by David O'Neil
James said “Sir Paul Rowland, sir.” The way he said it said all Martin needed to hear.
James led him to the drawing room. As Martin put his hand to the door handle he heard a scuffle within.
Throwing open the door, he said softly, “Jane, my dear, I have come to call.”
The man who was holding Jane by her upper arms turned to look at him. Spitting the words out he said, “You will have to wait your turn. She is mine first.”
Martin stepped forward and took the man by the scruff of the neck, the tight stock constricting the man’s breath. Twisting the stock, he peeled the man away from Jane who fell back onto the chair behind her.
Martin let go of the man and punched him in the stomach, followed by a punch in the face that split the man’s lips. The man reached for the sword at his side. Martin clouted the man sending him reeling against the settee. “How dare you? You ignorant excuse for a man”. He twitched the sword from the scabbard. It looked like a dress sword, but Martin noticed that the blade was serviceable and had wear from use. He bent with the sword and placed his foot on the blade. With a wrench he snapped it off halfway down its length. Throwing the hilt section into the corner, he dragged the fallen man to his feet and slapped him round the face, back and forth several times.
“Are you listening to me?” He said looking the bedraggled man, wig awry, facing him. The blood from his lips smeared his face, mixing with the powder from his wig and cheeks.
“I am giving you warning. If any mention of this is made by anyone, I will seek you out and kill you. If by chance I am not here, my men will drag you through the streets like the cur you are. Now get on your knees and apologixe to the lady you were assaulting. Whatever blackmail you were attempting to use forget it. If there is any hint of interference with this lady, or her husband and family, you will feel the lash, and your death will be painful.”
The man crawled over to Lady Jane, on his knees, “I apologize, my lady. I was overcome by your …” The sound of the round-arm slap from Lady Jane’s right hand made Martin wince.
“Get out of my house, you crawling toad. And you may tell that apology for a man Barrat that his welcome here will be as warm as yours has been. My door is closed to you and your ilk.”
James, the butler, happily hauled the battered man to his feet and bundled him off through the door. Martin went with him. “For the lady’s sake, no more will be said of this. But if I hear of any attempt by you or your friends to act again in this way to anyone at all, I, or my people, will kill you without warning or mercy. Are we clear?”
Sir Paul Rowland nodded, with hatred in his eyes, but fear also.
Martin returned into the house. “Thank you, James. You heard?”
“Yes, sir. You can depend on me.”
“I was sure I could.” Martin said and returned to the drawing room.
Jane was on her feet and she spun round as Martin entered. He took her in his arms and she melted against him. Holding her and supporting her, he half-walked half-carried her to her sitting room, seating her on the chaise-longue, where she lay back her dress disarranged by the violence of the assault by Sir Paul. Ignoring her dishabille, she took Martin’s face in both her hands and kissed him warmly on the lips. He stood up still holding Jane’s hand. “Dear Jane, I would have wished for a happier homecoming, though I am delighted to be here and to see you unhurt by that dog.”
“Dear Martin, thank you for rescuing me once more. The man was threatening to call Charles out in a duel. He has a deadly reputation as a duellist. You must take good care, my dear. That man is a snake.”
“I will, Jane. Please do not worry. I have dealt with men like that before.” He stood up and strode over to the fireplace. “Tomorrow I will ensure that Sir Paul and his friend will not bother you or our families again.”
Mr. Smith listened to Martin’s story with interest. It was the following day. Martin had been instructed to call at the Foreign Office the moment he landed, after delivering the convoy from India.
“Sir Paul Rowland is known to me, as is his friend Michael Barrat. You need not concern yourself with either of them.” He rang a bell at his side. When a man entered, he gave him a note scribbled while he waited.
The man left and Mr. Smith then began speaking to him about the next project had in mind. Later that day Martin called upon the Admiral at the Admiralty.
Sir Charles rose to his feet to greet Martin, taking his hand. “My dear boy, I am happy to see you looking well. The convoy arrived safely, I understand, thanks to you. Their Lordships are pleased with you, though I understand that damned Smith man has your services again.”
“Now, father. Mr. Smith is not the ogre you appear to believe him to be. He has served me well in my naval career and has only asked that I work for our country in a slightly different way.”
Sir Charles walked to the window, touched at Martin’s calling him father, though he was only Martin’s adoptive father. “Will we see something of you this time?”
“I understand that you will, sir. I am ordered to remain some weeks here in London. My ship will be sailing under my first Lieutenant, escorting a convoy to the Baltic. You will see a lot of me if you are available yourself. I understand you have been spending, as Lady Jane puts it, far too much time here. Certainly she feels a little neglected? And your granddaughter was heard to say, ‘who’? The day you passed through the room on one occasion.”
The Admiral looked up sharply at this comment and for as moment Martin thought he had gone too far. Then the smile spread across the tired face and Sir Charles said, “I do not believe you, sir, since it was I who explained to your daughter who you were. However you may report to her ladyship that I will be home to join my family at dinner this evening. Ah, I fear I am forgetting myself. You will need to send a message to the ladies to that effect. We have an appointment elsewhere today. You are to accompany me.”
He sat smiling quietly for a moment then said, “You need not start writing. for your information we will be joined by the ladies for luncheon before we attend the reception. However, I do have some work to clear up here, so it might be a good time to take a stroll. It will give you the opportunity to purchase a present for your own wife who, it seems, has a birthday that only precedes the birthday of your daughter by two weeks.”
Martin looked baffled for a moment. “Oh, my!” He looked appalled. “How could I have forgotten?” He rose to his feet and saluted. “With your permission sir.”
“Don’t forget to return here to accompany me to our rendezvous and the reception.”
“I will not forget, sir,” and Martin made a hasty exit to get the present for Jennifer.
The reception was well attended and, when Martin and Jennifer arrived with Jane and the Admiral, proceedings were already underway. Having been presented to the Prince of Wales, the party retired into the background, finding a certain peace and quiet on the terrace of the house where several groups were taking the air. The aide-de-camp found them and called them to attend on the Prince. With no warning the small party were ushered into a side room off the crowded reception room. There was an exclusive group of people, mainly service officers and their partners present. The Admiral was called forward before the Prince who was standing at the head of a strip of carpet, with an aide beside him holding a plush pillow on which lay a decoration. Sir Charles approached the Prince. With some ceremony he was formally presented with the title of Baron, for his services to the country, especially to the Royal Navy during his period at the Admiralty. His promotion to Rear Admiral had already been promulgated in the Gazette due out the next day.
The Prince was graciously introduced to Lady Jane Burrows, with whom he was already acquainted.
It was with some trepidation that Martin discovered he was now addressed as Captain, the Honorable Martin Forrest-Burrows RN. A title he felt uncomfortable wearing though Lord Charles, as he was now known, would have been disappointed if he had not adopted the honorific.
The
occasion of the birthday of his wife and the celebration of the elevation of Sir Charles was an opportunity for a party. Jennifer and Lady Jane threw themselves into the preparation with enthusiasm. Lady Jane, with the weight of the blackmail threats lifted from her shoulders, was looking and feeling happier. Jennifer was happy for her and was delighted with the gift from her husband. The emerald necklace was one of the spoils from the Dutch prize in the Caribbean, purchased on his instruction by his prize agent. It had been intended as a 21st birthday present, but in his absence the moment had passed. On this occasion his own forgetfulness, thankfully remedied by the reminder from Sir, no, Lord Charles, made its availability the easy option, rather than rushing around shopping at the last minute.
The occasion was an opportunity to repay hospitality. It did entail the entertainment of several of the officers from the ships of the Admiral and of Martin. Giles was happily back from the far east and had brought with him the bride he had found in Bombay during the extended return voyage from his service in Canton. His ship had been delayed for two months during the monsoon season. The meeting with Lady Isabella Staunton had been dramatic, and the fortuitous. Giles had been travelling the same road, his party had split up when some members decided to accept the hospitality of the Rajah of the small province they had passed two days earlier.
They had made good time with the reduction of their numbers and Giles with his cox’n and servant, were within hearing when the dacoits had challenged the party ahead around the bend. Giles stopped his horse and swung down to approach the bend. He saw the group stopped in the road by six men armed with tulwars, the curved blades glinting in the evening sunlight. Giles looked at his two men. Benson, the cox’n, and Hill, his servant, both had their weapons in hand. Hill carried a blunderbuss loaded normally with scraps of metal and pistol balls. Benson carried a cutlass in one hand and a short club in the other. Both nodded. Giles grinned and quietly drew his sword. With pistol in one hand and sword in the other he stepped round the corner and shouted at the dacoits. Then he fired his pistol and dashed at the remaining bandits. One man dropped, shot through by the pistol, though Giles had hardly aimed it, expecting only to startle the bandits. The roar of the blunderbuss was followed by the shouts of his two men. Lady Isabella was being dragged away by two of the retreating dacoits.
Giles ran at them slashing the arm of the nearest man causing him to drop his tulwar and grab his arm as it spurted blood. The other man dropped Isabella and attacked Giles, weapon raised to chop at his head. Giles blocked the strike and slipped his blade along that of the bandit. The two swords came together as the hilts clashed. Giles managed to push both swords up above the head of the dacoit. He pushed the man and, as the swords separated, his blade slashed a wound down the face of the man the point nicking the man’s neck causing a great spurt of blood from his carotid artery. The man grabbed his neck in a vain effort to stop the bleeding.
The ambush broken, the survivors of the party were gathering themselves together, collecting their scattered property.
Giles assisted Lady Isabella to her feet establishing, that apart from bruises on her arms from the manhandling, all was well.
“Thanks to you, sir, I am unharmed. I fear that my trust in our escort was misplaced. “
Giles commented, gazing at the bodies of the unfortunate guards, “It appears that they did their best at least. I am happy to have been of service, miss.” He bowed and turned to the others, making sure that they were all cared for.
Benson and Hill were standing back keeping an eye on the direction taken by the bandits.
Giles had been ahead of his caravan, now the remainder of the small group caught up and started lending a hand with the clearing up.
Isabella joined Giles where he stood, sword now cleaned and sheathed. “What is your name, sir?”
“I am Giles Masters, Captain of the frigate HMS Watchet currently refitting in Bombay. He bowed. “At your service.”
Isabella curtseyed. “Lady Isabella Staunton, sir, grateful for your intervention, and saving my life.”
So the two young people met. Isabella, who had been expected to marry Lord Patrick Simion, was free by virtue of the demise of his lordship from malaria, two days before the formal announcement was made. It seemed that the chastening experience of the brush with death had brought the lady to her senses rather sharply. For Giles there was no hesitation. The damsel in distress was undoubtedly the woman for him and over the next month both found the prospect of life apart impossible. They married during the voyage home, the wedding conducted by the captain of the East Indiaman Shropshire during a period of calm in the doldrums off the coast of Africa. Their three day honeymoon was made possible by the persistent lack of wind for the period.
With the return of the wind the couple were forced apart until the convoy’s arrival in England.
For Martin, the introduction to Lady Isabella Masters the wife of Giles was a shock. He swiftly recovered when, with great aplomb, Isabella smiled happily at being introduced and announced to all present, “Captain Forrest-Burrows, please tell me you have not forgotten our meeting in Bombay, at the Governor’s soiree, I believe.”
The swiftly-recovering Martin replied gallantly, “Madam, how could I forget the most beautiful lady attending the gathering? My uncle is to be envied for his good fortune.”
Lady Jane watched the proceedings with a speculative eye, but there was a twinkle there when she mentioned her new sister-in-law to Martin later. There was a moment during the evening when Isabella and Martin were alone. “I did not realize that it was you that had married Giles,” he said carefully.
“Why should you, Martin. I was also a little shocked to meet you tonight. I presume, in our mutual interest, what happened in Bombay remains in Bombay?”
Martin bowed over her hand, relieved. He kissed it and said, “Oh. Yes. I really think that would be best.”
Jennifer took Isabella under her wing in London. The two ladies found common interests and quickly became friends. Giles was happy to renew his acquaintance with Martin and they saw quite a lot of each other over the next three weeks.
Chapter twenty-three
Rumours and Ru
Martin was waiting for a call from Mr. Smith. When it finally came he was surprised to find that his task was apparently a simple one. His presence was requested to sail a yacht to Waterford. There was rumour of French attempts to arrange to land troops in Ireland for an alternative invasion of Britain. The failure of the Irish revolt, led by Wolf Tone in 1798, had been the inspiration for rumours of further attempts by the French to use Ireland as a way to invade England.
Smith had information that there were groups forming to raise troops for the Napoleonic army, with the possibility of their use against the English in Ireland.
With the ongoing turmoil in Europe there was still a recognized risk of a group of spies actively stirring up rebellion, with the possible intervention of the French using the French/Irish troops from the French forces. Since late 18th Century the French army had included an Irish Battalion which had been expanded to regiment size by 1808. The ranks had been filled by a variety of non-Irish men, including prisoners, who had been pressed into the British navy and captured by the French. Many hated their former countrymen for the treatment they had received. In general terms the Irish regiment had fought well and earned the approval of their leader, Napoleon. They had been raised in the first instance with the intention of backing the efforts of Wolf Tone, trusting the Irish troops would find support and encourage rebellion against the British Government. The failure of the Wolf Tone hadnever entirely convinced the Government that rebellion would not eventually happen.
Martin eased the tiller on the fifty foot ketch, calling to his servant Peters, below in the cabin. “Where is the food? Do I have to find another cook for this craft?”
Giles answered “Hold your horses, squire. Food doesn’t cook itself. The damn stove has a mind of its own.” Giles did not sound at all concerned. Pe
ters just grinned and carried on with his preparations ignoring his Captain’s complaint.
The voice from the fore-cabin gave them all a twinge of guilt.
The plea to stop discussing food whilst the speaker was dying of sickness could have melted the heart of a Greek statue.
Hill, Giles’s servant eased himself out of the cabin door bearing a steaming bowl of stew in one hand and a lump of Soda bread in the other. Giles followed carrying his own bowl. “I am accustomed to throwing slave drivers in the brig,” he muttered darkly.
Martin ignored the comment, and holding the tiller with his knee, dipped the bread into the stew and ate with relish.
Giles stretched his arms above his head and breathed deeply. “This is the life!” He said with a big smile. Sailing at this level is fun.”
Round a mouthful of bread and stew Martin mumbled agreement.
With a smile Giles added, “Our companion is not too happy.” He inclined his head toward the foreword cabin.
Martin smiled. “Saves on the provisions!” He said, “Mind you! Alouette was never a good sailor, and there is more movement in a small craft like this.”
“Have you known her long?” Giles asked.
Martin thought a moment. “I first met her in ’98, so ten or so years I suppose. We have been friends for that time.”
“I confess she is a beautiful woman and I would have found it difficult to keep my distance. Of course, now I am married the matter would never arise.” Giles sounded just a tiny bit wistful.
Martin smiled secretly, and got on with his lunch. The ketch, Heron, was approaching the Irish coast, the City of Waterford now visible from the deck of the boat. Martin anticipated arrival before dark.
There was considerable unrest reported within the city, owing to the impending imposition of a heavy tax on the glass manufacture for which the city was already famed. It amazed Martin how the Governments of his country always managed to antagonise the populace with taxes and laws which beggared common sense. No wonder, he thought, these people are rebellious. We should have learned from the debacle with America!
