The Curious Rogue Read Online Free Page A

name?” the other commanded.
    The innkeeper debated his answer, then stiffened as the man leaned back in his chair. He watched the man’s hand come to rest near the butt of a pistol in his waistband. “Jeffries it be, sir. Sir Henry Jeffries. I best be about me duties,” he added and began to edge away from the table.
    “Does he have a niece?”
    “I’ve heard tell he does,” the innkeeper answered slowly.
    “Do you know her name?”
    “Seems me heard tell o’ it... but then his lordship be a mite above me an’ we don’t deal together, common like.” He rubbed his double chin.
    A coin appeared as if by magic in the dark man’s hand. He flipped it to the innkeeper.
    “‘Lizabeth, sir. Miss ‘Lizabeth Jeffries.” The man beamed greedily. “There he more ye wish to be knowin’?” he asked hopefully.
    “Bring me bread and cheese,” the other commanded coldly, his face impassive.
    With a regretful grimace, the innkeeper turned away.
    What a fool you are, the man condemned himself. He ran a hand slowly through his thick coal-black hair. Exposing yourself needlessly to learn a chit’s name, and it being Elizabeth at that.
    A strong proud name just like the lady. The innkeeper’s return interrupted his thought. He hungrily devoured the cheese and bread. Finished, he quaffed the last of his ale, and after placing coins on the table, strode from the inn. Outside he swung easily into the saddle and spurred away.
     “That be a most curious sort,” the innkeeper mumbled as he scraped crumbs from the table onto the litter-covered floor. Wonder if Sir Henry be interested in knowin’ the like o’ that sort are askin’ after his niece?
    The thought was still on the man’s mind a short time later when five soldiers entered the inn.
    After ordering ale, the sergeant asked, “Have ye seen the like o’ a tall, dark man? A mean look he has and likely carryin’ a pistol. He would have come by way of Folkestone.”
    “With hair as black as the devil’s stone?” the innkeeper asked.
    “Aye, an’ eyes that match it.”
    “Who be he?”
    “By name, Martin. He moves back an’ forth ‘tween here and France like there ‘twasn’t no war. But he went too far when he threw Lord Fromby into the Channel. His lordship’s set a fire to the tail on them in London, and we’ve ten score men sent to capture him.”
    “Ten score... all fer one man?” the other questioned sceptically.
    “‘Tis the country’s honour at stake to hear his lordship,” the sergeant returned, thumping his hand upon the counter.
    “What did ye say this Martin did to Lord—”
    “Fromby was bein’ patriotic like an’ gettin’ information on some smugglers, so he says, when this Martin came and ‘umiliated him. Pulled his fancy wig off.” He winked.
    “His lordship be balder ‘n a hen’s egg, so it’s told since. Then the bloke threw him over the side.” The sergeant ended there, thinking it imprudent to add that his lordship had been in the company of some ladies of doubtful reputation who had preferred the assailant. Nor did he think it wise to mention that tattle in the barracks had it that Lord Fromby, for all the personal insult he had suffered, was more likely angered because the man had also made off with his ship and the cargo his lordship had arranged to be smuggled in.
    “Have ye seen the man?” he asked again, his ale finished.
    “Aye, not two hours past. Headin’ fer London he likely were.”
    “If ye see him again, send word to Colonel Trumbel at Dover. Lord Frombv’s puttin’ a large sum of guineas to the man responsible for catchin’ him.”
    * * * *
    His third rented hack of the day was well lathered by the time Martin reached London. He had gone over six and thirty hours without sleep. Instead of reining his tired steed towards his quarters, he made for a house on the edge of Mayfair which he had rented for a young lady with whom he had an amicable agreement.
    Discontent had lain heavily upon Martin all