Agent Of The Queen

by Malcolm Archibald

  “This woman is my wife.” Jack kept his emotions under control. “Her name is Mary.”

  “You inherited your father's tastes, I see.” Elizabeth Windrush stared at Mary as if at some mortal enemy.

  “Only the best ones, Mother.” Again, Jack forced down his temper. He edged closer to Mary, who attempted to hold Elizabeth's gaze.

  “Get this blackamoor out of my house, William,” Elizabeth Windrush commanded, turning away. “Instruct her to take my husband's bastard with her.”

  Jack waited until his step-mother was three yards distant before he spoke again. “I thought you'd be pleased to greet your new neighbours,” he said. “You see, Mary and I have inherited the adjacent estate.” He saw Elizabeth Windrush falter. “The old Baird house of Netherhills.”

  “Inherited?” William's voice sounded strangled.

  “From my grandfather,” Jack said pleasantly. “My blood mother's father, don't you know.” He smiled at the shocked expression on William's face. “As neighbours, William, we'll be able to keep in touch. Mary and I intend to be frequent guests in my family home.”

  “Get out of my house!” William raised his voice. “By God, I'll have the servants turn the dogs on you and your nigger woman.”

  “You won't talk about my wife like that!” Jack's temper snapped. Without conscious thought, he swung a punch that caught William full on the mouth. As William staggered away, Mary took hold of Jack's arm and guided him out the front door.

  “Enough now, Jack. We're not here to cause trouble.” She propelled him down the steps to the gravel path outside. “Come on now!”

  Reluctant to leave a job half-done, Jack turned back, stabbing a finger towards his half-brother. “I won't forget this, William, I'm telling you! You'll not insult my wife again, by God!”

  “Enough, Jack!” Mary hustled him away. “You're not a schoolboy any more.” She lowered her voice. “There are other ways.”

  “What?” Blinded by his anger, Jack had failed to see the light in Mary's eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “I said: 'There are other ways.' ” Mary gripped his arm. “We've been married for years, and I've never seen you like that before.” Her smile was sudden and unexpected. “That was as good a punch as any prizefighter's. Now, where are our horses?”

  “I must apologise for my family's behaviour,” Jack started until Mary pushed him again.

  “Don't be a pompous ass, Jack; you're not responsible for your family. Come on; let's get out of here.”

  Back on his feet, William glowered at them silently from his front door as a trickle of blood ran down his chin.

  Jack stormed past the belt of trees that screened the stable block, now anxious to get away from Wychwood Manor as quickly as he could.

  “Lad!” Jack shouted as he entered the coolness of the stable. “Where are our horses?” He looked around, muttering: “Damn the boy, what's he done with them?”

  “There they are.” Mary walked to Katrine. “Your Cedric is two stalls down.”

  “Lad!” Jack roared again. He heard a rustle in the hayloft above. “Stop skulking up there and come and do your duty! Saddle our horses, you young scoundrel!”

  “Jack!” Mary admonished him, “calm yourself!”

  “This place makes me angry.”

  “William made you angry,” Mary corrected.

  “Not just William, Mary. Mother made me angry as well.” Jack raised his voice again. “Get down here, you young rogue, or I'll come up and it'll be the worse for you.”

  “The poor lad's probably terrified of you,” Mary remarked. “Leave him alone. We can get the horses ourselves. Can't we, Katrine?” She soothed her horse, fondling its ears and blowing in its nostrils. “Yes, of course, we can.”

  Halfway up the ladder, Jack paused. Expecting to see one of the stable-lads, he found himself staring into the wide eyes of a maidservant. “What the devil are you doing here?”

  “What is it, Jack?” Mary asked, looking up curiously.

  “Oh, nothing important.” Jack descended again. “Not our business. Come on, Mary, let's get away.”

  * * *

  “It's a funny thing,” Mary said as they lay in bed that night, “Helen rather enjoyed you punching her husband. I was watching her.”

  Jack reached out for her, caressing the comfortable swell of her stomach. “I rather enjoyed it, too.”

  “So, did I, Jack, so did I.” Mary slid towards him. “And tomorrow we see Netherhills, our new home.”

  “As long as the neighbours are friendly,” Jack said, “we'll be all right.”

  It had not been the homecoming of which Jack had dreamed. He hoped tomorrow would be better.

  * * *

  The gates of Netherhills, between their plain stone pillars, greeted them with a display of rusted neglect. Jack dismounted to push them open, fighting past the tangle of nettles that choked the entrance to the grounds. “I don't believe anybody has lived in this place for years!”

  “We'll have fun putting it to rights.” Mary walked Katrine gently through the gates and on to the weed-infested driveway. “I'm quite excited to see our first English home.”

  Jack said nothing, desperately hoping that Mary would learn to love Herefordshire as much as he did. Glancing across to her, he saw she was studying everything from the ancient trees to the blackbirds that chattered in sudden panic at this intrusion into their territory.

  Jack grinned as a colony of rabbits scurried for shelter in front of them. “Poachers' paradise,” he said, “but grandfather certainly had good taste in timber.” He gestured towards the oak, elm, and beech trees that lined the drive.

  “Come on, Jack, race you to the house!” Mary kicked in her heels and trotted around the final bend, stopping when Netherhills House came into view. “Oh, my word.”

  “Indeed.” Jack reined in at her side. “Oh, our word. Grandfather Baird, what have you left us?”

  With the front door securely locked and half-covered with ivy, vegetation growing from the gutters and weathered and peeling shutters at all the windows, Netherhills House looked neglected, an architectural orphan.

  “It only needs love,” Mary said. “How old is the house, do you think?”

  Jack surveyed the building style. “It's Georgian, I think, so not all that old; maybe 100 years at most.” He nodded to the Italianate tower that protruded two storeys above the bulk of the house. “I doubt the tower is more than 50 years young.”

  “Come on, Jack,” Mary dismounted. “Let's explore. Will the horses be all right?”

  “Leave them here. They won't go far.”

  “You have the key?” Mary looked up in sudden alarm.

  “I picked it up from the lawyers, remember?” On an impulse, Jack handed the key to Mary. “Go on – you first.” He watched as she opened the door, stepped into their house and stopped.

  “Come on, Jack.”

  They walked in together, side by side and hand in hand.

  Despite the length of time that Netherhills had been empty, the house smelled sweet, although cobwebs hung heavy from every corner and the dust stood half an inch deep on each surface. Leaving the front door open, Mary and Jack explored slowly, unfastening the shutters to allow in light and with Mary making little comments in every room.

  “This will be the withdrawing room. I can entertain here.”

  “I don't know what I'll use this room for.”

  “We'll have a piano in the corner there, and bookcases on three walls. Come on, Captain Jack, let's go upstairs.”

  As they mounted the stone stairs, Mary patted the wooden balustrade. “This walnut will polish up nicely.”

  “I can already see you as the lady of the manor,” Jack said.

  Mary pushed open another door. “Now this, Jack,” she said, holding his arm tightly, “will be our bedroom. I want a four-poster bed in the centre and a cheval glass in that corner so that I can make sure I look my best each morning.” She stepped into the middle of the room. �
��I like this room with these big windows overlooking the grounds. We can happily make more babies here.”

  Jack raised his eyebrows. Although he had no objections to the baby-making process, he was not sure if he wanted to add to their family. “Babies grow into children, which means the expense and worry of schooling for boys and marriage for girls,” he pointed out.

  “And schooling for girls and marriage for boys, too,” Mary replied sharply. “I'm not having any girls of ours growing up uneducated, or allowing my sons to live without a wife to guide them.”

  “I'll leave the schooling of any daughters in your hands,” Jack said at once.

  Mary acknowledged his words with a nod.

  “Somebody's been in here,” Jack said the minute they entered the west wing, from where the tower rose in Italianate splendour. Chairs stood in a circle around a burn-scarred table, while cigar butts and broken clay pipes littered the floor.

  Mary frowned at this intrusion at her home. “And more than once, too. Vagabonds, do you think?”

  “Vagabonds who smoke cigars?” Jack said. “Poachers perhaps; William mentioned he had problems with poachers. Well, whoever they are, they won't be back once we're in residence.”

  “They'd better not come back,” Mary said grimly.

  “Do you like your house, then?” Jack asked when they had completed their initial survey.

  “I did not expect to find furniture.“ Mary swept a hand over the dust covers that shrouded the furniture. “And it needs a good clean and a lot of redecoration. We'll need servants, too.”

  Jack nodded, quite happy for Mary to take over the running of the house. “One worry I have, Mary. Will you be all right here when I'm posted away again? My leave won't last for ever.”

  “What do you mean, will I be all right here? I'm coming with you.” Mary lifted her chin. “I didn't marry you to rattle around in an empty house while you travel the world having fun.”

  “If it is possible, then you shall accompany me.” Jack forestalled any looming argument.

  Mary accepted her victory. “I shan't like leaving David behind, or any other children we may have.”

  “If we're lucky, I might be posted somewhere in the British Isles.” Clearing a windowpane of dust and cobwebs, Jack saw movement outside. “I thought there were no servants left in this place.”

  “That's what the lawyer said.”

  “Then we have an intruder in the outbuildings. It'll be those blasted poachers. Wait here!” Bounding outside, Jack raced across to the modest stables and pushed open the unfastened door. “Halloa!”

  Darkness closed around him, thick with dust. “Who's here?”

  Jack was not surprised when there was no reply. Wishing he had a pistol with him, he shouted again. “Halloa! Is anybody there?” He heard the sudden scuffle of feet, turned and swore when somebody barged into him. Punching out, Jack felt contact and grunted as something slammed into his stomach, knocking him to the ground. He had a glimpse of a broad-shouldered man in moleskins running from the stables, but by the time he regained his feet, the man had gone.

  “Jack?” Mary was running from the house.

  “He got away from me.” Jack smiled ruefully. “I can catch Pashtun tribesmen on the most volatile frontier in the world, but I can't catch a single poacher in my own house.”

  “Never mind,” Mary said. “Nobody's hurt, and I doubt he'll be back now we're here.” She looked around with her eyes gleaming. “Right then, Captain Jack, we have a house to put to rights, servants to hire and a statue of Kali to find.”

  Jack flinched. “Why the devil do we want a statue of Kali? She's that Hindu goddess with a multitude of arms.”

  “Exactly so,” Mary said. “And we're going to put her on the most prominent place we can find, facing Wychwood Manor.”

  “Why?” Jack shook his head. “You're Christian, not Hindu.”

  “I know that, and you know that,” Mary said, “but your beloved brother and his mother don't know that!” Her grin was pure mischief. “I told you there were other ways to get even with them.” She pointed to the Italianate tower. “And I want a large telescope up there, Jack, the biggest and best that we can get, for I'm going to spy on everything that your brother does. Call me a blackamoor and a nigger, will they? We'll see who sets the dogs on whom before this is over.”

  “You might pick up a statue of Kali in London.” Jack hoped his wife would change her mind. ”We have a lot of travelling to do before we settle here and Hooky asked me to visit Horse Guards, remember.”

  “Horse Guards.” Mary's expression of distaste said more than her words. “Stuff and nonsense, Jack. You're on leave! Colonel Hook had no right to ask that.”

  “I know, but duty is duty.”

  “We'll stay here tonight,” Mary told him. “I know it's not properly habitable yet, but we've survived a lot worse.”

  Lighting a cheroot, Jack nodded. “I'm going for a stroll around the grounds while you familiarise yourself with Netherhills.”

  “Yes, you keep out of my way.” Mary's eyes gleamed with the prospect of an empty house to organise from scratch.

  Netherhills had 20 acres of badly overgrown land, with a tangle of undergrowth blocking access to a stone-built folly and dense weeds infesting what had once been smooth lawns.

  We'll need a decent head gardener, with a couple of boys to help him, Jack thought to himself. He found he was enjoying planning out his grounds. Puffing on his cheroot, he frowned as he saw a definite trail through the long grass. “These damned poachers think they own the place,” he muttered to himself. “I would expect the odd poacher, but that looks as if it's a regular path.” Following the trail, he came to the dry-stone wall that marked the boundary of Netherhills and looked up in surprise.

  The woman sat astride her horse with her bonnet at an acute angle and both hands on her reins.

  “I thought I might find you patrolling your boundaries.” Helen's smile was as wide as Jack remembered. He noticed the triangular Tartar amulet around her neck, remembered her buying it in Balaclava and knew she wore it specifically for him.

  “Is William with you?” Jack enquired, looking around.

  “No.” Helen shook her head. “Is Mary with you?”

  “She's planning out our house.”

  “We're all alone then.” Helen fingered her amulet. “Like the old days in the Crimea.”

  “It would seem so.” Jack waited to see what Helen wanted.

  “I miss you, Jack,” Helen said quietly. “You told me once you'd show me the Malvern Hills and watch the dawn rise over Worcestershire.”

  “That was a long time ago, Helen, before you married William.”

  “William is not the man I thought he was.”

  “You chose him.” Jack automatically drew back. The memory that Helen had left him for William still rankled, although he knew Mary was a better wife than Helen could ever be.

  “I made a bad choice.” Helen seemed to hesitate. “Life here is so dreary. I'd do anything to alleviate the tedium, while William is not an attentive husband. He prefers young servant girls.”

  Jack remembered the girl in the stable and the straw on William's trousers. “You can go riding,” Jack said. “Or meet the other wives of the area.”

  “They have no life in them,” Helen said. “It's an endless round of visits with social tittle-tattle, Jack. I had no idea that life in England was so tedious. I wish I were back in the Crimea with you, or in India, or South Africa.” She stepped closer. “I tried not to laugh when you punched William.” When Helen smiled again, the years slid away, and she looked like the young woman Jack had once known. “We've been through some interesting times together, Jack.”

  Jack took a deep breath, remembering the time of the great storm when Helen had stepped from a sinking raft as calmly as if she were shopping in Hereford. “We have, Helen, and now we are both married to other people.”

  “I wish it were otherwise.”

  Jack felt a c
onfusion of emotions burst on him. He had thought he loved Helen until she crushed him by rejecting him in favour of William. Only when he met Mary had he realised that Helen had been a passing fancy. Even so, as he remembered the times they had shared, Jack could not prevent some of his old feelings from returning. “We can still be friends,” he suggested. He immediately regretted his words.

  “Friends?” Helen dismounted, remaining on the opposite side of the boundary wall. “Thank you, Jack. You can't know how much that means to me.”

  “As long as Mary doesn't mind.” Jack knew his hasty amendment was too late. “I'd better be getting back to her.”

  “Already?” Helen gave a little pout. “After all these years you can only spare me two minutes? I thought you said we were friends.” She held her gloved hand across the wall.

  “I'm also married,” Jack said softly. “There will be other times, Helen.”

  “Yes,” Helen said as Jack turned away. “There will. I'll make sure of it.” She waved her fingers, smiling. When Jack looked back, she was still standing in the same place, watching.

  Chapter Two

  HORSE GUARDS, LONDON, OCTOBER 1865

  “Make no mistake, Windrush, the Fenian movement is the most serious domestic threat that Great Britain has faced for the last half-century, more serious than the Chartists, and they were peril enough. If we can't depend on the army, what hope have we of keeping order in this country, let alone maintain the Empire?”

  Jack nodded. When Colonel Hook had asked him to drop into Horse Guards during his home leave, he had thought it was little more than a courtesy call. Instead, an officious clerk had immediately ushered him into a quiet office on the upper floor where a dapper, intense man invited him to sit.

  “My name is Smith.” The man wore elegant civilian clothes but spoke with the clipped, authoritarian tones of a man used to command. “I expected you last week.”

  “I did not know you required my presence with such urgency,” Jack said, “or I would have come the day our ship docked.”

  “Quite so. Now, Windrush.” Smith sat straight-backed on his chair with his gaze never wavering from Jack's face. “You will wish to know what this is all about and how you can help rectify the situation.”