A Stormy Peace

by David McDine

  Parkin and Cassandra welcomed him back with wide smiles. ‘You missed a great victory, my boy,’ the old gentlemen told him. ‘Your friend Armstrong scored a great many runs and one of your fellows, Bishop by name, bowled the enemy team out almost single-handedly!’

  Cassandra enthused: ‘Yes, apparently he’s played for the county many times and you’ll be delighted to hear that he bowled Captain Chitterling first ball. The captain was in such a rage that he threw his bat into the hedge.’

  Making a mental note to reward the demon bowler, Anson looked round to congratulate Armstrong and was amused to see his sister Elizabeth gently massaging the batting hero’s shoulders as he sat on a bench recovering from his ordeal at the crease and in the field.

  ‘Hmm,’ he told himself, ‘I had better keep a friendly eye on those two!’

  28

  ‘Tools of his Trade’

  Nat Bell arrived at Ludden on the mail coach, but seated inside as a paying passenger rather than his usual precarious position on top as guard.

  He was not familiar with this route but the coachman knew it well. ‘Ludden ’all’s just down that lane, mate. You can’t miss it.’

  Bell climbed down and the guard handed him his luggage, a small trunk and a long heavy canvas bag that clanked faintly as he handled it.

  ‘What you got in there, Nat, the crown bleedin’ jewels?’

  ‘That’s right, mate, how’d yer guess? I’m goin’ to nip over to France and flog ’em to that Bonaparte bloke.’

  The guard laughed. ‘Good on yer. Anyways, we’d better get on.’ He put the post horn — his ‘yard of tin’ — to his lips, and blew an unnecessary but perfect note in ironic salute. The coachman touched his hat, flicked his whip and they were away.

  Bell set off down the lane, turned in at the gates, marched up the long driveway to the iron-studded front door framed by Doric columns and pulled the bell chain.

  The door swung open almost immediately and he was greeted by Dodman in his butler role. ‘Mister Bell, is it? You’re expected. The gents are in the study, so if you’ll leave your kit in the hallway...’

  He led the way to the study where Anson was with Parkin examining some old coins with the aid of a magnifying glass.

  ‘Ah, Nat Bell, very good to see you. I’m delighted you’ve agreed to join us. Let me introduce you to the leader of our tour party, the celebrated antiquarian and natural historian Mister Josiah Parkin.’

  Flattered at Anson’s description of him, Parkin offered his hand. ‘Welcome to Ludden Hall, Mister Bell.’

  ‘Nat was formerly a sergeant in the 56th Foot and served at the Great Siege of Gibraltar back in ’83.’

  Parkin’s eyes widened. ‘Really? I should dearly love to hear the ins and outs of that — the tunnel digging and all. And you must tell me what you observed of the habits of the famous pouting Barbary macaques.’

  Bell grinned. ‘Rock apes? They’ve got ’abits, sure enough, I mind one time—’

  ‘Thank you Nat, but let’s keep that for later.’ Anson turned to their host. ‘Lately Mister Bell has been doing sterling service as a Royal Mail guard seeing off ne’er-do-wells, and now he’s to be our guardian angel on the Paris trip.’

  ‘Excellent!’

  ‘He is not merely an experienced guard but will also be of particular use when it comes to arranging onward transport and procuring overnight accommodation for our party. There’s no-one who knows the wiles of wayside inn landlords better than Nat, be they English, French or no doubt Hottentots, too!’

  Parkin beamed: ‘Extremely good of you to join us, Mister Bell. We shall evidently be in very good hands.’

  *

  Shown to his room in the attic by Dodman, Nat Bell broached what he thought might be a ticklish subject. ‘You ain’t going on the Paris jaunt then, Mister Dodman?’

  ‘No I ain’t, thank Gawd!’

  ‘Oh, only I wouldn’t like to fink I was doing you out of what they calls a jolly.’

  ‘A jolly, eh? Ha! That ain’t how I see it, Mister Bell. What, risking yer life at sea and then landing among all them Frenchmen what’s just waiting their chance to come over here and kill us all? You’re welcome to it. It’ll be putting yer head in the lion’s den, like that there Daniel in the Bible!’

  ‘I don’t see it quite like that meself, Mister Dodman. It’ll be more of a ’oliday, seeing new places, new people and all that.’

  ‘And eating their disgusting food?’

  Bell grinned. It would be a waste of time trying to persuade Dodman against his prejudices, but at least he wouldn’t be putting the man’s nose out of joint by taking his place on the adventure.

  Left to his own devices in his room, he took what Anson had requested him to obtain out of his bag. He had acquired the blunderbuss from a gunsmith he knew who bought ex-service weapons from the Tower of London, no less. It was marked on the stock with two arrows facing each other and ‘I CR’, indicating that it was a first-class reserve weapon, and it had been refurbished to a good standard.

  The pistols were a pair of cannon barrel flintlocks made by Joseph Griffin of New Bond Street and numbered ‘one’ and ‘two’ under the barrels, indicating they were a true pair. They had 10-inch barrels and were boxlocks, meaning that the cock was above the barrels, so more compact and less likely to snag on clothing when being drawn, hence being known as ‘greatcoat’ or ‘overcoat’ pistols. With them was a powder horn, some cloth wadding, a pouch of pre-cast lead balls, spare flints, a turnscrew and a .38 ball mould for making more ammunition suitable for the blunderbuss as well as the pistols.

  Finally, he produced a small double-barrelled tap action boxlock pistol with a sliding trigger guard safety catch — ideal for concealing, loaded, down your boot or at the back of your belt.

  Bell handled the weapons lovingly. Mister Anson could hardly fail to be impressed with his choice of ‘tools of his trade’.

  *

  Next to arrive was Hurel, extravagantly attired in a light blue silk cutaway tail coat with black velvet collar and purple neckerchief, tight white pantaloons and short, highly polished hessian boots. He carried a gold-topped ebony stick and a high-crowned round hat.

  Armstrong was first to greet him with a hearty ‘What-ho, Hurel, still keeping a low profile, I see!’

  The sarcasm was lost on the Frenchman. ‘Thank you, mon ami. An émigré French lady of my acquaintance in Tunbridge Wells was kind enough to fund my outfit in the ’opes of becoming a baroness, but I am afraid I can oblige ’er in everything but marriage.’

  Later he confided in Armstrong and Anson that he had been advised by Colonel Redfearn at Dover Castle to travel under an assumed name lest he be smoked out as a royalist on his return to France and interned — or worse.

  His language skills were of course good enough for him to pass as an Englishman in France, and the colonel had been happy enough to provide him with the necessary papers — and give him certain tasks, along with a sizeable cash advance to cover his expenses.

  ‘So I ’ave chosen to travel under the name of Gerald Tunbridge in ’appy remembrance of my place of exile. I would be greatly obliged, gentlemen, if during our visit you no longer address me by my pre-Revolution title.’

  Tongue in cheek, Armstrong responded: Of course, Baron!’

  *

  At dinner Cassandra announced she had hit upon a way of getting everyone to know each other better before they set off on their tour.

  ‘Thinking about it,’ she explained after the soup, ‘various of us know at least one other member of the party, but only one person had met all the others before today.’

  They were still puzzling it out when Parkin interjected. ‘That must be Oliver.’

  ‘Correct, uncle. So why don’t we ask him to sing for his supper by telling us how he came to meet the rest of us?’

  Anson protested: ‘No, no. That would be extremely boring!’

  But Cassandra was not to be put off. ‘Very well, then, as you are what mig
ht be called the common thread that links us all together, let’s ask each in turn to recall how they met you!’

  Anson was outwitted and amid the laughter Elizabeth volunteered: ‘Since I met him first, perhaps I should start?’

  Cassandra clapped her hands. ‘Excellent, please begin!’

  ‘Well, my earliest memory of Oliver was going ratting with him in the tithe barn near our father’s rectory. Our sister Anne was too frightened to join in so my brother and I became, well, quite close. He was a bit of a dare-devil and once lowered himself down from the church tower on a rope, but he wouldn’t let me try it—’

  ‘Enough!’ Anson exclaimed. ‘This is too embarrassing!’

  Elizabeth held up her hand. ‘I’ve nearly finished. We didn’t hear much of him once he’d joined the navy, you see. But I do remember him putting toads in our beds once. My brother Gussie and sister Anne were terrified! Oh, and before he left, I remember him wearing his pointy navy hat and chasing us around with a dagger when he was supposed to be helping the servants to pack his trunk. Then there was his memorial service after we thought he’d been killed in France—’

  Anson pulled a face. ‘I protest. That’s more than enough!’

  Laughing, Cassandra queried: ‘So who was the next to meet him, I wonder? Mister Bell, perhaps?’

  ‘I reckon so, miss,’ Bell confirmed. ‘He travelled to Portsmouth an’ back in my mail coach at the time of the naval mutinies. We wus twice attacked, I got wounded and Mister Anson stood in for me on the way back t’London. Wiv a bit o’ trainin’ he’d make not too bad a mail guard.’

  ‘You’ve kept that bit of your past under your hat, Anson,’ Armstrong commented. ‘We must persuade Bell, here, to elaborate about all that during the crossing. So who’s next?’

  ‘That would be me, and then Cassandra,’ Parkin offered. ‘It must have been soon after Mister Bell’s encounter. Oliver and I were in a stage coach coming down from Chatham and he collapsed with a fever. I managed to get him to my home here at Ludden to be sorted out by the local doctor and convalesce.’

  Cassandra held up her hand. ‘And that’s when I met him, briefly, before he went back to Chatham where we heard he single-handedly ended the Nore Mutiny.’

  ‘Nonsense! Anson protested. ‘I did nothing of the sort. I merely helped one ship to break away from the mutineers. Nothing to write home about.’

  Ignoring him, Cassandra went on: ‘And then from the Mediterranean he sent Uncle Josiah a box with the remains of stuffed birds that had been eaten by rats and a couple of years later he turned up with Baron Hurel—’

  Armstrong interrupted. ‘But before that Anson and I met first when we were both fruitlessly pleading at the Admiralty for sea-going appointments, and then at my lonely signal station on the cliffs at Fairlight where we hatched the plan to capture the Normandy privateer. And, of course, he persuaded me to attend a ball at which I met his charming sister.’

  He beamed at Elizabeth who looked as if she might swoon with happiness at any moment. Anson noted that his friend had not mentioned that he had met his other sister Anne on the same occasion — and was grateful to him for not mentioning the dreaded Charlotte Brax in front of the Parkins.

  ‘So I am next!’ Hurel exclaimed. ‘And I ’ad the most unusual first meeting with Lieutenant Anson. In fact, we were introduced just after ’e attended my funeral. It’s true!’

  Most members of the party knew this story, but were amused at the Frenchman’s retelling of it — and how Anson had tried, with only partial success, to keep him ‘under wraps’ until they were able to slip away to reconnoitre Boulogne.

  Cassandra waited patiently for Hurel to finish before announcing: ‘So, now we have come full circle. ‘It was after the Boulogne raid that Oliver came back into our lives, wasn’t it uncle?’

  ‘It was, my dear, down on the beach at Deal where we found him badly wounded and in a sorry state. As soon as we were able we brought him back to Ludden to recover.’

  Armstrong quipped: ‘So he only stays with you when he’s on his last legs or on the run!’

  Cassandra smiled ruefully. ‘That’s true, but for the coming months at least we’ll be able to keep a close eye on him and do our best to keep him out of harm’s way.’

  Touched, Anson caught her eye and they exchanged a meaningful glance. He vowed to himself that as soon as he had the opportunity, he would cut her out from the rest of the company and try to tell her how he felt about her.

  29

  A Change of Plans

  Next morning, Anson was in his room completing an official report he had been required to submit giving details of the disposal of the Seagate detachment’s weapons and equipment. It was a task made relatively simple thanks to more or less credible figures supplied by the ever-creative George Boxer. He had been a purser’s assistant in the old Brunswick but was paid off after being wounded at The Glorious First of June, married into a Folkestone undertaker’s business and had been recruited by Anson to become the Sea Fencibles’ quartermaster. He was as useful for burying official returns and the like as he was for disposing of bodies.

  A tap at his door gave Anson the chance to escape his report-writing and, although he was pleased to see that his visitor was Cassandra, he was concerned that she was clearly not her usual composed self.

  ‘Cassandra, whatever’s wrong?’

  She raised her hands and shook her head. ‘It’s Elizabeth. She was walking in the garden with Captain Armstrong. I had been in the arbour, finishing a painting of the lake and heard them. They both sounded happy and were laughing. The mail had arrived and as I walked back to the house, I passed Dodman taking the captain a letter...’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, it must have brought ill news. The next thing was that Elizabeth rushed past me in tears, went straight to her room and slammed the door. She’s locked it and wouldn’t answer when I knocked. I thought I’d best tell you.’

  ‘You were quite right to do so. I’ve read the signs and believe that Armstrong intends to propose to Elizabeth—’

  ‘And she has told me that if he proposes she will accept, enthusiastically!’

  ‘So whatever has caused her to rush off must be to do with the letter Armstrong received.’

  She nodded. ‘So will you see the captain and find out what this is all about?’

  He took her hand. ‘Of course. We don’t want anything to put the mockers on our Paris expedition.’

  *

  Armstrong was in the summer house, looking uncharacteristically gloomy.

  ‘What on earth’s happened? Apparently, my sister has locked herself in her room and is wailing like a banshee.’

  ‘I’m so sorry to have upset her, mon vieux. In fact I was on the point of, well, anyway, it was this letter—’

  ‘Bad news?’

  ‘Yes, my dear old father’s apparently at death’s door and I’ll have to go home.’

  ‘To Northumberland?

  ‘Yes. We must have tempted providence when we spoke of it a while ago and I said I’d much sooner see Paris again and put off managing our estate. But now it looks as if I’ll have to take responsibility for it whether I like it or not.’

  ‘So there’s no way you can come to Paris with us?’

  ‘Sadly, no, and that’s what’s upset Elizabeth. But with the old man about to enter the pearly gates it would be wrong for me to go off on a jolly. Not least, I’m the sole heir and there’ll be decisions to make about the future. I’m determined to look after the tenants and workers to the best of my ability, just as if they were my ship’s company.’

  ‘I understand, of course. But Elizabeth was so looking forward to all of us going to Paris — especially you. Is there no way you can still come?’

  ‘I fear not.’

  ‘What if we were to wait until you return from Northumberland?’

  Armstrong shook his head, slowly. I’ve been away so much in the past ten years that I feel I must spend whatever time the old man’
s got left with him. Until I get there, I’ve no idea how long that’s likely to be and I couldn’t expect the rest of you to wait for me indefinitely. What if the peace ends while I’m away and you’re not able to go at all?

  Anson put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘You must do what you must do and we’ll all just have to make the best of it.’

  ‘Look, mon vieux, I must be frank with you. The truth is although we’ve not known one another for very long I was about to propose to Elizabeth when this wretched letter arrived.’

  ‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me?’

  ‘You knew?’

  ‘I guessed, not being totally blind and stupid!’

  ‘And you don’t object?’

  ‘Of course I don’t object! I’m thrilled, delighted. I can’t think of anyone I’d prefer to have as a brother-in-law!’

  Armstrong grabbed Anson’s hand and shook it warmly, but a footstep on the summer house steps made them both turn sharply.

  It was Elizabeth, still puffy around the eyes but her tears replaced by a determined look.

  Before either of the men could speak, she announced: ‘Captain Armstrong, Amos, I have come to apologise.’

  Not one for emotional scenes, Anson muttered: ‘I’ll be off and leave you to it.’

  ‘No, please stay Oliver. I want you to hear what I have to say.’

  ‘Very well, if I must.’

  ‘What I want to say is that it was childish and crass of me to flounce off in tears and I am truly sorry. It was just that I had so been looking forward to us all going to Paris that I, well, now I’ve had time to think I can see that it was extremely selfish of me to throw a tantrum when I should have been thinking not of myself but of your poor dear father, Amos. Of course you must go to him.’

  Armstrong looked mightily relieved. ‘Elizabeth, I—’

  But she held up her hand to silence him. ‘There’s something more I want to say, to you both. Look, I know there’ll be difficulties but my mind is made up. I am going with you to Northumberland, Amos.’