The Lingering (Book 2): Rangers

by Ben Brown

  THE LINGERING

  BOOK TWO

  RANGERS

  BY

  BEN BROWN

  www.bensebooks.info

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews – without the permission in writing from its publisher, Random Mouse Publishing.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. I am not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Copyright Ben Brown © 2015

  Published By Random Mouse Publishing

  Table Of Contents

  THE LINGERING

  BOOK TWO

  RANGERS

  www.bensebooks.info

  Table Of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Location: 10 Downing Street, London

  Date: March 29, 1843

  Time: 4:15 p.m.

  Sir Robert Peel sat at his desk and stared out at Downing Street below. In his two years as Prime Minister he had seen nothing that threatened the empire more than the Lingering. The disease had to be England’s greatest catastrophe. Two-thirds of the country’s population had fallen victim to the disease, and the remaining third still struggled with the disease’s aftermath.

  He stood and slowly approached the fireplace. His eyes fixed on the portrait of his wife and seven children. The Lingering had robbed him of three of his five sons, and both of his daughters. His remaining two heirs now stood watch over his ailing wife, and if the reports were true, she would soon follow their five unfortunate children down the same path.

  He rubbed a weary hand across his temples, and returned to his work. He still had much to do before he received The Queen and her party. The instructions she had sent on before her were very specific, and it would take all of his political skill to ensure they passed the House. But pass them they must.

  He turned at the sound of a knock at the door.

  “Enter.”

  His butler, Mathews, entered. “Prime Minister,” he said with a bow. “The Queen’s carriage has arrived, as has Sir Bexley’s. Might I suggest I prepare the library for your visitors?”

  Sir Robert got to his feet once more. “The library would suit our meeting admirably. I know The Queen is awfully fond of the cook’s shortbread. Maybe you could arrange for some with our tea.”

  Mathews bowed low. “Of course, sir. I have already taken the liberty of suggesting the cook make a fresh batch.”

  Peel bounded by him and said, “Good man.”

  * * *

  Victoria sat in a large, red leather chair. Bexley, Bartholomew and Peel stood around her with cup and saucer in hand.

  “Your Majesty, may I offer you another piece of shortbread?”

  The Queen smiled charmingly, and tipped her head. “That would be delightful. You really must get your cook to give her recipe to my staff.”

  He passed her a silver platter and she took a slice of the scrumptious treat.

  “Now, gentlemen, as good as this shortbread is, I feel it is time for some work. Dr. Bartholomew, would you kindly explain your latest findings to the Prime Minister.”

  Bartholomew placed his cup and saucer down, then pulled a number of papers from the briefcase at his side and handed them to Peel.

  “Here are all the details of my findings, Prime Minister. But if you wish, I can give you a summary of them now.”

  Peel took the papers and headed for a writing desk in the corner of the room. “Please, Doctor, continue.”

  Bartholomew straightened and placed his right hand in his waistcoat. “As I outlined to you a day ago, it is my conjecture that we all carry the Lingering in one form or another. I myself have witnessed two people whom were previously untouched by the disease pass from this world. To my astonishment, they then returned from the dead.

  “I decided to contact other places of healing to corroborate my suspicions. Every hospital I communicated with confirmed that they had similar experiences. Regrettably, it would seem we are all doomed to linger this Earth until our bodies simply turn to dust. However, I fear it may take decades of decay before the Lingerers find peace, for the disease seems to sustain the body throughout its slow decomposition. But if that is God’s will, then who are we to judge?”

  He shook his head sadly and dabbed at his eyes. All in the room averted their gaze from his uncalled for show of emotion.

  Bartholomew looked at those around him, and felt ashamed at his loss of composure.

  “I apologize; it has been a rather harrowing week. Now, where was I? Ah yes, as you know, we previously dealt with the Lingering by dispatching them with a blow, or shot to the head. I can vouch for how terribly destructive this is to the poor soul administering the final remedy. I myself have dispatched over a hundred Lingerers, and God will judge me for it one day. This cannot be our permanent solution, especially considering most of the Lingering are docile and harmless.”

  Peel approached Bartholomew. “Harmless you say? Why I saw one of those things rip apart a guardsmen at my very door. My dear sir, they are far from harmless.”

  Bexley raised his hand in objection to the Prime Minister’s remark. “Of course those of the Lingering whom have feasted on flesh must still be dealt with this way. Nevertheless, I really must stress the Lingering only become violent once they have the scent, or taste, of blood. I have seen Rupert here herding dozens of them quietly into a room. Not once did any of them attempt to attack him.”

  Bartholomew placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Sir William is quite right. Any man’s beloved dog is harmless and docile. But what if it tasted human blood, would you still trust it? The same goes for victims of the Lingering. Many of these poor souls will never inflict harm. So why should they be destroyed like the ones who have become blood crazed?”

  “Dr. Bartholomew, might I ask a question?”

  He turned to Victoria. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

  “You say the Lingering will fade if unfed, so what would happen if they had nourishment? Would they continue to live?”

  Bartholomew looked at her, and puzzlement filled his face. “If they fed, then one could assume they would linger indefinitely. But, ma’am, they only seem interested in human flesh. It is true that they will kill and maim any beast they find, and this led many to believe they fed upon said animals. However, when the Lingerers were captured and dissected, no animal flesh could be found in their innards. Feeding them is not an option, because they only eat the flesh of the living.”

  Victoria flicked open a small black fan, and hid her reddening face. “Quite right, I am sorry for my foolish interruption. Doctor, please continue.”

  Bartholomew bowed his head and smiled. “Your Majesty could never appear foolish. In fact, your genius may have found the way of addressing our issues.” He t
urned back to Peel. “The Queen has a very personal interest in how the Lingering are treated. Her Majesty has come up with the ingenious idea of sending the Lingering to one of the colonies … namely Australia.”

  Peel nodded slowly and crossed his hands behind his back. “I am aware of Her Majesty’s idea. While commendable and completely sound, it will be hard to put into practice.”

  Victoria snapped shut her fan, and said, “Pray tell, why is that? Surely you govern this country, do you not? If you pass the laws to make this happen, then happen it must.”

  Peel turned, and tipped his head in a reverent bow to his queen. “My apologies, Your Majesty, I meant no disrespect.”

  “None taken. However, I would still like an explanation as to why it cannot be done.”

  “Ma’am, I am the Prime Minister of England, but all laws have to pass both Houses, namely the Commons and the House of Lords. This is a lengthy and slow process.”

  “I am aware of how my country is run, but I think England’s situation might call for some swift lawmaking. Would you not agree?”

  Peel bowed again. “Of course, Your Majesty, but laws are not the only issue. Australia is a populated land. I admit the population is sparse, but it still exists. We simply cannot expect them to live among the Lingering.”

  Victoria smiled politely. “Prime Minister, I never suggested they should. We will repatriate them to other lands. India, The Americas, South Africa, Canada, the list of possibilities is endless. In return for these countries’ help, we will allow them to send their victims of the Lingering to Australia too. We will also extend this kindness to our European neighbors. But for them, it will come at a price.”

  Peel’s eyes widened slightly. “Ma’am, are you suggesting we profit from the Lingering?”

  Victoria dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her handkerchief. “Profit is such an ugly word. All I am suggesting is that the cost for this exercise should be carried by all involved. The countries that accept our citizens from Australia have paid their bill in kind. Those who do not receive our people must pay in cash. Prime Minister, you must remember England will be giving up one of her finest colonies. Why should we carry the entire burden?”

  Peel nodded slowly. “You make an excellent point, Your Majesty. However, this will be an ongoing endeavor. Should not the countries that receive our people pay too? Might I suggest a twenty year reprieve from payment, after which they must also pay?”

  Victoria nodded. “That seems like a perfectly sensible proposition.”

  Peel turned back to Bexley and Bartholomew. “We will need to procure ships. Have either of you considered this?”

  Bexley nodded. “It is all in Bartholomew’s papers, but in essence here is our idea. We will use the Royal Navy to help with clearing the vast numbers of Lingering. They will also deal with the repatriation of our antipodean citizens. We will use a private shipping company once the initial rush is over.”

  Peel tapped a finger to his lips. “I cannot see any reputable shipping company wanting to get involved in this. Plus, where would we find the ships?”

  Bexley reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. “As you know the slave trade was abolished in this country over thirty years ago. Nonetheless, I have discovered close to one hundred slave ships scattered around England and its colonies. These ships are in complete disrepair, but we can have them all shipshape in a matter of months. As for a shipping company, Bartholomew and I are meeting with a man first thing tomorrow. His business is at the brink of bankruptcy, and he has a reputation of being less than particular about what he ships. I propose the government pay off his debts, and gift him these vessels. We will also agree to cover all the expenses for two years, after which he will be on his own.

  “None of this must come to light, so the funds and property will be handled by private investors. All the investors will be working on the governments behalf.”

  Peel blinked with disbelief. “And why should we treat this man with such generosity?”

  Victoria laughed, and Peel turned to look at her.

  “Your Majesty, did I say something to amuse you?”

  “Yes, Prime Minister, you did. I cannot believe a man of such political awareness as you, cannot see what Sir William is trying to do. This is an unsavory matter, and he is trying to distance the establishment from it. The Navy will help at first, and the public will applaud us. However, as time goes by, the public will see this as something shameful. Who better to deal with a shameful thing, than a shameful man?

  “The government can later lament on how sad, but necessary, the shipments are. Such things are always better handled by independent companies. The government must never look like it is washing its hands of the Lingering, but rather it is handing the issue to someone more suited to the task.”

  Bexley smiled. “Ma’am, your astuteness astounds me. Her Majesty is right. We must make it clear that this is our only option. We must also make it clear that the matter is to be dealt with without government intervention or assistance. Of course, we will always be pulling the strings from the background.”

  Peel nodded and let out a sigh. “Very well, gentlemen, I will make sure the bill is passed and the funds are made available. You just make sure this man of yours is up to the task.” He pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat and studied it. He then turned and looked at the calendar on his writing desk. “We will aim to make the first shipment one month from today. Now, gentlemen, I believe we all have much to do, so might I conclude our meeting is at an end.”

  Bexley and Bartholomew bowed first to The Queen, and then to Peel. Sir William gestured toward the door, and Bartholomew strode toward it enthusiastically.

  “Gentlemen, one more thing.”

  Both stopped in their tracks and turned to see Victoria walking toward them.

  “Yes, Your Majesty?” replied Bexley.

  “This man of yours, I wish to meet with him—in private.”

  Bexley turned and looked at his old friend, and then turned his gaze back to his queen. “To what end, ma’am?”

  “I simply want to make sure he understands that the Lingering are to be treated respectfully. I also want to meet the man soon to be the richest in England.”

  Bexley bowed again. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

  This time both men left uninterrupted.

  * * *

  Harold Westbourne stood before the rear gates of Buckingham Palace in his finest suit. If truth be told, it was his only suit. Since his strange meeting with two men claiming to be The Queen’s representatives, things had got even stranger. The men who had threatened to kneecap him over his debts, had suddenly disappeared. In addition to this small miracle, his once overdrawn bank accounts were now brimming with cash.

  The proposal the two men made him seemed too good to be true. All he had to do was ship countless stinking Lingerers to the asshole of the world. If he agreed to do this, then they guaranteed to make him the richest man in England.

  At first, he thought their offer to be some elaborate ruse setup by the rozzers. Ever since his little misunderstanding about duty owed on a shipment of tobacco, they had been breathing down his neck. However, the sudden increase in the size of his bank account proved their story to be true.

  A guard approached the gate and eyed Harold suspiciously. “What do you want?” the guard growled as his eyes traversed Harold’s crumpled suit.

  Westbourne swallowed back his unease, and replied, “My name is Harold Westbourne, and I believe The Queen has requested to see me.”

  Harold closed his eyes and waited for the butt of the guard’s gun to shatter his nose.

  “Mr. Westbourne, of course. Please accept my apologies for being so abrupt with you. Follow me.”

  Harold opened his eyes and saw the guard holding open the gate for him. Wonders will never cease, he thought as he straightened his shabby jacket, and followed the guard.

  * * *

  Westbourne sat in the largest and most
lavishly decorated room he had ever seen. As a boy, he had broken into a few posh houses, but this one took the cake. His eyes shifted to a gold cigarette case on the table beside him. He reached out to pick it up, but the footmen who stood silently in the corner of the room, cleared his throat. Harold looked up at the servant, and the man simply shook his head.

  Clearly, his reputation had proceeded him. So instead, he stood and moved to the window. The view of St. James’ park was breath taking. He shook his head and felt sickened by how good the other half had things. Since eight years of age he had fought tooth and nail for what little he had, yet others simply got handed things on a plate. It made him sick to think of how the toffs lorded it over the rest of the land. Now that he had money, he would really show the aristocracy what a hard-nosed Londoner could do. He would make them pay for….

  “Mr. Westbourne, how delightful to meet you.”

  Harold’s vitriolic thoughts stopped instantly, and he turned and bowed.

  “Your Majesty.”

  “I see you are admiring the view. It really is spectacular this time of year.”

  He looked back at the vista. “Yes I don’t often get to see views as lovely as this. Where I come from, all you see is soot and rats.”

  “Yes, well, that is most … unfortunate. Would you take a seat?”

  Harold looked back toward the chair he had just vacated, and then smiled agreeably. “Of course, ma’am.”

  The Queen took a chair a few yards from Westbourne’s, and she demurely placed her hands in her lap.

  “Now, I take it Sir Bexley and Dr. Bartholomew could tell you nothing about why I wanted to see you.”

  “No, Your Majesty, they seemed clueless as to why you would want to talk to someone like me. In fact, they made it perfectly clear that they found me to be a distasteful blaggard.”

  Again, Westbourne had to swallow down his anger.

  “Mr. Westbourne, whether you are a blaggard or not is of very little interest to me. What does interest me, is the project on which you are about to embark.”