by P. N. Elrod
“Soon,” I said. “We’re to look for anyone coming our way wearing a red flower in his hat.”
“That is the game of it. A certain color flower for some, a handkerchief for another. You have dealt with the gentleman before?”
That must have been his term for those who made a living on the free trade of wine and spirits. “My cousin has done this many times and will see to the details.”
“That is good. Many of the fellows who avoid the king’s excise men are rough by nature and bear watching.”
“You know something about it?”
He gave an expressive non-English shrug. “It was a family concern once upon a time. My father was a French Captain, so I grew up with it. My English mother was not fond of the dangers of the sea and encouraged me to less perilous pursuits, and so I am here.”
Deveau seemed to think this to be a sufficient explanation of himself, and, for two travelers sharing a pipe and a sip of wine, it was exactly right.
Master Percy returned just then full of news, yet so self-possessed that he did not forget his position as a young gentleman and offered a proper greeting to me. This required that I stand and return his bow and invite him to partake of some of the wine. He was a bit young, yet, for smoking a pipe. He declined, though, and reported that there was considerable excitement upstairs, most of it caused by Miss Pross.
“Miss Manette was speaking with the Tellson’s banker, a Mr. Lorry,” said the child. “He must have had bad news for her, for she fainted dead away. Miss Pross discovered what happened and is in herself a state, running about blaming everyone, especially Mr. Lorry. She’s carrying on most fiercely. The maids and waiters are hiding lest she fall on them like the storm outside.”
“An interesting picture, young sir,” I said. “How fares my cousin Oliver under the assault?”
“Oh, he’s ignoring her and looking after the lady. Most calm he is.”
Oliver had had much practice at ignoring loud, fit-throwing females, what with his mother being an exceptional example of that ilk. He would make a fine doctor. “Did the banker say what caused her to faint?”
“Not a word, sir, but then bankers are like that and bankers from Tellson’s more so than most. By coincidence, my father’s estate is in their charge. When we heard that the man was from them, we thought he might have some business with us, but we were wrong.”
I was framing a polite query on just who his father was, but an interruption—three of them in fact—barged into the coffee room, dripping wet and complaining about the foul weather. Deveau gave one and all a narrow, careful look. A rough lot they appeared to be, too. Though their clothes were acceptable, they brought to mind a gathering of ungroomed plow-mules dressed up in polished harness. Each wore a red flower of one kind or another in his hat.
“Is your cousin acquainted with any of these fellows?” Deveau murmured from the side of his mouth as they scrutinized us in turn.
“No,” I replied. “He was going to speak to whomever came tonight and pick the best bargain of the lot.”
“As Mr. Marling is elsewhere, may I put myself forward in his place?”
This from a man who grew up in the trade. I gratefully accepted his generous offer. Percy took Oliver’s chair and watched the exchange with sharp interest.
The three tradesmen, not gentlemen, came over, and each presented himself to us: Captain Shellhorse, Captain Keech, and Captain Talmadge.
Keech was the largest, most pugnacious of them and put himself to take the lead. His hat’s red flower was made of paper. It being late in the season for fresh blooms, that struck me as a clever substitute. He and Deveau stepped off to the side and spoke quickly in low tones for several moments, then Shellhorse, who wore a much-faded rose, had his turn, then Talmadge, whose scarlet blossom was so small as to be easily overlooked. They each retired to separate tables as Deveau returned to confer with me.
“How much brandy were you planning to buy?” he asked.
I told him. Brandy, wine, and a long list of other items.
His eyes went wide. “So much? Are you buying for a whole town?”
“Er, no, just for my house at the university. With Christmas and the new year coming up we’ll want a good stock in place for the celebrations of the season.”
“How many are in your house?”
My answer astonished him.
“So few? For so much drink?”
“That’s university men for you. We require ten times more than other chaps.”
He found that amusing, as did Percy. “I shall see what I can do.”
Deveau returned to his task of interviewing each of the captains. Not one of them blinked at the quantity of my order, but a disagreement broke out between Shellhorse and Talmadge over who could deliver the quickest. It threatened to come to blows until the owner of the hotel made an appearance and commanded silence. Clearly he held their respect, for the argument instantly subsided. I got the impression that he turned a blind eye to their trade, allowing them to conduct business under his roof—providing no trouble came of it. Certainly it was to everyone’s mutual advantage to behave.
But when our host left, Keech put himself forward, declaring that he had better quality stock for a better price. Deveau expressed interest, but Shellhorse and Talmadge instantly made lower bids. Keech waiting until they’d exhausted themselves, in their auction in reverse, then underbid them both. He collected a murderous reaction, but they eventually backed down.
“Ye’ll leave yersel’ penniless an’ starving at tha’ price.” said Shellhorse with satisfaction. “Me an Talmadge’ll be selling for double that to the next man down the road. You see if we don’t!”
Talmadge spat on the floor in a show of agreement.
Keech seemed unconcerned. “Aye, but what I ’ave now is mor’n what I started with this dawn. I’m pleased with my lot.”
As was I, for I instinctively knew that Oliver would not have gotten a better price for the goods. At this point I was able to take over and sort the details of delivery and payment. We determined that money would be exchanged once the kegs and bottles safely arrived at our house in Cambridge. Keech had a man who could be trusted with the task, but I was not as confident.
“Worry yersel’ not over ’im, sir,” he said by way of assurance. “ ’E does his job ’onest or ’e gets to wear ’is smile down low.” To illustrate, he tilted his head back and drew his finger slowly across his throat. The show was obviously for Percy’s entertainment. The boy shuddered appreciatively, eyes bright.
Shellhorse bellowed a laugh. “If that be yer usual man, then ye best ride on the cart with ’im an’ not shut eyes the whole trip.”
“Tha’s my brother yer talkin’ idle about. You don’t know nuffin’ on ’im!” said Keech, going red in the face.
“Oh, so you can talk of cuttin’ ’is throat, but no one else is ’lowed a word ag’in ’im?”
“Tha’s right, Bob Shellhorse, so you keep yer dirty mouth shut!”
“ ’Ere now, stifle that,” put in Talmadge, coming between them. “We don’t want the drawer to be throwin’ us out.”
But a scuffle followed, with much grunting and cursing, but strangely quiet, as each tried to assert himself but not in a way that would bring down the wrath of the hotel’s owner. Deveau, alert to trouble, plucked Percy easily from harm’s way as the trio staggered into the lad’s chair, knocking it over. Shellhorse fell, dragging the others with him. There followed a spiritedly distracting show as the small mob rolled around the floor of the coffee room.
It was at that moment when Oliver chose to return. His long face went longer with astonishment, and he nimbly avoided getting caught up by the juggernaut with a quick, wide leap.
“I say!” he crowed, delighted. “What’s all this about?”
I spread my hands wide, shaking my head and laughing.
“Perhaps we should stop them,” Deveau suggested. “This is a respectable hotel, not a bear-baiting pit. If Captain Keech is in gao
l. . .”
That was enough to induce me to enter the fray. I grabbed a coat collar at random and hauled back, Deveau and Oliver stepped forward, each making a successful catch. The combatants were winded, but we still had our hands full keeping them apart.
“Git yer dirty ’ands off me, ye damned Frenchy!” cried Keech, trying to shake off Deveau’s grip, which was apparently very strong. “If you were a gennelman, I’d call you out!”
Deveau released his man in the direction of the door, somewhat forcefully. Keech, who wore a cutlass like his fellows and now drew it, waving it at Deveau. That man, in turn, darted smoothly to one side of the door where a line of pegs held a collection of coats, cloaks, and hats belonging to guests. In a tall container next to them were a number of walking sticks. He seized one as though it was a sword, rounded on the captain, and, in a move so fast that I could scarce follow, sent the cutlass flying across the room. It struck a wall with a startling pot-metal sound.
Keech was in a red-faced fury, eyes blazing, then suddenly seemed to realize his hand was empty. He had been neatly disarmed, not by a sword but with a simple length of wood wielded by an obvious expert.
Deveau smiled gently, “Sir, if you have a quarrel about my ancestry, I shall be pleased to offer you satisfaction at any time of your choosing.”
With a remarkable effort of will, Keech collected himself. “Tha’ is to say. . . I mean . . .”
Deveau was generous. “Perhaps the captain was caught up in the heat of battle. It is my understanding that the English are born warriors and how difficult it must be to curb so great a predisposition.”
The speech might have been delivered in an insulting manner, but Deveau was at once conciliatory and showing admiration. I was unsure if Keech grasped the words so much as the tone of voice. It worked, though. Perhaps he comprehended that it was poor business to quarrel with customers.
“Come, sir,” said Deveau. “Let us toast this excellent trait with some fine English ale. You would honor me greatly if you allowed me to stand you a pint.”
While the rest of us—including the other captains—fairly gaped, Deveau and Keech left to seek out the hotel’s tavern, arm-in-arm like the best of friends.
“That was smooth as goose grease,” declared Oliver in a hushed voice.
“Aye,” said Shellhorse, also impressed by the performance.
Captain Talmadge shrugged free of my grip and nodded. “That be old Deveau’s get an’ no doubt of it.”
“You know his father?” I asked.
“Father an’ son both, the lad’s the dead spit of ’is sire. I ain’t clapped eyes on either of ’em in years, but there’s some men as ye cants ferget. What’s the boy doin’ playing fancy to the gentry, I wonders?”
Master Percy stepped forward. “Captain, sir, M. Deveau is my tutor in French, Latin, dancing, and the sword, among other things.”
Talmadge nodded. “Well. Young sir, you pay mind to ’is sword work an’ no one’ll ’ave the better of you in a duel when the time comes. If ’e’s that dab with naught but a stick, what might ’e do with a real blade? I’d pay good money to see!”
* * *
The remainder of the evening was less exciting. The storm lashed the town with more rain than was rightly necessary, and thunder boomed like siege cannons. The three captains took rooms and departed each to his own, and by the devil’s own luck the hotel owner remained ignorant of their altercation. We later learned that Miss Pross kept him fully engaged upstairs with complaints and suggestions of how to better run his trade. The only evidence of the occurrence was a red flower left on the coffee-room floor, fallen from one of the captains’ hats. Percy took it as a memento of the grand occasion. M. Deveau wisely cautioned him that mentioning the incident to his father might add to his existing distress, thus obtaining a poignantly solemn promise of silence.
Oliver and I retired to our room, each pleased with the success of our trip. He was in particular happy with the bargain that Deveau struck in his stead. “What a square fellow he is. I daresay he must be more English than French. Let’s invite him to our Christmas celebration. Think you that Sir Algernon can spare him?”
“I’ve no idea, Coz.” I left my coat and waistcoat over a chair, removed my traveling boots, and dropped into bed. “Ask him in the morning.”
“Ask who—Deveau or Sir Algernon?”
“Both, Either. Sir Algernon, I suppose.”
“One hates to bother the poor fellow. I heard stories about his sad plight. Married a beauty and two years later she slipped into hopeless madness. Not raving, mind you, but the quiet kind. The family’s been living on the Continent all that time. He’s looked after her, best doctors and all that. She’s recently died, as you might have guessed.”
I grunted, staring at the bed canopy. The story was eerily similar to my own father’s plight. He’d married a beauty as well, and she had also slipped into a kind of madness, but not the sort for which one is locked away. Hers was a willfully cruel and controlling agitation that she was careful to reveal only to her immediate family. We few, we unhappy few.
“For all that,” Oliver continued, “it’s left Sir Algernon quite brokenhearted, for he loved her dearly, I hear. Saw him in the hall during that business with Miss Manette. Looked half-distracted himself over her distress. Good thing he’s got a solid sort like Deveau looking after the boy.”
“Is the lady all right?”
“Oh, she’ll be fine, an ordinary fainting spell. I don’t know what brought it on, but gathered that the Pross won’t allow it to happen again.”
“Excellent. I want no more rows, only a good night’s rest.”
“We’ll get that here, my lad. You won’t be kept awake by bedbugs in these sheets, I’ll warrant.”
“Good. My God, look at the hour, half-past nine if it’s a minute. No wonder I’m tired.”
Oliver dropped down onto his side, and we had a small contest for the lion’s share of the covers before finally settling with equal halves. To my annoyance he closed his eyes and almost at once began snoring. I preferred to be the first to fall asleep, for then his nasal dissonance would go unmarked. I prodded him to turn over, hoping to curtail the noise, then turned myself, seeking sweet slumber.
It was not to be. A most dreadful shriek jolted me wide awake, and it seemed to come from beneath our very window. What terrible mischief was that?
Staggering from bed, I rushed over and pushed the shutters wide, staring into the blackest of nights, rain and wind cutting my face. With an awful thrill I saw that devilry was indeed afoot. Exactly below me two men—shadows thrashing about among thicker shadows—were engaged in desperate struggle. One had already come the worst of it, for he was seemed the weaker and no match for the other. He hung on to his foe to prevent the man’s escape, but once more there came from him a second unearthly cry of pain that turned my bones to jelly.
I roared out something, I’m not sure what, and that had an instant effect on the attacker, who wrested violently away. His lesser opponent clutched at him, but was brutally struck down. I heard the sickening crack of wood striking bone. One shadow collapsed to the ground; the other stumbled, regained his balance, and hurtled away as though caught by the wind.
I became aware of Oliver dragging me clear for a look himself. “Dear God, but it’s murder!” he shouted.
We were not the only ones aware of the row. The screams without had roused this wing of the hotel, and we found the passage full of people in various stages of dress, clutching blankets and shawls to their bodies, their white faces full of fear and questions. I pulled my boots on, grabbed my smallsword, and pelted downstairs. Oliver was ahead of me, bringing his doctor’s bag along with his own blade.
A crowd was knotted by the front doors, but the landlord refused to open them. Oliver and I were not to be thwarted, though.
“There’s a man dying outside, sir!” Oliver cried, indignant.
“Aye, an’ he might have more company,” came the chill
response.
“Bother that!” Oliver pushed past, turned the key, and in a moment we were out and blinking in the storm. “This way!”
We raced ’round the corner. Several more men were at our heels, grooms, waiters, guests and the like, one of them thought to bring a lantern. We quickly found the victim of the attack. He was sprawled on his face in the mud, and when the light shone on him, there was a collective gasp at the dreadful wounding on his head. Blood was everywhere, and the poor man’s skull looked to be caved in. Oliver felt for a pulse, but there was no doubt that this patient was quite dead. With a grimace we turned over the body. The far-seeing, yet empty eyes of Captain Keech stared past us as though searching for his swiftly-fled soul.
* * *
The storm grew more violent, matching the foul and unsettled mood of everyone sheltering under the Royal George’s roof. One and all, guests, host, and servants, gathered in the great coffee-room. The body of Captain Keech, shrouded by a tablecloth, lay in improvised state in one of the small parlors, and his brutal demise was much discussed.
Several times I was subjected to close questioning to ascertain who I had seen below my window. To their unanimous chagrin, I refused to divulge a single word of what I’d seen and heard. Not that there was much I could say, but I insisted it was best to wait until the authorities were sent for and then give my rather thin witness to them.
For all I knew anyone in this hotel—saving myself, Oliver, and Percy, who was too small—could have murdered the man. I could not discount the females, for Miss Pross was a tall woman whose temper was belligerent to the task of doing violence if provoked. It was easy to imagine her attacking anyone who gave insult to her friend, Miss Manette.
I was thankful for Oliver’s presence, not only for his support, but his good sense, for he brought me a large brandy that helped steady my thoroughly shaken disposition. It is not every day that one sees—and hears—murder. No matter whether you know the victim or not, a fellow creature has fallen before his natural time, and the sheer horror of the act inflicts a profound devastation upon the spirit. I stood close to the huge fire, yet felt no warmth.
