Free Henrietta by M.C. Beaton Page A

There had been no answer to his summons. The windows were heavily barred and the door was of solid mahogany.
    A sudden jab of concern for Henrietta stabbed him. He could think of no other reason for this insane practical joke. He looked thoughtfully at the fireplace. It was a capacious one and the chimney had been recently cleaned. Then he shook his head. Something had happened to the servants and if he got stuck in the flu then God alone knew how long he would be forced to stay there.
    But his temper was rising. Henrietta would now be at Almack’s thinking that he had deserted her. His sister, Ann, was ill so Henrietta and Miss Scattersworth would know no one. He came to a sudden decision. He hauled out a game bag and stripping off his evening clothes, he folded them carefully into it along with his diamond jewellery. He rummaged in his wardrobe and found an old hacking jacket, a venerable pair of buckskins and an old pair of shoes.
    Tying his shoes and the game bag round his neck, he crossed to the fireplace, got down on all fours and stared up the chimney. One mocking star stared back down at him. It seemed very far away at the other end of an eternity of sooty blackness.
    But the roof could not be so very far away. Only the attics were above his room. He tried shouting for help several times but there was no reply. His bedroom windows faced the garden at the back of the house.
    With a sigh of resignation, he crawled into the fireplace, stood upright and started to climb. Several times his broad shoulders jammed and he had to pause with cold sweat trickling down his soot-stained face until with a massive wrench, he managed to free himself. He was nearly at the top when he suddenly realized he would never, ever get himself through the chimney pot. He was no climbing boy. He wedged himself against the walls of the chimney and fought against an over-whelming attack of claustrophobia which threatened to unman him. He rested, gulping for air and trying to calm his trembling body. Then the thought that someone had deliberately locked him in his own bedroom like a naughty schoolboy hit him with violent force. His attack of claustrophobia fled before a wave of healthy anger. Chimney pots could be broken. He scrabbled upwards, envisaged the chimney pot as the fool who had got him into this situation and struck it with all his might.
    Fortunately for Lord Reckford, its hold on the building had been weakened by the recent storm and with an almighty crash, it plunged over the slates and into the gardens below. A slate whizzed down into the great gaping hole left in the roof, missing him by inches. He hauled himself out onto the roof and slithered down the slates and, with the agility of an acrobat, made his way down the drainpipe to the street.
    He planned to make his way down to the kitchen area to see what on earth had happened to his servants when there was a cry of “Hold there” and a waving lantern.
    “The watch!” Lord Reckford cursed under his breath. It would take hours to establish his credentials. Who would believe that the famous Beau Reckford had been climbing around the roof of his town house in torn clothes and covered in soot? He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and turned and drove his fist into the watch’s kidneys. The man gave a scream of pain and doubled up. There was another bobbing light at the end of the street. Lord Reckford fled.
    He zig-zagged through the night-time streets until all sounds of pursuit faded behind him. He tried to hail a hack but the driver told him in no uncertain terms that he only allowed
clean
gentlemen in his carriage. His lordship became aware of the filth of his appearance and took himself off to the Hummums on foot for a Turkish bath.
        *    *    *
    Henrietta’s heart felt like lead. The clock stood at two minutes to eleven and no one, not even the Prince Regent himself, was allowed in after eleven o’clock. She would not be humiliated any more. She turned to