The Fat Badger Society (Drusilla Davanish Mysteries Book 2)

by Dawn Harris

  ‘So I’ve heard, ma’am.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Still, it all happened long ago and I don’t believe in living in the past. Unfortunately seeing Rotherton again brought it all back to me. Probably his daughter would have grown fat like her mother, and think of the disillusionment I would have suffered! Instead I shall always remember her as a sweet young girl.’

  I didn’t think it would be long before Mr East succumbed to another pretty face, and he would make the right woman an excellent husband. I liked him enormously myself. We took our places in a country dance a few minutes later, and he proved to be an expert dancer, very light on his feet. As was Mr Reevers, much to my surprise.

  Despite returning home in the early hours I was up at the usual time in the morning, excited at the prospect of meeting Mr. Pitt. I still could not think of any reason why he would wish to see me, but eager to meet the man who had been running the country for eleven years, ever since he was twenty-four, I dressed with care in a new gown of soft green.

  I had been to London several times with my father, and had seen number 10 Downing Street from the outside, but never imagined I would ever be invited beyond that spotless oak door with the lion’s head knocker.

  Mr. Reevers, who was to escort me, arrived in good time. Mudd drove us there and on being admitted into the house we were promptly escorted to a waiting room, before being taken, within a few minutes, into Mr. Pitt’s study. He was a rather thin, tall gentleman with plain features, and I wondered how it must feel to be in charge of the most powerful government in the world.

  A servant came in bearing a heavy tray of refreshments, and I accepted a little wine, while Mr Reevers took a glass of our host’s favourite port. When the servant left the room Mr Pitt came straight to the point. ‘No doubt, Lady Drusilla, you are wondering why I wished to see you.’

  ‘Indeed I am, sir.’

  ‘Then I won’t keep you in suspense.’ He took a sip of port, put his glass down and picked up a book from a nearby table. I saw at once that it was the book my father had written, “The History of the Isle of Wight.” Published six months before his sudden death from a seizure, it had been very well-received. ‘I thought it a fascinating book, Lady Drusilla, and I was most impressed with your achievements.’

  ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it sir, but my father wrote the book,’ I pointed out politely. ‘I only helped with the research.’

  ‘From what I’ve heard you are being too modest ma’am, but that is no bad thing. Over confidence can be dangerous. Mr Reevers said that when you came across a mystery that was difficult to unravel, it was your idea to write the known facts on a sheet of paper and fix it to the wall where it could always be seen.’

  I glanced at Mr Reevers, curious to know why he should tell Mr Pitt such a thing. ‘Yes, I did do that, sir. I thought it made sense.’

  ‘Indeed.’ He picked up a quill from his desk and absently twisted it in his fingers. ‘May I inquire how long you worked on the book?’

  ‘Some five or six years.’

  ‘Did you enjoy it?’

  ‘I did. Immensely.’ In fact, I had never been happier.

  That seemed to please him and he asked, ‘Did you solve every puzzle you came across?’

  ‘No, sir. Some things were simply not possible to resolve.’

  ‘How did you feel about that?’

  Smiling, I was forced to admit, ‘To be truthful, I found it very frustrating. I like to get to the bottom of things.’

  ‘Mr Reevers said that too. He also informed me you are highly perceptive, have a logical mind, and more brains than any other woman, and most men, of his acquaintance.’

  His words brought a flush to my cheeks, and as Mr. Reevers’ attention appeared to be concentrated on the contents of his glass, I could only express my bewilderment. ‘I cannot imagine why he should say such a thing, sir.’

  ‘No need to blush, ma’am. Mr Reevers knows what he’s about, believe me. He feels skills of that nature should be put to good use. And he’s quite right. Did you use the same methods when you solved the Saxborough murders last year?’

  ’Yes sir, I did.’

  ‘I was sorry you were unable to bring the French invasion plan to Downing Street yourself, but Mr. Reevers was an excellent deputy.’ I answered suitably and he crossed to the window, where he stood looking out as if thinking. Suddenly he said, ‘Tell me, ma’am, do you like the Spring?’

  'I believe there’s something to be said in favour of all the seasons sir, although Spring is my favourite.’

  He nodded. ‘When the weather is fine, there’s nothing to beat it. But my poor garden is in a sorry state after last night’s heavy rain and strong winds.’

  ‘I’m sure it will soon recover now the sun’s out.’

  He swung round at that. 'So you are an optimist.’ I agreed that I was and that seemed to please him. 'What is your opinion of the French, ma’am? Do you believe we can beat those devils?’

  'I do, sir. And we must, if our way of life is not to be lost for ever.’

  He gave a sharp nod of approval, a fierce glint in his eyes. 'How long do you imagine it will take us?’

  I stared at him, hardly knowing how to answer such a question. After a moment, I said, 'Surely sir, you must know that better than anyone.’

  'Yes, yes,’ he muttered a little testily. 'But I want to know what you think.’

  I glanced at Mr Reevers, who sat grinning at me. Feeling a little nettled that he obviously knew what Mr Pitt was up to when I didn’t, I decided that if the great man wanted my opinion, then he should have it.

  'In that case sir, I think it may take quite some time. Possibly years. France may be in chaos with that revolutionary band of cut-throats running the country, but they are a proud nation, and I don’t think they will be easily crushed.’

  If I hadn’t been so slow-witted, I would have realised he was making his own judgement of my character.

  He inclined his head. 'An optimist, but one who faces facts. Good.’ And he sighed. 'Well, I pray you are wrong, but I’m obliged to you for being so candid.’ He sat down opposite me then, and it suddenly struck me that if I had not given a rational answer, he would have brought our meeting to an abrupt end. Instead he spoke for some considerable time of the war, and his worries over the current unrest in England, with people forming themselves into organised societies and demanding the vote for all working men.

  ‘We have evidence that some corresponding societies want a French-style government here and are secretly arming themselves with pikes and pistols. Hence the need to suspend Habeas Corpus, much though I regret the necessity. After what happened at Ashton Grange it was thought wiser to arrest the worst of these agitators. England will be a safer place with them in prison. I promise you ma’am, while I live there will be no guillotines set up in our market squares, and no bloodthirsty revolutionaries strutting around Downing Street.’

  'I’m very glad to hear it, sir. I think-----' I stopped, realising what I had been going to say was a criticism of him.

  'Go on,’ he urged, clearly reading my face. 'Say what you think.’

  'It’s just that we have been at war for over a year now and - what I’m trying to say is - if the people had a victory to celebrate there would be less unrest.’

  He pursed his lips and I promptly made things a thousand times worse. 'Of course, victories don’t come to order---' I said, floundering. When he didn’t answer, I went on, 'I beg your pardon, I should not —'

  ‘Not at all. You’re quite right. I’m only too aware of it myself.’ He refilled my wine glass. 'Still, there’s more than one way to win a war, and everyone can play a part in it.’ He leaned forward and fixed his eyes on mine. ‘Are you willing to serve your country, Lady Drusilla? England needs people like you, if we are to beat the French. What do you say, ma’am?’

  I stared at Mr. Pitt, utterly dumbfounded. Did he want me to go to France? To be a government agent? Unable to see how I was to do such a thing, I protested, 'But my Fre
nch is unspeakably bad.’

  He roared with laughter, insisting his own French left much to be desired. ‘As for going to that Godforsaken country,’ he went on, 'that kind of thing is best left to people like Mr Reevers. In any war, however, there is always an upsurge in spying. Traitors – Englishmen spying for the French are particularly difficult to root out. Yet, we must if we are to win this war.’ He drank a little more port and put his glass down. ‘These spies are infiltrating corresponding societies, instructing them in the way the French organised their revolution, recruiting no more than ten or twenty members in one place. It being easier to mobilise small numbers. We believe there is one such group on the Isle of Wight.’

  ‘On the Island,’ I echoed, stunned.

  ‘The Island is a quiet backwater. Perfect for organising another attempt on the King’s life without anyone being the wiser. Or so they believe.’

  He refilled his glass, and asked softly, 'Tell me, do you think you could flush out a French spy?’

  That made me gasp out loud. 'Me? But how----'

  'I need people like you. People who are adept at seeking out the truth, and capable of making good judgements.’ Leaning back in his chair he gazed at me, a hint of a smile hovering on his lips as he waited patiently for me to answer.

  To give myself time to think, I reached for my glass and slowly sipped a little wine. 'I hardly know how to answer you sir,’ I admitted eventually, twisting the half empty glass in my fingers. 'Would it mean moving to London?’

  'No, nothing like that. We have agents here who smoke out most of those working for the French. But with a few – the cleverer spies – it’s not easy to get to the truth. So we have to use more subtle methods, and these take time.’ He leaned forward again, his eyes searching mine. ‘Would you allow such a man to be a guest in your own home, possibly for many weeks?’

  'At Westfleet?’ I exclaimed, astonished. 'You want me to house a man who may be a French spy?’ And, suddenly, I understand exactly what he wanted. ‘You mean, to treat him as a guest and at the same time find out where his true allegiance lies?’

  He inclined his head. 'Precisely. No man can watch what he says twenty-four hours a day for weeks on end. He’s also more likely to relax in the company of a charming woman, such as yourself, and be far less guarded in his conversation.’

  Mr Reevers, who had sat quietly listening for some time, reminded Mr Pitt, 'Perhaps Lady Drusilla should be warned that it may well be a little dangerous.’

  'Ah yes, quite right. I should have mentioned that, ma’am. I’m sure you can see how a French spy might react if he knew you’d found him out.’

  I could see exactly how it would be, I thought acidly, but as Mr Pitt clearly did not expect that prospect to weigh with me, I merely nodded as if it was of no great significance. Glancing across at Mr Reevers I saw his eyes were alight with amusement; not, I knew, from any desire to see me in danger, but because he understood precisely what I was thinking.

  Nevertheless, such considerations were soon swept away by the surge of excitement I felt at being involved in the struggle to beat the French.

  I began to see how it could work. A man given a pretext for staying at Westfleet would have no idea what I was doing, nor would anyone else in my house. I would make my report to Mr Pitt, and if the man was a French spy, he would never suspect me, a mere woman, of having had any part in finding him out. And it might help, albeit in a very small way, to win this war.

  Thus mollified, I turned to Mr Pitt and said, 'I’m very willing to try.’

  'Good,’ he beamed.

  'But I might get it wrong. You do realise that.’

  'They get it wrong in London too, on occasion,’ he sighed. 'Although I’d be grateful if you didn’t repeat that.’

  In that kind of business mistakes must happen, I thought. Praying I would not add to them I asked how I was to go about inviting such a man to Westfleet without him suspecting he was being watched and appraised.

  The two gentlemen exchanged glances, and when Mr. Pitt gave a slight nod, Mr Reevers said, ‘In this instance that isn’t a problem. The man whose loyalty is in question is Mr Hamerton.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘Mr. Hamerton?’ I gasped. ‘But – he’s so --- so --- inoffensive.’

  ‘Spies rarely appear sinister, ma’am,’ Mr Pitt pointed out. ‘Most seem remarkably ordinary.’

  It only took a moment to see that made perfect sense. For, agents who drew attention to themselves would not last long. It was also stupid of me not to have realised that. I hoped it wouldn’t make Mr. Pitt change his mind about employing me. ‘But --- why do you suspect him?’

  ‘Well, to start with ma’am, two years ago his wife was knocked down and killed by a carriage in the street.’

  ‘Yes, Mr. Hamerton told me about that.’

  ‘Did he also tell you the carriage was driven by a rich aristocrat, known for his arrogance and reckless driving?’ I had to admit he had not. ‘I regret to say a few members of the aristocracy use their influence to escape justice when ordinary mortals committing similar crimes are hanged, imprisoned or deported. The French nobility have paid for that kind of behaviour with their heads. It’s impossible to say whether Mrs. Hamerton’s death was a genuine accident. There were no witnesses and the driver insisted she walked straight out in front of him. But a week later he was found dead in a wood. He had been shot.’

  I stared at him open-mouthed. ‘Are you saying Mr. Hamerton murdered this man?’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘We don’t know. But, on that particular night, he did not return home until after three. Hamerton told his butler he had been out studying moths.’

  ‘Moths?’ I repeated in scathing tones.

  ‘Exactly so, ma’am, and that’s not all. He was seen quite recently at a London Corresponding Society meeting. And yesterday we learned his sister is married to a Frenchman.’

  I protested, ‘That doesn’t mean he’s a spy. My aunt married a Frenchman.’

  Mr Pitt smiled. ‘So I understand. But this man is one of Robespierre’s closest confidantes.’

  I could not believe what he’d said. ‘Mr. Hamerton’s brother-in-law is close to Robespierre?’ I repeated, convinced I’d misheard. Robespierre, the first deputy of the French Convention, was the most important and the most feared man in the whole of France.

  ‘I’m afraid so. He isn’t well known, preferring to remain in the background, but there is no question of a mistake. This comes from one of our most reliable agents. Nevertheless, that does not mean Hamerton is a traitor. As I’m sure you have read in the newspapers, my own sister’s husband, Lord Stanhope, supports the French revolution.’ He gave a long deep sigh of weariness. ‘The misguided fellow has even taken to calling himself Citizen Stanhope. I am not responsible for his views, just as Mr. Hamerton cannot be blamed for the part his brother-in-law takes in the revolution.’

  Still stunned, I said, ‘Mr. Hamerton has never spoken of a sister.’

  ‘I can’t say as I blame him. I wish I need never mention my brother-in-law,’ Mr. Pitt remarked acidly. ‘But that is not all, I’m afraid.’

  He raised an inquiring eyebrow at Mr Reevers who took the hint and explained, ‘Lady Drusilla, that day at Ashton Grange when those two villains tried to kill the King, Mr Hamerton was very late in arriving. And he refused to say why. If he was involved in that plot, it may be that he expected to find the King dead.’

  ‘What’s more,’ Mr. Pitt went on, ‘our intelligence people have learned that an Englishman working for the French is expected on the Isle of Wight this month. He goes by the name of Mr. Brown, one of the pseudonyms the French use for their agents here, and we’re told the French expect big things of him. Frankly, we don’t know if Mr. Hamerton is Mr. Brown. And that’s where you come in. What we need is proof. One way or the other. But, whoever this Mr. Brown is, he must be stopped, ma’am. And quickly. It’s vital that we seize every member of this traitorous Fat Badger society, and to that end,
Mr. Reevers and Mr. East will leave for the Island on Wednesday.’

  So that was the real reason they were going to the Island. I was not surprised, for I could not believe they would agree to take leave during a crisis. But to everyone else, including Mr. Hamerton, they were simply spending a few weeks enjoying the summer at Norton House.

  I asked, ‘If I do learn anything, how am I to----’

  ‘Pass the information to Mr. Reevers, ma’am. He’ll send it to me by special messenger.’ He thought for a moment. ‘I believe that covers everything. Tell me, ma’am, when do you mean to return home?’

  ‘On Friday.’

  ‘I beg of you not to delay one moment longer than necessary.’

  I promised I would not, and left Downing Street a little later, still in a state of shock. As I told Mr Reevers, when Mudd drove us back to the hotel, I was flattered to be asked but afraid I might fail. 'If Mr. Hamerton is this Mr. Brown he might deceive me too.’ The carriage suddenly stopped with a jolt, and Mudd, busily threading his way slowly through a mass of gigs, carts, carriages and riders, admonished an urchin who had run across in front of him.

  ‘In our business there’s always a chance of that, ‘Mr Reevers said. 'But Mr Hamerton will be living at Westfleet. He’ll sit at your dinner table, ride and talk with you, your family and friends. You cannot help but get to know him better and no man can guard his tongue every moment of the day. That is what Mr Pitt is counting on.’

  Despite everything I had learnt about Mr. Hamerton I found it hard to believe this seemingly harmless man was working for the French. But if he was, and the Fat Badgers succeeded in killing the King, the French could launch an invasion, win the war, and set up guillotines in market places all over our beautiful land.

  Just let them try, I thought. They would not find it easy. First they had to defeat the Army and the Navy, and even if they succeeded, the whole of England would rise up and fight to the last breath to preserve the country we knew and loved. Now I had my own small part to play, and I had one distinct advantage. For, what had not been said was that, as a woman, no-one would suspect me of working for the government.