by a single round-shot earlier that evening - the force of which sent Sharpe sprawling full-length in the muddy ditch at the side of the track making the task of retrieving the purse from this revolting little man a little more difficult, since the lady muddied the hem of her yellow brocade dress in her efforts. But it was well worthwhile as Harry anticipated the looks of appreciation on the faces the grateful villagers when the 'Masked Lady' duly presented herself at the Black Swan to re-distribute the the Marquis's booty to its rightful owners. With these pleasant thoughts in his head, Harry rolled over in his silk nightdress and fell into a deep sleep. The following morning the beadle made his enquiries concerning the felony perpetrated the previous night. The death of the unfortunate Collins was dismissed as bad horsemanship and at dinner that evening Charles duly doubled the reward for her capture, dead or alive, to two thousand guineas which brought forth gasps of surprise from the forty or so assembled round the dinner-table while Harry jokingly jibed, "A piffling sum - not worth crossing a London street for, even the Bow street Runners have given up and run away!" Which brought a merry laugh from Flora and Charles rose from his seat taking a lace handkerchief from his pocket in order to demand satisfaction from his popinjay of a brother. The Marquise interceded, and Harry sulkily apologised to his older brother, duly excusing himself "with an attack of the vapours!" amidst titters and frantic fan-waving from all the ladies present, which did little for Charles's temper as Elizabeth calmed him down as best she could, well aware her husband was no match for his younger brother. Later that evening at the Black Swan the hurdy-gurdy man trebled his take as the grateful villagers supped on the freshly baked bread and cheese, washed down with beer or gin as they celebrated the return of their hard-earned money, despite the presence of the Bow Street bounty hunters, who were all blind drunk courtesy of their cash retainer from the Marquis. With Blake for company, she stayed rather longer than usual on this occasion, to watch and participate in the villagers' good fortune. For days afterwards the womenfolk chattered over the gorgeous white satin dress decorated with diamantes, edged with the white feathers of some exotic bird and white satin hooped petticoat she was wearing under her red velvet hooded cape which she had cast aside to reveal her stunning white powdered wig becomingly arranged in ringlets, threaded with strings of pearls, her identity concealed by a black silk domino, shaped to trace the delicate contours of what was visible of her pretty face, and there was many a jealous glance at her well-turned silk clad ankle, her tiny feet encased in elegant white kid slipperettes peeping provocatively from beneath her petticoat. Eventually, as she swished lightly out of the Black Swan one of her tiny jewelled patches became detached and fluttered to the floor to be pounced on and returned to the owner by one of the young girls present, but her eyes twinkled merrily beneath the ornate mask and in a lilting voice full of laughter and joy. "Please, - a keepsake for you my Dear," as she daintily entered her carriage helped by her masked and hooded escort disappeared into the darkness from whence she came. Elizabeth was reclining gracefully on the chaise-longue and waiting patiently for Harry to return to his bed-chamber from his illicit trip to the village, and having been deposited by his hooded driver close to the concealed opening in the Repton 'Ha-Ha', Harry made his way through a series of secret passages directly to a hidden door behind the fireplace in his room. As he brushed the cobwebs from his beautiful red dress he was startled by his Sister-in-Law's voice from across the darkened room. "My-oh-my, what is a beautiful creature like you doing in Harry's chamber? Don't you know the man's reputation? Pray, come over here child, and let me take a good look at you." Harry's mouth had dropped open in surprise and amazement and as he recovered his composure he threw aside his black satin cape and dutifully rustled his way across the carpet, removing his mask as he went over to where Elizabeth was sitting and cheekily dropped her a curtsey as he mocked her with his hazel eyes. "Well Harriet, tis little skill in guessing where you have been these three hours hence; and you make a most bewitching female; methinks I feel the guilt of envy - your dress and petticoat are stunning - quite - quite - stunning you must introduce me to your seamstress." Harry was now blushing profusely at Elizabeth's unsolicited admiration for the fashion and quality of his dress, and without really thinking, Harriet's lilting voice replied. "Mmm! - Thank you kindly, sister-in-law, but I am my own seamstress, since I learnt my needlework from my poor sisters, and my mother bequeathed me all their beautiful clothing before she died, but despite my sewing skills I cannot entirely conceal the style and condition is somewhat dated, and the smell of camphor as a protection against moths is difficult to hide." Elizabeth rose from her seat and cupped her hand under his chin as she turned his head from side to side to study his profile more closely and snorted, "Yes my dear, and your ladies tresses have seen better days, although I am quite sure your sisters would be most proud of your features my dear, they are truly delightful, although I am not so sure what your brothers would think of you thus dressed? But you do make a most convincing lady - truly you have been well schooled - presumably by your late sisters?" He nodded his head silently as she turned and swished over to a dressing screen. "So now I have found you out, methinks Harriet might make a most charming companion, and a welcome addition to my bridge parties. Perhaps with you on our side, the ladies will then be able to give the men-folk a run for their money at the bridge-table, and in return we can coach you in other lady-like pursuits, and perhaps we will take you into Grantham and help you to choose and be fitted for a new wardrobe - and some new hair-pieces." It excited Harry to be spoken to by a woman in such a way after so long, even though he knew he might be made to suffer for his indiscretion, since she was obviously playing verbal games with him, but in the blissful anticipation of being, or becoming 'one of them', he listened in silence to what she had to say. "I have been aware some time of your nefarious schemes to put things to rights like a latter-day Robin Hood, but this is the late eighteenth century and if you wish to keep that pretty neck of yours intact you must desist from such activities. You will only be found out in the end, for although your garments are quaintly different, the powder, paint and patches are common to both roles, and after your forays as 'The Mysterious Lady', you assumed they did not require attention." Elizabeth then touched him lightly across the forehead with her finger, "But young Flora, who despite your outrageous behaviour, pays more attention to you than most, noticed the line, - just here and here - where your lady's mask had absorbed the powder, leaving an unmistakable impression on your cheeks and forehead. When she had realised the identity of the 'Masked Lady' she passed her suspicions on to me rather than expose your secret to that brother of yours, with the risk of a one way trip to Gibbet Plain!" Harry was astounded that he had been found out purely by feminine observation and intuition, but he tried to keep his feelings under control. "It pleaseth me greatly that the one person I hold most dear and in the highest esteem in this household should even consider that such a lowly fellow is worthy of even a second glance, let alone saving from the hangman's noose. Please inform Lady Flora that I am most honoured and thank her from the bottom of my heart." "Tish young man! You can thank her in person can't he my dear?" In response to the question Flora slipped hesitatingly from behind the screen, shielding her pale features behind her fan as she stood uncomfortably alongside her sister, both ladies in pale lemon muslin, d?collet? shifts decorated with a tiny print of scarlet poppies, their hair concealed beneath mop-caps of the same material. Harry recoiled at realisation of the situation in which he now found himself, with Flora now privy to his innermost thoughts and feelings, as she coyly turned her head to one side, to avoid looking him directly in the eyes as she spoke. "Yes Harry dearest, Elizabeth and I now know who you are, and rest assured, your secret is perfectly safe with us," she suddenly dried up as her sister continued where she left off. "Flora and I have no intention of unmasking you in order for you to face the hangman's noose, but you must agree to our demands for you to cease your activities as 'The Masked Lady' but to adopt your female identity on a permanent basis. We feel the natural wit you have displayed as Harry will rest more acceptably upon your slender shoulders as a leading curiosity in female society, and will endear you to a much wider audience in your role as the charming and gracious beauty Harriet de Vere than as the shiftless dandy, who few of our friends can stomach for long - and thankfully - Harry, I will never have to listen to your tuneless warbling again!" Now Flora turned her tear-stained face and looked him imploringly in the eyes. "Please, dearest, will you do this just for me? We would dearly love to have you as our sister." She stood - waiting for his reply as Harry shrugged his powdered shoulders and shook his pretty ringlets resignedly as he replied in his masculine voice. "My dear Ladies, you appear to have me in a cleft stick, and if needs be I must comply with your every demand - for I myself do not wish to put forward a valid objection, since I have no greater desire than to permanently cast aside my men's clothes and resume the role for which I had long aspired, but I beg of you to allow me to consider how best I may serve the poor of this parish in the future if I agree to your conditions, so I need time to think and I cannot be expected to change my ways overnight." The two ladies were willing to concede that having possibly condemned Harry to spending the rest of his life in dresses, he needed a breathing space to put his affairs in order and dispose of the evidence of his past dissolute life, but Elizabeth decided they should sleep on it and she would confirm what was to be done first thing in the morning. "And please make sure that it is Harriet who waits upon us when we call." So saying the ladies retired to their beds. The following morning, the tentative knock on his door was answered by Harriet, as she admitted her two lady 'protectors'. "What a lovely yellow dress my dear, please be seated and we will tell you what is to be done." In response to their request Harry sat on the edge of his chair and waited to hear his fate. "I think we can agree to a slight delay before your rebirth, but only with your promise to cease forthwith your lawless ways, since I believe your cousin George has agreed on the morrow to ride into Grantham and deposit five hundred guineas of his own money with my husband's creditors, which should suffice while the estates financial affairs are stabilized, and I don't want any interference from the 'Masked Lady' - so do I make myself clear?" "You have my word on it Madame, but is Mr. Sharpe aware of this loan?" Her Ladyships reply gave him fuel for thought since cousin George was the noblest of all his relatives, so Harry had no intention of him going the same way as the unfortunate blacksmith. Meanwhile Elizabeth insisted that in readiness for his impending transformation, Blake would be sent into Grantham to summon Madame Ziegler to take Miss Harriet's measurements in order for her to be fitted for her new wardrobe, which left Harry wondering what the future would hold for him, and could he successfully hold his own as a woman, and in so doing would he squander his suit with his precious Flora in the process? Just as Elizabeth had predicted, early the following morning George Curtis left Easton Hall and was making his leisurely way the fifteen miles into Grantham on his favourite charger with five hundred gold pieces safely stowed in his saddle-bags and two loaded pistols and a rapier at his side as his only protection. He was quite surprised at overtaking a young lady on a gig at such an early hour, and his cheery greeting was duly acknowledged with a softly spoken reply - although her face was well hidden by the broad brimmed bright yellow bonnet she was wearing which matched her simple dress, but to say the least - he became intrigued, since she seemed to be keeping pace with him, perhaps a quarter of a mile behind! He had almost reached Oakham crossroads when he heard groaning coming from the ditch further along the track and as he got nearer he could make out a woman in a shabby dress spreadeagled face down in the mud. Ever the good samaritan, George urged his mount forward and jumped down to offer assistance to the wretch, but as he lept into the ditch the bearded creature rolled over and poor George found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol pointed directly at his heart. "Gotcha!" she - or rather he - cried out triumphantly, scrambling to his feet, disarming his victim and tossing the weapons back into the ditch, before calling up his accomplice to rifle through the charger's saddlebags. The gold coins which tumbled out of the purse were far more than they could have ever expected. "This one's a real toff! Better bump him orf now!" Poor George thought his number was up, so he made a dive into the ditch where his discarded weapons lay, but both were submerged in water and useless, while his rapier was still in its sheath on his horse. So he thought he had breathed his last as he heard a flash as the powder ignited - but then he realised it wasn't him screaming in agony, as he heard a horse's whinny and looked over his shoulder to observe the masked lady in yellow drive her gig and trample the other assailant to the ground, while the dead body of the 'bearded lady' had tumbled forward, trapping George by the legs as he lay there awaiting his turn to eat lead. But she just flashed him a wicked smile, his purse now firmly in her grasp as she pulled on the traces of the horse, herding the other man limping away into the distance leaving George to extricate himself from the ditch - muddied and chastised, but thankful to have escaped with his life, so damn his purse! The sound of the carraige wheels on the cobbled yard of the Black Swan had the landlord dashing out to greet his welcome guest, as she tossed him a purse with the command, "Make sure those lazy oafs in there return this to its rightful owner, by sending help to Oakham crossroads where they will find George de Vere, with the corpse of a felon for company, and they can clap this other one in irons before they leave. Go to it man!" So saying the Masked Lady turned her gig and in a flurry of silk and laces cantered off the way she came, leaving the landlord to safeguard the purse and his unwanted guest before rousing the Bow Street Runners from their peaceful slumbers. Later that day news of the abortive raid reached Jacob Sharpe who felt the time had come to seek another protector, but not before he had screwed his master for his very last penny! After his final adventure as the 'Masked Lady', it took a week for Harry to finally accept the inevitable, and it was the memory of the accidental death of poor Collins and then witnessing his widow and three children being evicted from their tied cottage by the obnoxious Sharpe which preyed on his mind and tipped the balance, and although by way of penance he had considered sackcloth and ashes and a spell of solitary contemplation in a monastery, he preferred instead the softer option and placed his uncertain future in the hands of his surrogate 'sisters', informing them accordingly. The ladies were delighted at the news, and the runner was once more sent to Grantham to inform the seamstress to expect three ladies to call at her establishment for a fitting three days hence, before Elizabeth went to inform her husband she was expecting a new house guest. It was the following morning, and in accordance with his sisters-in- law instructions, that Harry was obliged to announce his intention of spending some time away from Wakefield and was duly despatched with his manservant to pick up the stage-coach for London at the Black Swan. That same afternoon, Harry graciously accepted his fate, and Miss Harriet Harper, distant cousin to Flora and Elizabeth, who it was said, had led a fairly sheltered life in the Welsh Marches was gladly welcomed to Wakefield by the Marquis as a house-guest of Elizabeth, having been collected in a carriage from the staging-inn by her two lady-cousins. She made an immediate impression on the assembled company and slipped quietly and easily into her new-found role, much to her 'cousins' relief, while her man-servant made himself scarce down at the Black Swan. There was only one unfortunate incident in the drawing-room that evening as Charles made for a commode and on the way gave Harriet a hearty 'thwack' on the buttocks as she stood supping liqueur with the ladies. Her liqueur-glass dropped to the floor, staining the front of her petticoat, so she swung round and with eyes blazing instinctively fetched him a blow to the jaw which set the poor fellow reeling. There was an unpleasant silence as the Marquis staggered unsteadily on his feet and ruefully rubbing his chin remarked, "Egads wench, they must breed them tough where you come from! If you had been a man it would have been pistols at ten paces!" He chuckled and then burst forth in a gale of laughter, which the stunned onlookers were only too pleased to reciprocate, as Harriet's ruffled feathers slowly settled back into place, though the significance of Charles's rejoinder brought a wry smile to her face. "Please Sire, do not let that minor detail deter you, I am at your service!" And she bowed stiffly from the hip as Charles snorted disapprovingly since he couldn't stand truculent women at the best of times, as he turned away to continue on his mission while Harriet resumed her conversation with the ladies, who privately agreed her wit and sparkle worthy of the finest salons in Peterborough - or even London for that matter - which seemed extra-ordinary for a country- girl, irrespective of how well-read she may have been, although her dresses were somewhat parochial. The next morning, suitably attired in her pink striped morning-gown she made the acquaintance of Elizabeth's ten-year-old son George and eight-year-old twin daughters, Mary and Ann together with their various playmates - children of house-guests and the hand picked children of certain of the servants, as they gambolled in the garden attended by their governess, as Harriet willingly joined Flora in some kite-flying before accompanying the children as they were led away to the quaint folly hidden in the trees which served admirably as a school-room. Naturally it did not escape the childrens' attention how Harriet's facial appearance mirrored that of the Marquis's brother but after a brief discussion they evidently dismissed the idea that this charming and fun-loving lady bore nothing other than a passing resemblance to 'that poofter - Uncle Harry' who had always distanced himself from their games. In the afternoon, the gentlemen and a few of the ladies went fox- hunting and left the other ladies and the older gentlemen to entertain the children or indulge in a bridge game, and Harriet's undoubted skill soon showed itself as she and Flora won most of the rubbers, thus confirming the Marquise's faith in the abilities of her unique proteg?e although soon afterwards Harriet was seated at the harpsichord trotting out Mozart to her heart's content. "Excuse me my dear, but would you and Flora, your charming companion kindly consent to let me paint your portraits on the morrow, if you are free?" Harry was lost for words at old Mr.Drew's request, but Flora didn't hesistate to agree, so the next day found them wearing their morning gowns and seated together in the herb garden as the artist in the family went about his work. Although Harry hadn't questioned for a minute his ability to fool the entire De Vere family, servants and guests included, and aided by his natural alto voice, his seductive lilt was taken at face value. And having over the years privately developed the grace and poise of a lady of breeding, aided and abetted in the early days by his long- lost sisters; he had determined to be the perfect lady of fashion, embodying all that is best in the female image, but to have his portrait painted with the lovely Flora? That was the icing on the cake! Miss Harriet's fitting day dawned bright but cold as Redruth drove Elizabeth's open landau the ten miles to Grantham, its cosseted cargo of three ladies suitably dressed for what promised to be a warm day, so Elizabeth suggested a picnic in the hills on the way to give Harriet more time to acclimatize before meeting the town folk. The ladies had their sun shades raised, and were screened by the coachman's shadow as they rode towards town, but the early morning sunshine shone straight into Redruth's eyes, making for a somewhat slow journey towards their destination, so they were glad of the break about half-way, and they all joined in the extensive preparations for the picnic since Elizabeth made sure nothing was done by halves before settling down to a picnic of oysters washed down with champagne! They resumed their journey after about an hour, and they were about two miles from Grantham when a single shot rang out although the horses didn't bolt but halted in their traces, Flora screamed in terror and clung to Harriet for dear life as the unfortunate coachman slumped sideways in his seat. As Harriet tried to calm her distraught sister, the masked figure that galloped up alongside and threw a leather pouch into their carriage was brandishing an ancient musket and in a gruff voice demanded - "Git all yoar money, jewels and purses and shove em in there!" Since they had no idea whether he had an accomplice lurking in the background they had no choice but to comply, as she freed herself from poor Flora's trembling arms and stripped off her diamond necklace, diamond and emerald rings and bracelets and jewelled patches and threw them into the pouch, together with her sealskin purse while her sisters hurriedly did the same. Divested of their valuables, a screaming Flora once again threw herself into the safety of Harriet's arms, expecting their attacker to seize his pouch and ride off. Their hopes were severely dashed with his next sentence "Nar you wimmin can strip orf all your cloves - my mistress as a need for em - so c'mon git on wiff it!" It seemed the three of them faced the prospect of possibly being raped judging by the gloating look on the man's face. "Oi! You first!" He pointed his weapon at Elizabeth, who cool as a cucumber stood up in the carriage, and slowly and deliberately began to strip off her outer garments, her scarlet hooded cape edged with white ermine, followed by her silk elbow-length gloves, and as she slipped her pink flowered sack dress over her head and shoulders to reveal her silk chemise, the man licked his lips expectantly, especially when she loosened the ties on the garment and it slowly slipped down her legs to the floor revealing her corset and small clothes before resuming her seat alongside Flora, as she looked directly at the robber and in a seductive voice asked. "Pray tell me my man, who is your mistress?" He gave a sickly grin "Why the masked loidy - she is waiting over there in't bushes - so 'urry up abaart it!" He now pointed at Harriet. "Yore turn - so git up and git em orf!" What he got instead was a roundshot which struck the man full in the chest and was discharged very close - so close in fact that as the gunpowder smoke meandered lazily across her face, Harriet noticed her silver fox muff was also smoking and singed, so she looked over Flora's shoulder to find Elizabeth sporting a still smoking pistol in her hands, but she was obviously in shock as with a glazed look of triumph upon her face she muttered, "There's only one masked lady round here and she 'ain't' in those bushes." Meantime there was a horrible 'clunk' as the man's body struck the road, and his terrified horse bolted off across the heath-land. "Mercy me! I think you have killed him!" Elizabeth's face was ashen, but concern for their personal safety was paramount, so Harriet freed herself from Flora's embrace and stood up in the carriage, and having looked about her to ensure the robber didn't have any accomplices, she leant over the driver's backboard to examine Redruth, but as she gently touched his shoulder his lifeless body tumbled to the ground. Harriet decided not to take any chances with her valuable cargo, so she lifted her skirts high in the air and stepped onto the driver's bench and leaning forward snatched up the traces, and despite the strong sunlight shining in her eyes, urged the pair into a modest canter. She decided to continue the journey into Grantham, and looking over her shoulder found Elizabeth and Flora comforting each other and beginning to regain their composure, so a mile further down the road Harriet reined in the horses to allow the three of them to restore their jewellery and Elizabeth to put her clothes back on. When they arrived at their destination, Harriet helped Flora into the 'King's Head' for a stiff gin whilst the resourceful Elizabeth drove off in the carriage to inform the beadle for him to arrange for the disposal of the two bodies left in the road, and then hiring a runner to report the facts to Wakefield Hall in order for a relief coach and coachmen to be despatched for the return journey later in the afternoon. The ladies had agreed to with-hold the identity of Elizabeth as the person who fired the fatal shot which had killed the highwayman, claiming instead that the two men had fired simultaneously, which had brought about their untimely end - after all, who was going to argue with three ladies from the de Vere family? After two or three gins the three ladies had recovered their composure sufficiently for Harriet's dress fitting, so a trio of sedan chairs were summoned and the ladies were transported down the cobbled streets to Madame Ziegler's, where they were greeted effusively by the seamstress, who was anxious to hear first hand the story of their mishap, which by now the whole town knew about. Harriet nearly swooned with delight as she took off her furry muff and her sealskin coat, removed her light blue sack dress and stood ready and waiting to try on the selection of expertly crafted garments fashioned in the finest and most delicate of materials, pinned and ready for her to try on under the eagle eye of her companions, who didn't hesitate to object where a particular garment failed to meet their approval for cut or fit. Four hours later, and totally drained, having visited the corset maker, the wig merchant, the milliner, the perfumier and the cobbler, they made their way back to the hotel with a long train of lackeys in attendance loaded down with their purchases to await the arrival of their coach from Wakefield Hall. By now Elizabeth appeared to have fully recovered from the tragic events of the morning, so during the return journey she was quizzed by Harriet as to how she felt at being compelled to protect their honour by shooting a fellow human being in cold blood. She replied acidly, "Please Harriet, I have no wish to talk about it now! But without wishing to sound too smug - you are not the only one round here with balls you know!" A reply which struck home, drawing a stifled laugh from Flora after which all three lapsed into an uneasy silence as the effects of their long day took its toll. There was a large welcoming crowd of guests and servants waiting to greet them as they stepped down from the carriage as Elizabeth's children rushed forward to embrace their mother, to be followed moments later by a relieved Charles, and after a brief hug the family retired to their private quarters, as willing hands unloaded Harriet's purchases and carried them up to her apartment, where exhaustion overtook her as she fell, fully clothed across the bed in a deep sleep. Early the following morning, before anyone was abroad, Harriet dressed in her favourite morning gown and taking the gig went for a long ride as she recalled the events of the previous day, including the sad demise of Redruth, and although she only briefly glimpsed the face of the dead highwayman laying in the road, she remembered her brother had seen the same man in the Black Swan talking to Sharpe a few weeks before, and handing Jacob a small package. 'Perhaps the crone was right and Jacob is still in business on his own account? He was certainly in league with that robber!' - so she decided act on her suspicions and dig deeper as she surmised, 'I think some spying on Jacob Sharpe is called for' so she turned her horse in the direction of the Swan in order to rouse Blake On her return journey she was crossing Easton ford which had been swollen by overnight rain when she saw a familiar figure approaching from the far bank, and in a panic she pulled on the traces and attempted to turn the gig in the swirling waters, but a wheel became lodged in a rock and she was stuck fast. As recognition dawned, with a smile of triumph George de Vere waded on his horse up to the young lady in yellow, 'Damn' - she thought to herself - 'My sparse wardrobe has let me down!' "I find you unmasked at last my dear? - What am I to do with you now I have you within my grasp?" "That sir,- is for you to decide," was her neutral reply as she sat quietly waiting for the worse. "Hmm." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully with his riding crop. "I owe you my life as well as my purse, so the 'Masked Lady' has earned my heartfelt gratitude." So saying he jumped into the fast flowing waters and grasped the trapped wheel, and with a heave and some verbal encouragement for the poor horse from Harriet the gig sprung free. George had remounted his steed and was taking his leave when he suddenly realised her face was familiar, so as he took her hand he begged the question. "Despite your awsome reputation, I must say you make a mighty pretty gael - are you from these parts?" Harry immediately looked away with embarrassment at the innocent entendre realising his life was already complicated enough without finding himself acquiring a male admirer even if George was a confirmed bachelor! Harry had little choice but to confess to being a newly arrived house-guest at the Hall, but this only intrigued George even more, since how could this charming young lady also be the 'Masked Lady' in her 'alter ego', but he was quite happy not to dwell on such matters as she drove off, thankful to have crossed swords with such a considerate and reasonable man. Three hours later her faithful servant was hidden in a priests hole from where he could observe the comings and goings in the land agent's bedroom, which also doubled as his office. Later that afternoon Blake was able to report back to his master while he was changing into his tea-gown that the runner despatched to Madame Ziegler's was in the pay of Sharpe, and had passed on the timing of the ladies carriage ride into town to another of Sharpe's cronies, who in turn had been despatched into the pages of history by Elizabeth. The runner also handed a pouch to Sharpe which had been collected from Grantham, and was obviously of some value since it was soon residing in Sharpe's strongbox under his bed, while the unhappy runner was despatched to Peterborough to summon two more of Jacob's footpads with instructions to meet up in the Black Swan later that evening. "Well done Blake, now I think you had best get some food inside you back at the inn and await developments - I think we have a long night ahead of us." So saying Harry handed over a purse as the servant slipped away quietly the way he came, leaving Harriet to complete her 'toilette' and join the other ladies for tea. It was in the early hours of the following morning that Harry's manservant Blake once again entered the lady's chamber through the secret passages in the De Vere residence and roused his master in his assu