Read Online The Judas Blade by John Pilkington - Free Book Online
Authors: John Pilkington
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her.
‘Oh, cods …’ She raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘I should have known: you’re an actor!’
‘I was,’ came the reply. ‘Played at the King’s, a few years back. You weren’t on the stage then, but I’ve seen you since at the Duke’s. You were a convincing trull, as I recall.’
‘Do you indeed!’ Feeling an utter fool, Betsy glared. ‘And who are you? For you’re surely not a captain of anything, I’ll wager – any more than your name’s Girvan, or Mullin!’
‘Ah, there you’re mistaken.’ Mullin laughed – the sort of hearty laugh only actors used. Then abruptly he got to his feet. ‘Perhaps I’ll risk a mouthful of wine after all,’ he said, moving to the table. He picked up the jug and sniffed at it. ‘Better than horse-piss, I suppose … Will you partake, too?’ Without waiting for a reply, he poured two cups and brought them over. In spite of herself, Betsy accepted one and took a fortifying drink.
‘You inferred that I was mistaken,’ she said drily.
‘Oh, yes …’ The other sat down again, drank and pulled a face. ‘Vile, as I thought!’ He grinned at Betsy. ‘I
am
a captain. Before I went upon the stage I was a captain of horse … it proved very useful, in certain roles.’
‘Villains?’ Betsy suggested. ‘Or charlatans, perhaps?’
‘Naturally! But nowadays I act for King and Country … as I see you do, Brand. Did Lord Caradoc recruit you?’
Though fuming, Betsy managed to keep her anger in check. ‘That’s not your affair,’ she said icily. ‘And I’ll ask you now to tell me what orders Mr Lee gave you, so that I know—’
‘Mr Lee?’ Mullin broke in. ‘You mean Williamson, the boot-licker .’ He gave a snort. ‘There’s no need to work from the book with me, Brand. I’ve been at this game too long.’
‘It’s
Mistress
Brand!’ Betsy snapped; then her face fell. ‘I mean, it’s Beatrice. And I’m to call you Girvan, I think.’
‘Oh?’ The other sat up. ‘Surely your orders say otherwise. When a male and female agent work together it’s usual for them to pass as husband and wife, to allay any suspicions. Which would make us Captain and Mrs Mullin, would it not?’
An uneasy feeling was stealing over Betsy. ‘I suppose it would,’ she began. ‘But even if that were your real name—’
‘It’s as good as any other, isn’t it?’ Mullin drained the last of his wine, made a sound expressive of disgust and plonked the cup down on the floor. ‘Well now,
Mistress
Brand,’ he went on, ‘while I’m tempted to ask for the latest theatre gossip, I suppose we’d better get down to work, don’t you?’
‘Not just yet,’ Betsy answered coolly. ‘Firstly, I’d like to clarify my role—’
‘You mean, as my wife?’ The other raised his eyebrows. ‘Would that present difficulties?’
But it was his turn to be startled as Betsy jumped to her feet. ‘Don’t try your tiring-room tricks on me, Mullin!’ She snapped. ‘I’m nobody’s jilt – and if you think we’re sharing a bed, it’s you who is mistaken!’
‘My dear woman, how badly you must think of me.’ Mullin put on a shocked expression. ‘Your person will be perfectly safe in my company – you have my word upon it.’
‘Your word?’ Betsy echoed. ‘I doubt it’s worth a fig. You weren’t here when we arrived. Instead you turn up in the dead of night smelling of brandy, and strut about as if you owned the place – which we both know was merely a performance. Furthermore Peter Crabb’s not my servant, he’s an agent, with whom you’re already at loggerheads with—’
‘That hulking brute?’ Mullin sniffed. ‘It’s jealousy on his part. He wishes he were the one to play your husband – as I think you’ve probably guessed.’
‘Even if that were so, such ill feeling could hamper us in our task, could it not?’ Betsy countered. But under Mullin’s sardonic gaze she sat down again. The fire had gone out, and the roomwas chilly. Pulling
‘Oh, cods …’ She raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘I should have known: you’re an actor!’
‘I was,’ came the reply. ‘Played at the King’s, a few years back. You weren’t on the stage then, but I’ve seen you since at the Duke’s. You were a convincing trull, as I recall.’
‘Do you indeed!’ Feeling an utter fool, Betsy glared. ‘And who are you? For you’re surely not a captain of anything, I’ll wager – any more than your name’s Girvan, or Mullin!’
‘Ah, there you’re mistaken.’ Mullin laughed – the sort of hearty laugh only actors used. Then abruptly he got to his feet. ‘Perhaps I’ll risk a mouthful of wine after all,’ he said, moving to the table. He picked up the jug and sniffed at it. ‘Better than horse-piss, I suppose … Will you partake, too?’ Without waiting for a reply, he poured two cups and brought them over. In spite of herself, Betsy accepted one and took a fortifying drink.
‘You inferred that I was mistaken,’ she said drily.
‘Oh, yes …’ The other sat down again, drank and pulled a face. ‘Vile, as I thought!’ He grinned at Betsy. ‘I
am
a captain. Before I went upon the stage I was a captain of horse … it proved very useful, in certain roles.’
‘Villains?’ Betsy suggested. ‘Or charlatans, perhaps?’
‘Naturally! But nowadays I act for King and Country … as I see you do, Brand. Did Lord Caradoc recruit you?’
Though fuming, Betsy managed to keep her anger in check. ‘That’s not your affair,’ she said icily. ‘And I’ll ask you now to tell me what orders Mr Lee gave you, so that I know—’
‘Mr Lee?’ Mullin broke in. ‘You mean Williamson, the boot-licker .’ He gave a snort. ‘There’s no need to work from the book with me, Brand. I’ve been at this game too long.’
‘It’s
Mistress
Brand!’ Betsy snapped; then her face fell. ‘I mean, it’s Beatrice. And I’m to call you Girvan, I think.’
‘Oh?’ The other sat up. ‘Surely your orders say otherwise. When a male and female agent work together it’s usual for them to pass as husband and wife, to allay any suspicions. Which would make us Captain and Mrs Mullin, would it not?’
An uneasy feeling was stealing over Betsy. ‘I suppose it would,’ she began. ‘But even if that were your real name—’
‘It’s as good as any other, isn’t it?’ Mullin drained the last of his wine, made a sound expressive of disgust and plonked the cup down on the floor. ‘Well now,
Mistress
Brand,’ he went on, ‘while I’m tempted to ask for the latest theatre gossip, I suppose we’d better get down to work, don’t you?’
‘Not just yet,’ Betsy answered coolly. ‘Firstly, I’d like to clarify my role—’
‘You mean, as my wife?’ The other raised his eyebrows. ‘Would that present difficulties?’
But it was his turn to be startled as Betsy jumped to her feet. ‘Don’t try your tiring-room tricks on me, Mullin!’ She snapped. ‘I’m nobody’s jilt – and if you think we’re sharing a bed, it’s you who is mistaken!’
‘My dear woman, how badly you must think of me.’ Mullin put on a shocked expression. ‘Your person will be perfectly safe in my company – you have my word upon it.’
‘Your word?’ Betsy echoed. ‘I doubt it’s worth a fig. You weren’t here when we arrived. Instead you turn up in the dead of night smelling of brandy, and strut about as if you owned the place – which we both know was merely a performance. Furthermore Peter Crabb’s not my servant, he’s an agent, with whom you’re already at loggerheads with—’
‘That hulking brute?’ Mullin sniffed. ‘It’s jealousy on his part. He wishes he were the one to play your husband – as I think you’ve probably guessed.’
‘Even if that were so, such ill feeling could hamper us in our task, could it not?’ Betsy countered. But under Mullin’s sardonic gaze she sat down again. The fire had gone out, and the roomwas chilly. Pulling
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