The Reavers. George Fraser MacDonald
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Day music rang in her ears, and Kylie’s distracted cry of “Break, break, a God’s name, or you’ll suffocate!” was as the distant mewing of sea-birds o’er the beach of some tropic paradise …
Their mouths parted with a long, lingering squelch, and through a cinnamon mist in which dark eyes and lambent moustache still glowed, Lady Godiva came to herself and saw, in dishevelled bewilderment, that her erstwhile lip-ravisher was back in his seat with a jeweller’s glass screwed in his eye, examining – nay, it could not be! – her priceless necklace (yes, it’s the Dacre Diamonds, that fabulous collar nicked by Sir Acre Dacre from the harem of Suleiman the Improbable in the Third Crusade), her emerald earrings, sapphire fillet, pearl brooch, gold rings, and even her platinum zip-fastener, dammit! Dumbstruck Kylie was giving a creditable impersonation of a Black Hole – and now the gorgeous swine was slipping the lot in his pocket and regarding his victim with heavy-breathing admiration.
“Not bed et oll – and Ai don’t mean the spurklers, eether,” he added, wi’ sexy significance. “Bai jove, yur ladyship hesn’t spent oll her taime on embroidery. What a smecker! Fur a moment there Ai was too kerried away to concentrate on mai wurk.” He phewed respectfully. “But, please, don’t be alurrmed. ’Twas just technique, to save oll thet ‘Hends up!’ end ‘Stend end deliver!’ nonsense. Quaite offen,” he added modestly, “the patient pesses out, end doesn’t come round till Ai’m heff-way down the stair – or ‘oot the windae’, as they say in Paisley.”
Rage, wounded pride, and a savage desire to see the colour of this unspeakable cad’s insides boiled up in Godiva like vengeful molasses, and found furious utterance.
“Dastard! Rotter! Oh, miscreant and toad!” Blue hatred lasered from her eyes, and her Titian tresses cracked like shampooed whips. “To dare – to have the immortal crust to lay polluting lips on mine, and snitch my rocks all surreptitious!” Her dainty manicures were poised to chain-saw him, but ere she could strike he was snogging again, with gentle mastery, and at that magic touch her fury drained away in bubbles of rapture, tingling her from fiery head to gilded toe-nail, the sea-birds did an encore … and heavens to murgatroyd, she was kissing him back! As he desisted, swaying and looking slightly baffled, Godiva sank back all giddy and misty, as one punch-drunk or ensorcelled.
“Ah, me!” she whispered. “Oh, brother! What … who … what art thou? Do I dream, or is it the peach brandy?” She stirred feebly, like a landed salmon trying to think straight. “Why … thou robber, to steal away my senses, my code of conduct – my jewellery yet!” she yipped, as the last effects of his embrace wore off. “Give it back, base handbag artist –”
“Take it easy!” he implored. “Let me get a wurrd in, or Ai’ll hev to smooch you again, end we’ll be here oll naight – you want to get home, shurrly? You esk who Ai em?” He rose to commanding height, hand on swaggering hip, and chuckled à la Fairbanks. “Know then, proud Godaiva, thet Ai – wait for it – em Gilderoy!”
If he’d said “Ichabod Schmultz’ it couldn’t have meant less to Godiva, but Kylie, who kept up with the tabloid broadsheets, went a whiter shade of pale and squeaked like a goosed budgie.
“Gilderoy!” she quavered, her eyes terrified gob-stoppers. “Not … not Bonny Gilderoy! Cripes! Goddy, we are undone! ’Tis the Claude Duval of Newton Mearns, the notorious highwayman and terror o’ the roundabouts, known and feared from Tyne to’ Solway as the Tartan Raffles –”*
“Och, away, ye’ve been listening to the bellad-singers –”
“What!” decibelled Godiva, now fully recovered. “Oh, direst shame! I, of my gentility, to be embraced by common criminal –”
“No, heer, heng it oll! Criminal, Ai grent you, but not common –”
“– drugged by his loathsome kisses – aye, for I warrant me his ghastly ’tash is steeped wi’ LSD to space out defenceless ladies –”
“No sich thing!” he protested. “Look, ken Ai help it if mai lip-wurk robs wimmen of their reason? It’s a gift – quaite hendy professionally, but it makes it deshed difficult to esteblish any meaningful relationship, Ai ken tell you!” And his voice was so full of wist that Kylie could not repress a studio-audience “Aw-w-w …”, and even distraught Godiva felt a sympathetic pang. Not for long, though.
“Set it to music, cut-purse! Of all the sneaky snakes –”
“Wait! Nay, hear – and pity me!” He did another swift genuflect and raised entreating eyes, nobly anguished with a touch of spaniel. “For et lest Ai em hoist with mai own petard! Aye, this naight hev Ai found me a she who doth turn me on as Ai do she!” He paused, frowning. “Or her? Or me? Ach, who cares, the point is thet Ai em shettered end fettered bai yur kisses – it was thet lest smecker that did it! Efter years of osculatory immunity, Ai em keptive of thet little bestard Cupid.” He heaved a sigh that lurched the speeding coach. “Peerless Godaiva, mai heart is et yur feet!”
The impulse to tell him to pick it up and stick it trembled on her tongue, but dived off unuttered. Fury told her to kick him in the slats, yet her emotions were cartwheeling before his adoration, and the memory of his embrace sent fire whooshing through her veins. Torn by conflicting passions, she hesitated – and then remembered that she was the scion of one who had conned a monopoly out of Henry the Seventh.
“Fair words!” she sneered. “Enslaved wi’ love o’ me, quotha – that’s a laugh! Prove it, then! Lay me those looted goodies where you say your heart is – at my feet! That’ll do for starters!”
Shock, amaze, reproach, and angst scampered after each other o’er his flawless features, and he fingered dubious beard. “Oh, here! Thet’s a bit much, desh it! Ai mean, what a precedent! Gilderoy restoring plunder on request – whay, Ai’d be the leffing-stock of every thieves’ ken in the country! End Ai’m not sure,” he added solemnly, “thet yur ladyship couldn’t be done for receiving stolen goods. Ai couldn’t hev thet. Nay,” he clarioned winningly, “take mai love, end forget these trumpery toys, et least until Ai can get legal advaice, end you’ve hurd from the insurers –”
“Oh, base!” cried Godiva. “Oh, false insinuating crumb! Hand them over, you … you kissing bandit, you, and void my sight!”
“You ken’t mean it!”
“Why not give them back in return for another kiss and a waltz by the roadside?” ventured Kylie. “Highwaymen do, all the time.”
“Not this skunk! ’Tis how he gets the stuff, the viper!”
“Rensoming valuables by necking end dencing is raight out these days,” said Gilderoy, shaking his head. “Honestly, it got so that every coach you stopped, some gruesome old beg would be sitting there with her lips purrsed and a consort of viols in the beck seat.” He continued his imploring kneel, arms wide. “Murciless enchentress, Ai appeal to –”
What would have ensued none can say – a right to his jaw from raging Godiva, another dumb suggestion from Kylie? – for at that moment there rang out a distant challenge on the frosty air: “Hold! In the Queen’s name!” and Gilderoy reacted like an electrified lizard.
“The polis, demmit!” he exclaimed, and with one bound had a leg over the window-sill, wincing sharply as he came down on the frame. “Hither to me, faithful Garscadden!” An instant only he paused, and searing passion flame-throwered from his eyes to envelop her ladyship.
“To our next joyous meeting, sweet Godaiva! Thay beauty shell draw me laike a megnet, end we’ll get everything sorted out, you’ll see! For the nonce, the tall timber bids me away!”
“My jewels!” screamed Godiva. “Help! Aid, ho! He’s taking off with my ice … the gorgeous brigand,” she faltered, eyes misting.
“How about one for the road?” pleaded Kylie hopefully, puckering up with her eyes closed, but Gilderoy was gone with a last “Adjoo, mai love!” and a rattle of coconut shells as he thundered away. Constabulary voices were raised