In the previous October Charles had been in London for a week, to be measured and fitted by his tailor for some new clothes. It was then that a friend of his had introduced him at the revived Hell Fire Club. On that first visit he had been allowed only to witness the opening of a fascinating occult ceremony, and had his fortune told by a lovely woman who played the role of High Priestess.
Having then eagerly expressed his wish to be made a member, in mid-November he had thought of an excuse to go again to London, and had been duly initiated, the ceremony ending by his possessing the beautiful priestess-witch.
His lovely initiator then told him that he was now entitled to attend any of the meetings which were held once a week, and that there were five when attendance was obligatory: New Year's Eve, Lammas in February, May Day's Eve, Beltane in August and All Hallow's Eve. Failure to be present, unless a valid excuse could be given, meant expulsion from the club.
Charles had replied that he might have to remain in the country until after Christmas, but he would greatly look forward to New Year's Eve. He had not known then that his mother intended to give a ball that night. Her first mention of it, a few days later, had greatly perturbed him; but the knowledge that he would be debarred from the club for good if he did not attend the New Year ceremony had determined him to do so, even at the cost of upsetting Susan.
In consequence, at the ball he booked no dances for after midnight and, having drunk the usual toasts, slipped away unobserved to collect his cloak, then left the house by the back door which gave on to a mews.
It had been raining hard, but now the rain had lessened to a drizzle. He had his own coach, which his mother had given him as a seventeenth birthday present, and earlier in the day he had ordered it to be waiting for him in Bruton Street. It was standing near the mews entrance, and some thirty feet beyond it stood another coach with a man and woman nearby.
By the light of the flambeaux in the sconces fixed to jthe railings on either side of the front door of the house opposite, Charles saw the man hand the woman into the coach. As he did so the light glinted on the auburn ringlets that dangled from beneath a scarf his companion was wearing over her head. Instantly Charles realised that she was Susan.
Running forward, he pushed aside the man, thrust his head into the coach and cried, 'Susan, what is the meaning of this?'
She started back, then replied quickly, 'Captain Hawksbury is taking me on to another party for an hour or two.'
'He'll do no such thing!' retorted Charles hotly. 'You know well enough that you are not allowed out unaccompanied by a chaperone.'
'I am of an age to please myself,' Susan snapped back. 'And I will go escorted by whom I choose.'
Captain Hawksbury was a notorious roue, and Charles had disliked Susan's welcoming his attentions in London the previous summer; but at that time it had not even entered his head that she might possibly allow him to seduce her. Now, since their conversation of that morning, he was seized with sudden apprehension that she might. Fear for her, mingled with furious jealousy, welled up in him, and his voice became sharp with anger.
' 'Tis unthinkable that you should go off alone with a man in the middle of the night. I'll not allow it!'
The Captain was a well-built man, and half a head taller than Charles, who had not yet grown to his full height. Laying a hand on Charles's shoulder, he said in a quiet, amused voice, Tray calm yourself, my young lord. Miss Brook has done me the honour to agree to accompany me to a pleasant party, where I will take good care of her. 'Tis no business of yours where she goes.'
'By God, it is!' thundered Charles. 'And I'll not let her. She shall return with me to the house this instant.'
As he spoke, he put one foot on the step of the coach and stretched out a hand to grab Susan's arm. Hawksbury's voice suddenly changed to an angry rasp.
'Damn you, boy! I'll not brook your interference.' His hand tightened on Charles's shoulder, and he gave a shove that had all a strong man's strength behind it. Charles, having one foot on the coach step, overbalanced and fell full length into the gutter, which was full of muddy water from the recent downpour.
Livid with rage he shouted at Hawksbury, 'By God, you shall pay for this! I'll call you out and see the colour of your blood!'
Hawksbury gave a bellow of laughter, 'What? Fight a duel with a stripling like you? Is it likely? You'd be lucky if you got away with a swordthrust through the arm. Aye, and within the first minute of the encounter.' Turning contemptuously away, he got into the coach and slammed the door behind him.
As Charles picked himself up, he cried, 'Don't be so certain! Age and height count for little in a duel, and I was taught to use a rapier by no less a champion than Miss Brook's father. I vow I'll prove your equal, if not your better.'
Thrusting his head through the open window of the coach, Hawksbury flung at Charles the taunt, 'Then, being so fine a swordsman, my little cockscomb, why do you skulk here in England ? Have you not heard that we are at war with that brigand, Bonaparte? Get you to the Peninsula and slay a few frog-eaters. Do that, and I'll meet you in a duel, but not before.'
Leaving Charles seething with impotent fury, the coach drove off.
Having fallen in the gutter, Charles's white satin, breeches and silk stockings were soaking wet and smeared with mud. It was impossible for him to present himself at the club in that condition. For a few minutes his mind was so filled with anxiety about Susan that he no longer felt any inclination to go there. But to return to the ball, where he would have to pretend to be gay and carefree, was out of the question. The only other alternative was to go up to his room and sit there, brooding miserably. It then crossed his mind that if he did not go to the club, he would forfeit his membership. Moreover, there he would at least find distraction that for the next few hours would divert his mind from tormenting apprehensions about what Susan might be letting Hawksbury do to her.
Turning, he hurried into the house, ran up the back stairs to his room and quickly changed his clothes. Ten minutes later he left again, got into his coach, put pna mask that hid the upper part of his face and told his coachman to drive him to an address in Islington.
At that date Islington was a fashionable suburb and many of the quality had fine houses there. A little before one o'clock Charles's coach set him down in front of one in a handsome terrace. Further along it several other coaches that had brought members to the club were standing. Telling his man to join them and wait for him, Charles ran up the steps of the house and gave a tug at the iron bell pull.
The bell was still clanging when a grille in the front door was opened and a pair of eyes peered out at him. From a pocket in his long waistcoat Charles produced the symbol of his membership. It was a brooch having a stone known as a 'cat's eye'. He held it up so that the person behind the grille could see it. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges. The liveried footman who had let him in closed the door behind him and bowed him towards a room on the right of the pillared hall. On entering it he took off his blue satin tail coat, his waistcoat and breeches and hung them on pegs among a row holding a number of similar garments. Then, from another row of pegs he took one of several grey robes with hoods, such as are worn by monks, and put it on. Having tied the cord round his waist, he pinned the cat's eye brooch over his heart.