An Uncertain Peace (The Making of a Man Series, Book 3)

by Andrew Wareham

  “Is the bulk of the park like this?”

  “The kitchen gardens are kept up by the Royal children when they are here, sir. It is good for them, I am told. Besides that, sir, orchards, grass and, I quote, ‘sylvan glades’.”

  “No ornamental sheep?”

  “No, sir, the pastoral idyll was not taken to that level.”

  “Very good. We should form a line, from the Cottage to the sea shore, myself in the middle, each in sight of the other. Sweep to the east; I believe Ryde lies in that direction?”

  It did and they agreed that his plan was sensible; they ran to their positions, found that the distance was too great for just six men to cover efficiently, but that they could keep in sight of each other generally, though the clumps of trees sometimes hid them for two or three minutes at a time.

  They walked slowly forward for nearly ten minutes, covering less than half a mile at the policeman’s beat pace; four thousand and four hundred yards to the hour, Dick remembered, wondering how he knew and why the figure should suddenly come to mind.

  One of the policemen on the inland side blew his whistle, a series of short blasts to call the alarm; Dick spun round, saw the constable’s arm pointing to the north west. There was a figure in sight, closer to the house than they were.

  “Run! Chase him!”

  Dick watched for a few seconds, saw the distant man to be making directly towards the Swiss Cottage rather than towards the main building. He sprinted to cut him off.

  He wondered why Ings, if it was him, was distant from the direct track to Ryde, then reminded himself that roads never travelled in straight lines, country lanes especially so.

  Ings was essentially sedentary in his habits and was already blown from the walk of more than a mile from the bus route; his slow outings On Wimbledon Common had not equipped him to race. Dick, no great athlete but used to days in the saddle in America, caught up rapidly, recognising that it was Ings.

  He stopped a few yards distant, called out a clear and simple warning.

  “Mr Ings, you must not be here. This is private land and is forbidden to all except members of the Royal Family.”

  Ings drew himself up commandingly, peering down his nose at the mere commoner who dared accost him in his own domain.

  “I am a member of the Royal Family. This is my property. You are trespassing, sir, and have no right here yourself!”

  “Mr Ings, you have no business here. You must go with the policemen who are coming now.”

  “I shall fight for my rights, sir!”

  “You must not, Mr Ings. You must simply go with the policemen.”

  The constables were within fifty yards and making valiant time in their heavy boots and constricting uniforms.

  “I shall not be moved from my course! You are a traitor to your true king, sir! I warn you, I carry the means to compel your obedience on my person!”

  Ings right hand crept inside his coat.

  “Do not offer violence, Mr Ings.”

  “My cause is just, sir. You are that man Richards, are you not? I knew I had seen you before. You are no more than a police spy, you disloyal dog!”

  Ings snatched a leather case from inside his coat; at a glance it looked much like a holster. He fumbled to pull something from it.

  The nearest policeman shouted a warning, called Dick to run clear.

  Dick drew his shoulder gun, one of the three-inch barrel Smith and Wessons, thirty-eight calibre but amply sufficient at the range of less than ten yards. He fired two quick shots and stepped to one side, to put Ings off his aim if he was still upright.

  Ings was down, unmoving; both rounds had hit, which was as Dick had expected at the range.

  The closest policeman walked to the body and picked up the leather case.

  “Document holder, sir. Papers. Nothing more lethal.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “You could say that, sir.”

  “Is he dead?”

  “Very, sir. Most accurate shooting, if I may say so, sir. Of course, as a military man, sir, you will be familiar with guns. Have you a permit to carry a concealed weapon when in civilian clothes, sir?”

  Dick produced the warrant given him by Major Hewitt.

  “Thank you, sir. That does seem to be in order. I shall just send the junior constable to alert the Inspector, sir, and he, no doubt, will wish to make contact with the Superintendent, and in all probabilities the Chief Constable in Winchester.”

  Dick was aware that Major Hewitt would view such a process with some disfavour; there would be telegrams and operators to read and transmit them, and inform their contacts in the newspapers who would pay generously for anything relating to Royalty.

  “Beg the Inspector to send no messages before he has consulted with me. The Home Secretary will take a direct interest in this matter and will expect to hear before any other person is informed.”

  The Inspector from Cowes arrived inside the hour, whipping up the trotting horse in the station trap. He glanced at the body and then spoke to Dick, very respectfully. The constable had obviously whispered that high-ups from London would be involved and the Inspector, only in his thirties, had hopes of promotion and that meant he must tread very carefully in political matters.

  “The constable tells me that you knew of this person as a man of violence and of limited sanity, sir.”

  “He believed himself to be the rightful king of England, Inspector.”

  “Another one, sir? He is the third I have met in my career, sir. The other two are safely locked away. I presume that he absconded before you could have him certified, sir.”

  “It was decided that he was harmless, Inspector.”

  The inspector seized upon the implication that Dick’s superiors had made a mistake and that he had been left to make all right after their error. It was normal in his experience – when the Superintendent made a mess of things it was the Inspector who was said to be to blame.

  “Who must be informed, sir?”

  “My immediate superior will be on the scene very soon. He was to get a squad together and then to follow me on an early train. The navy will bring him across in one of their little steam launches. He will then take charge and deal with the question of inquests and such.”

  “In that case, sir, it were better that no action at all should be taken. The staff and servants in the main house will not talk, sir. Discretion is all to them. Experience tells me that almost all are loyal and the few who are not know what would happen to them if they ran off at the mouth. We can safely delay for an hour or two, but I have to say, sir, that there will be a medical inspection of the body – it will be impossible to wholly avoid the Coroner’s Office in the matter – and that the doctor will be somewhat disturbed to discover a cold body.”

  “Bugger! Would it be possible to bring the doctor to the body rather than vice versa?”

  “That will save time, sir, and is allowable in certain circumstances, but is not a decision I can make. That would be to take too much on myself as a mere Inspector.”

  “Then we must wait my superior, Inspector. I am to a great extent in the same position – the matter is too much for me to handle. I rather fear that I have created an embarrassment and that others, far more senior in the public service, must decide what to do.”

  Major Hewitt arrived, slightly green in the face, the midshipman in his picket boat having cut across the bows of an old sail-and-steam frigate, somewhat more cumbersome than a modern vessel, and having avoided a collision by inches. He was not in the best of tempers as a result.

  “Did you have to shoot him, Sir Richard?”

  “He pulled something from under his coat. It looked like a holster, Major.”

  The policemen who had been present agreed; they had been quite sure from the deceased’s speech and actions that he was armed and intending to use a gun.

  “Could you not have shot to wound the poor lunatic?”

  “Don’t be bloody daft, Major Hewitt! Bullets are not q
uite so discriminating as to determine whether their target will die or simply be disabled! Hence, I might add, my survival in Kansas City when an assassin put a round into me!”

  Major Hewitt had never himself actually shot a man and he did not have the experience to argue the matter. He was forced to accept Dick’s assertion, though a little upset to be addressed in such scathing terms.

  “I must make contact with my people in Horse Guards, Sir Richard, and request them to speak to the Home Secretary so that an inquest may be held behind closed doors. It is not unheard of in the Trade, of course, and should go through very much on the nod. All will be swept under the carpet. That, of course, must include you. You as well must disappear from view. The office in Whitehall can see you no more. Indeed, I very much suspect that you have never been there!”

  Hewitt thought a minute or two, working his way through the possibilities.

  “You must return to Dorset for the while, Major Burke. I will arrange with your man to vacate your rooms immediately and will put him on a train today. You must go to the retired list with effect from last week – that will be easily arranged. Promoted to lieutenant-colonel, of course, thus to demonstrate that you ended your military career in good odour. What are we to do with you…”

  Another minute of thought – very brief, but Major Hewitt was experienced in the cover-up, having spent much of his career hiding the misdeeds of politicians.

  “I know! The very thing! This business with the Alabama and the other Confederate privateers launched in Liverpool and sent out to create havoc on the oceans of the world. Washington is upset – probably with some cause, viewing the matter with hindsight – and wishes action to be taken. The appointment of a gentleman of some prominence to investigate the matter, to take stock, as it were, and present an opinion to Her Majesty’s Government, must go some way to placate them. Establish the facts; discover the costs; seek evidence in Liverpool and in the States; make an initial report within, say, six months. You will have been far too busy to be involved in extraneous affairs on the Isle of Wight!”

  “Immediately, Major Hewitt?”

  “Good God, no, Sir Richard! You started last month! I shall have formal instructions sent you within the week, detailing your employers – the Board of Trade, probably – your position under Government and matters of remuneration as well as the actual remit of your post. You will also receive instructions regarding the results of your inquiry – a maximum sum for damages done and the discovery that Her Majesty’s Government was misled at the time and consequently, quite unwittingly, caused harm to American Federal interests. You will make your report and recommend that the matter should go to disinterested arbitration, I would imagine – you will receive your instructions later. Establish the facts, as I say, but do not be bound by them; you must be guided by Whitehall in all you say.”

  Dick was overwhelmed – he had thought himself to be within reason a cynic, but he was no more than a dabbler on the fringes of reality, it seemed.

  “Very good, sir!”

  “It is indeed. A most fortuitous turning-out, I believe. Obviously, you will have to be seen as a very senior person under government for your report to be taken seriously. I think it is no exaggeration to suggest that you must grace the House of Lords sooner rather than later.”

  Dick had not realised that Major Hewitt possessed so great an influence.

  “Me, Sir Richard? Oh, I do not! But the Department, you know, is listened to in Downing Street. We know so much about such surprising people that we can generally be indulged in minor matters such as peerages and lesser honours. While we do not demand money, and thus upset the Treasury, we can expect a fairly free run, you know!”

  “So be it, Major Hewitt. I had not expected to see America again for many years. It would seem that much has changed. I must inform my lady wife that we shall be crossing the ocean again.”

  # # #

  Thank you for reading An Uncertain Peace. The next book in the series is expected to be released in late 2016 or early 2017. In the meantime, please take look at the author’s other books listed on the following pages.

  By the Same Author

  A Poor Man at the Gate Series: Book One: The Privateersman is FREE on Kindle -Escaping the hangman’s noose in England, commoner Tom Andrews finds himself aboard a privateering ship before fleeing to New York at the time of the Revolutionary War. It is a place where opportunities abound for the unscrupulous. Hastily forced to return to England, he ruthlessly chases riches in the early industrial boom. But will wealth buy him love and social respectability?

  Kindle links to the whole series:

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  The Duty and Destiny Series: These superbly-crafted novel length sea/land stories are set in the period of the French Revolutionary War (1793 – 1802). The series follows the naval career and love-life of Frederick Harris, the second son of a middling Hampshire landowner, a brave but somewhat reluctant mariner. (Book One was first published in 2014.)

  Please note: This series is currently available to Kindle Unlimited subscribers.

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  Man of Conflict Series: Youngest son of a wealthy English merchant, Septimus Pearce is an utterly spoiled brat whose disgraceful conduct threatens his family’s good name. His father forces him to join the army in an attempt to reform him, but even the disciplines of army life where he sees bloody action in three countries fail to exorcise his nastier character traits.

  Book One Kindle Link http://getBook.at/Conflict-1

  Book One: Long Way Place

  In the early 1900s gutter rat, Ned Hawkins aims to rise from the grinding poverty of an English slum, but is forced to flee the country and ends up in Papua. It is a dangerous place where cannibalism and cannibals are never far away. Despite this menacing backdrop, he prospers and almost by accident, finds love. However, there are ominous stirrings in the land that bode ill for the future. Note: Book Two is now available on Kindle.

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