Book Two: The Making
of a Man Series
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Dire Shenanigans
Copyright © 2015 by Andrew Wareham
All Rights Reserved
Contents:
Title Page
Copyright Page
Introduction
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
By the Same Author
Introduction
Dire Shenanigans: After being sent by his government to assess the capabilities of both the new ironclad warships and of Ulysses S. Grant, Englishman Dick Burke discovers there are great profits to be made in wartime. Shrewd American Elizabeth Parsons finds that doing business in England is almost impossible for the ‘gentler’ sex. And Whitehall is concerned that Confederate gold could be diverted to the rebels in Ireland. Dick is dispatched to Liverpool from his newly inherited Dorset estate where he is enthusiastically embracing his role as the lord of the manor, to try to stop this happening.
Best read in series order.
Author’s Note: I have written and punctuated Dire Shenanigans in a style reflecting English usage in novels of the period, when typically, sentences were much longer than they are in modern English. Editor’s Note: Andrew’s book was written, produced and edited in the UK where some of the spellings and word usage vary slightly from U.S. English.
Book Two: The Making
of a Man Series
Chapter One
Better off Dead
Mr William Williams, commonly known as Sergeant Bill, had devoted much thought to his present task, his latest service to the Burke family. The 'removal' of Mr Richard's deplorable wife - he refused to consider the exercise to be murder, at most it was an act of kindness, a mercy killing - was not to be simply achieved, he had found.
Although he was quite sure in his own mind that the poor, demented woman would be better off dead, released from the devils that drove her, he was aware that policemen and judges would probably not agree with him. Indeed, they would hang him, and possibly Mr Richard as well, being the benefitting husband, if he was to botch the job. The serendipitous death - a mishap that would cause joy to all, except the lady herself perhaps - must be seen as an accident, ideally occurring in such scandalous circumstances that the authorities would wish to hush it up.
She had to die; she had to do so sufficiently publicly that there could be no whispers among the County that she had been put away into a convenient madhouse; she had to go so disgracefully that the coroner would be embarrassed and the police would chortle as they drew a veil over the whole business.
He considered burning her house down at night, but arson was a chancy business. There was no guarantee that her corpse would be discovered in bed with several of her manservants. There was no certainty that she would die even; she was an athletic lady and might well escape.
He set himself to discovering her daily routine, sure that some opportunity would arise.
A week and he had discovered that she visited her baby on most mornings. She did not feed the child herself, of course, very few of the gentry lowered themselves to that particular activity; the little girl was out to a wet-nurse and living with her for convenience. In a very large house the wet-nurse would move in, but where that was impractical and the woman lived in acceptable conditions she would take the baby for the first year or so until it was weaned.
Mrs Burke had found the wife of a small farmer as her feed-cow, the woman's own baby dead at the most useful time, leaving her with milk in plenty for the purpose. A small fee and the business was conducted to the convenience of both. Her house was adequate and Mrs Burke was willing to step inside it to visit the child, for which she had conceived a vague maternal affection. Her son was now fostered out, the family having believed that he would grow up better without her influence, and she was quite pleased to have a little - but not too much - contact with her daughter.
It was her habit to take a walk through the farmer's fields after leaving her baby, just a wander through the countryside that commonly brought her to the place where the hands were working, laying a hedge or ditch-digging at this season. When it was not raining and the bracken fronds were dry and comfortable she would entertain one or two for a few minutes before making her way back through the woods to her own house. She would generally pause by the small stream that ran through the coppice to freshen herself and tidy up before going indoors where the servants would notice her dishevelment and might be smitten by jealousy.
The coppice was located on poor, stony ground, which was why it was not down to the plough. The stream had cut a tiny dingle, four or five feet deep, too small to be called a valley but providing sufficient concealment for her purpose.
And more importantly, sufficient concealment for Sergeant Bill’s darker purpose…
Late one morning, a bright and sunny day on which she had amused herself with three of the labourers, she slithered down the rocky bank and bent over the stream at her normal spot. Sergeant Bill rose silently from cover behind her, took two paces and jumped down, swinging a rock and hitting her carefully on the temple. She collapsed face-first into the water, quite unconscious. Sergeant Bill wiped out his footprints and turned over a few stones under her feet to show that she had slipped. He waited a few minutes then leaned forward and placed the bloodstained rock he had used precisely against her head.
All very neat and tidy, he told himself. She had been alive when she fell into the water, so she would have breathed in some water, sufficient to show that she had hit her head and then drowned. When the body was discovered the police would ask the labourers, the nearest people to the scene, whether they had noticed anything and they would very soon tell the tale, and explain the reason why she was at the stream. The Carteret family would hear the details that same day and would move Heaven and Earth to keep the sordid affair quiet. The police investigation would begin with the labourers and end there, no doubt.
Sergeant Bill made his way silently through the woodland and then along the cover of a hedgerow until he reached the Blandford road, where he would not be conspicuous, a known local man stretching his legs. He walked back to Burke's openly, whistling quietly to himself, exchanging greetings with local wives busy in their gardens and spending a few minutes chatting with an ancient grandfather sitting in the sun outside his front door.
"Beest takin' the air, gaffer? Bain't your 'abit to be walkin' this old road."
"Makes a change, Jarge. Just looking about myself to se
e what might be happening down at the young master's place as well."
The old man cackled.
"I can tell thee that for free, gaffer!"
He made an obscene gesture with both hands, its meaning abundantly clear.
"Pity it is that I bain't twenty years younger, gaffer. Bain't no point me takin' me place in the line for a turn, not these days!"
"Bloody hell, Jarge - she'd be the death of you, old fellow!"
"Aye, but what a way to go, my acker!"
They parted, roaring with laughter.
News came to Burke's late that afternoon that Mrs Richard Burke had been found dead in somewhat anomalous circumstances. The police were looking into the affair.
Sir Godby was called to the door and spoke to the constable, seeking detail.
"In the brook, Sir Godby, down in the old copse not 'alf a mile from 'er own place. Fell in and bashed 'er 'ead, so it do seem, sir. Swoonded in the old stream and drownded, so the doctor did say."
"Good riddance, constable, so say I! Has the word been taken to her father's house, to the Carterets, do you know?"
"Yes, sir. The Inspector from Blandford did come out in his trap and he be gone to tell my lord his very self."
Sir Godby knew when to be generous; he did not love policemen but the local constable could be a very useful man on occasion. He put his hand in his pocket and came up with a pair of sovereigns, slipped them across without a word. The coins disappeared.
"My sergeant, sir, he asked a few questions of the lads what was working the old ditch up on the Twelve Acre field over t'other side of the copse. Three of them, Sir Godby, and they didn't like to tell it right out, not at first..."
"All three?"
"Yes, sir."
There would have to be an inquest, witnesses giving their evidence in public.
"Sergeant Bill!"
Ten minutes and they had decided on the proper course of action and Sergeant Bill was on horseback for the Carterets, bearing a verbal message, there being little point to writing anything down.
The inquest was held two days later, evidence being given by the constable of his identification of the body after playing children had come running to him with the news of their grisly find. The doctor followed in the stand and gave his cause of death. No other witnesses were called, no further facts adduced. The coroner's jury found 'Accidental Death' and the coroner himself suggested that she had been picking a posy of the wild flowers that grew in such profusion in that secluded dell - such a sad ending to an excursion of innocent pleasure.
The newspaper made a brief report of the accident and deplored the loss of a young life and offered its sympathy to the bereaved family.
"Brushed through that rather well, Sergeant Bill."
"We did indeed, Sir Godby."
Both had been taking elocution lessons from a local tutor, Sir Godby having decided that his position and his new title demanded an aitch or two.
"Will you tell Mr Richard of his good fortune, Sergeant Bill?"
"I cannot, Sir Godby. I have no direction for him."
"He must have an agent in Blandford or Poole who will keep him informed."
The lawyer Mayhew sent a note to Dick a week later, begging him to call at his office.
"I preferred, Mr Burke, not to consign this information to writing. The gentleman who made enquiries in Dorsetshire for you, sir, has sent me a clipping from the County Herald that will I am sure be of interest to you, sir."
Dick read the few lines without expression
"How sad!"
"A pleasant coincidence, sir, that your lady wife should suffer a fatal accident so soon after you made enquiry of her."
"I would hardly describe the occasion as 'pleasant', Mr Mayhew."
"My mistake, sir."
"I cannot claim to be reduced to tears by this event, Mr Mayhew, but I would not wish to express joy at the early ending of any life."
The lawyer agreed, marvelling at his client's command of the practise of hypocrisy.
"I wonder, Mr Mayhew, whether some action should be taken to determine the status of the children claimed to be mine. Do you know what can be done about them?"
Mayhew had foreseen this request and had consulted his authorities in advance.
"Adoption, sir, is a possibility. Were they formally to be made the children of another family, paid surreptitiously to take them, then they would have no claim upon your estate, or upon any title. The process would need to be taken through the High Court, sir, but that can be 'arranged', shall we say. Was a barrister to be briefed and to be informed that the children had actually been fathered by the gentleman who was seeking them in adoption, then all could go through very discreetly. The mother dead, the gentleman who had been in criminal conversation with your wife now overcome by guilt and wishing to make amends for his sins... A judge would accept that and make all quietly correct."
"Provided there was no objection from any other source, I presume."
"Most definitely, sir. The family of the late Mrs Burke must make their acquiescence clear. Indeed, they would probably be best to brief their own barrister as an interested party who would then assure His Lordship that all was well."
"The process would demand my public presence, would it not?"
"Not inevitably, sir, it would be possible to present affidavits from you, providing that you were not in Britain at the time and had an unanswerable reason for being overseas."
"Then the matter must remain in abeyance for the while. I presume that it can be delayed without prejudicing the application?"
"In theory, yes, sir. One could wait until the elder child was almost of age, but I would not recommend that course. Not too many years, sir."
Dick noted the instruction - the matter could wait until, perhaps, his own father began to display signs of mortality and the question of succession to the baronetcy became more urgent. He had no particular wish to return to terms with his father, there was no gain to doing so. The desire for vengeance had lessened, was gone in fact – the Old Man might well not have realised exactly what humiliation he was setting upon his son, probably had not considered that aspect at all. That said, he could still find no love for the gentleman; he had played the part of the overbearing bully too well.
Dick returned to the lawyer a few profitable weeks later. The demand for the Elixir was growing weekly, word of mouth among the female community it seemed, and the Linctus seemed set to be an equal success. They had had to start working on Sundays as well as at night to meet the needs of the chemists they had contracts with and potential new sellers wrote to them almost every day. They needed to expand.
"I have it in mind to change the status of the partnership with Mr Robinson, Mr Mayhew. Would it be possible to turn our firm into a company, with shareholders rather than partners?"
"The new law will permit you to do so, sir. There would be some costs involved, sir - though not huge. One would, of course, require the informed consent of Mr Robinson."
"Of course. I have it in mind that we might wish to issue shares so as to raise capital to build a new factory for the production of the Elixir and the Linctus, and of the new products issuing from Mr Robinson's fertile chemical brain."
It was a normal enough procedure and, provided the few rules laid down were publicly followed, would still allow the original partners to run the company as they wished.
"Yourself to be Chairman of the Board and Financial Director, I presume, Mr Burke. Mr Robinson to have a title as well. I could be issued a nominal single share and serve as Company Secretary and as a director, sir. It would be as well to have another four or six gentleman on the Board of Directors. Let me see... A medical man, sir, would seem very much the thing bearing in mind the nature of the product, and a member of the cloth - nothing like a Reverend on the headed notepaper! A lord would be very handy as well - the small investor loves a Peer, after all. Besides that, another name who is known to the public - a Member of Parliament, for example. Our
local man costs very little - throw him a hundred a year and he will be very happy to lend his name, he is only a back-bencher and with little influence in the Party."
A doctor could be bought for little more than the MP would cost, and a reverend from a poor parish in the town would be even cheaper. The sole problem would be the Peer.
"Would an American general serve the purpose instead, Mr Mayhew?"
"Only if he came from the winning side, sir. It is by no means clear which that may be, sir."
"I know no peers, unfortunately."
"You are - have been - related to one, sir."
Circumstances were conspiring to force him to a rapprochement with his father – it might be worth money to come to terms with him.
Dick sat at his work desk in his little rented house, considering again his plans for the firm; a company, now that it was possible for firms other than banks and railways, still made more sense than any other course, despite the need for a great name on the board.
An initial and small share issue, most of which he would take up himself on a part-paid basis; he could not expect many investors to be interested in a hardly known, new company. Whatever money came in from that first issue would be used to pay an early and large dividend; not quite a legal process, but it should be unnoticed. A second share offering could then be made, on the back of the proven profits evidenced by the dividend. Few companies paid the twenty per cent return he intended to show and he could confidently expect a substantial take up of the shares, might even be able to sell some of those he had first allocated to himself. The cash accruing from this second offering should be sufficient to build the new factory to produce the patent medicines in far greater quantity, and the resulting flow of income should, with a little luck, enable him to maintain a respectable dividend to the investors and then, in a year or two, raise more money with a third issue.
Dire Shenanigans (The Making of a Man Series, Book 2) Page 1
