The Fat Badger Society (Drusilla Davanish Mysteries Book 2)

by Dawn Harris

  ‘We expect them back tomorrow. If the weather remains fair, that is,’ he ended gloomily, casting an eye out the window at the scudding clouds.

  I groaned inwardly at the prospect of waiting another couple of days to find out what Mrs Jenkins knew about the Fat Badgers. I’ve always detested having to wait when I’m eager to get on with things. The fact that there was nothing I could do, except leave a message, only made it worse. Trying not to show my impatience, I allowed the butler to usher me into a pleasant library, to a desk with an excellent selection of writing materials. Sitting down, I considered how much I should say in my note, and settled for explaining I was interested in any information she had about the corresponding society to which her husband had belonged.

  Having sealed the note with a delicate wafer, I stood up, and turning towards the door, I caught sight of a pretty blue and white bowl in a recess. Going over to take a closer look, I saw the words “Liberty” and “John Wilkes 1768” on the side. And I smiled; Mr Jenkins, it seemed, had not been averse to proclaiming his views to the world.

  The butler promised to give Mrs Jenkins the note the instant she returned from the mainland, and we rode down the lane to the nearby churchyard, where Mudd looked after the horses while I found what I had been searching for. A new headstone, with a simple inscription. In sacred memory of George Jenkins, who departed this life on May 3rd 1794, aged 28 years.

  There was nothing to be done but ride home again, and I enjoyed a good long gallop before returning to Westfleet in time to change for Julia’s nuncheon party. Mr. Hamerton left before me, explaining he and Richard meant to sail to Windsor soon and needed to discuss arrangements for the trip. ‘I must settle my affairs there, and I hope to improve my sailing abilities at the same time.’

  ‘That sounds an excellent idea.’ And I asked if he meant to sell his house in Windsor.

  ‘Well, actually ma’am, I’ve done that already.’ I reacted with as much surprise as I could muster, having seen the document of sale when I searched his bedchamber. ‘Once I’d decided to move, I saw no point in waiting,’ he explained. ‘After I’ve attended to these last few legal matters I shall find myself an attorney on the Island.’

  ‘When do you mean to go to Windsor?’

  ‘Next week. Then I shall settle down to my new life on this beautiful island.’

  Mr. Reevers arrived a trifle early, and on the short drive to Breighton House I told him about Mrs. Jenkins being away. ‘These things happen,’ he said in a matter-of-fact voice.

  We were nearing the church at the time, and seeing Mr. Upton walking towards us, I cursed under my breath. ‘I beg your pardon,’ my companion murmured, his eyes dancing. ‘I didn’t quite catch what you said, ma’am. But if, as I believe, you expressed a desire to avoid the parson, nothing could be easier. We will simply drive past as if he wasn’t there.’

  I choked back a laugh. ‘Do be serious. We cannot do that.’ But, on reaching the parson, I called out to him, ‘Good morning, Mr. Upton. I’m sorry we can’t stop. We’re late already.’

  Driving on, Mr. Reevers said, ‘There, you see how easy it was. You lied most convincingly. We are a good ten minutes early.’

  I felt decidedly warm, despite the lightness of my summery blue gown and wide-brimmed matching hat, and on arriving at the house we saw Julia was sensibly sitting in a shady part of the terrace. She was talking to Richard and Mr. East, and I was delighted to see some colour in her cheeks again. As we exchanged the usual civilities, Edward came running from the garden to greet me, well scrubbed and smartly dressed in a sailor suit Julia had made for him.

  ‘Illa,’ he beamed happily, as I gave him a hug.

  ‘Don’t let him plague you,’ Julia urged, as she begged Mr. Reevers to be seated.

  Edward clearly understood the word, for he looked affronted. ‘I don’t plague Illa. She likes me. Don’t you,’ he insisted, tucking his chubby little hand into mine.

  ‘Indeed I do,’ I admitted, laughing.

  ‘We got kittens,’ he confided, and tugged at my hand, eager to show me.

  When we began to walk off Julia glanced over her shoulder and begged, ‘Be good now, Edward. And do try to stay clean for once.’

  Once we were out of Julia’s hearing, he announced proudly, ‘I’m never good.’ As I smothered a giggle he spotted the mother cat walking through a bed of roses. Letting go of my hand, he crashed headlong through the bushes after her. Catching his sleeve on a thorn, he simply wrenched off the offending branch, and I heard the ominous sound of tearing material. Realising what he’d done, he turned round and looked at me. ‘Oops,’ he said and broke into an angelic smile.

  It was impossible not to laugh. Life, to Edward, was sublimely uncomplicated, and in that moment, I envied him. If only, I thought, unmasking Mr Brown was as simple.

  After admiring four tiny adorable kittens, I took Edward back, apologising to Julia for the torn shirt. ‘I was too late to stop him, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh – Edward,’ she groaned despairingly. And informing me the gentlemen had gone to look at the horses, she suggested a stroll in the gardens.

  Edward ran ahead of us chasing butterflies, and I said, ‘Are you truly better now, Julia?’

  ‘I am. It was absolutely amazing. I woke up the other morning feeling perfectly well. Incredibly the sickness had gone.’

  Edward, who was some distance in front, suddenly stopped and stamped his tiny foot vigorously on something in his path, pronouncing with loathing, ‘Nother blasted snail. Dratted things,’ in an almost perfect imitation of Wilson, Julia’s head gardener.

  Greatly amused, I inspected the squashed snail, praised Edward for his prompt action and ruffled his curls. Edward, spotting Wilson working in the garden, charged off to demonstrate how he’d dispatched the snail, and the gardener threw back his head, laughing heartily.

  Julia, although amused, commented rather dryly, ‘I must tell Wilson to mind his language in front of Edward if my son is not to put us all to the blush.’

  Having promised to tell her if I discovered the name of Septimus’s friend George, I took the opportunity to do so now. ‘Poor man,’ she sighed. ‘A wife and four children too. I pray she knows these other men, Drusilla. You will tell me when you hear from her, won’t you?’

  Again I promised to do so, and once she’d collected her thoughts she began to speak of the delights awaiting us for nuncheon, and added, ‘Oh, by the way, I’ve invited Mr. Sims too. It’s time we all became properly acquainted with him.’

  ‘Do you like him?’

  She wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m not sure. He’s an odd creature. But I am very taken with Mr. East.’

  ‘So is my godmother. In my last letter I told her how handsome and charming he is, and this morning I had a reply saying he sounded the very man for me.’

  Julia went off into a peal of laughter. ‘That is so like her. The thing is, do you like him?’

  I pretended to consider the matter. ‘I find him most agreeable.’

  She turned to me, her eyes wide with curiosity. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve finally met a man you really like?’

  ‘Oh, I think everyone must like Mr. East,’ I said deliberately.

  ‘Don’t be so provoking. You know what I mean.’

  ‘I’ve only known him three weeks, Julia.’

  ‘I knew I wanted to marry Richard after three hours.’

  I teased, ‘I’m surprised it took you that long.’

  She giggled, but said, ‘Drusilla, I know you keep saying you won’t ever marry, but at least give Toby East a chance. Mr Reevers too, although he’s not as handsome as Mr. East.’

  ‘Perhaps I should discount him, then,’ I mused tongue-in-cheek, hoping this would put her off the idea that I had any particular interest in Mr Reevers.

  She fixed her intelligent green eyes on mine, and I saw that I hadn’t fooled her for a moment. ‘I always thought you rather liked him.’

  ‘Did you? But if his looks are inferior would I be
wise to consider him?’ I inquired teasingly. ‘In any case, my aunt favours Mr. Hamerton.’

  ‘Does she? I don’t think he’d suit you, Drusilla.’

  ‘There is Mr. Sims......... ‘

  ‘He looks as if a breath of wind would bowl him over.’

  ‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ I pointed out.

  ‘I can see I’m wasting my time,’ she remarked in her good-natured way. ‘I suppose I won’t really know what you think until I receive an invitation to your wedding.’

  ‘Should I ever decide to marry, I will tell you well before that,’ I promised with a smile.

  Edward was taken back to his nursery, and soon after Mr. Sims arrived Julia invited us to partake of the veritable feast laid out on the terrace table. Over the meal, Mr. East mentioned a report he’d seen in the newspaper of two reformers who’d tried to escape from the Tower.

  Julia commented, ‘Yes, I saw that. Thank heaven they were discovered in time.’

  ‘That man who helped them,’ Mr. Hamerton said, ‘must have belonged to a corresponding society too. Is it as bad as Mr. Pitt seems to think? Are these societies really making pikes and teaching people to use firearms in order to start a revolution?’

  Mr. East said casually, 'So it seems. But how many will follow them? That’s the question.’

  Picking up his glass of wine, Mr. Hamerton said, ‘I see no sign of ordinary people wanting a revolution. Quite the reverse. No sensible Englishman wants to go the way of France.’

  ‘Very true,’ Mr. Reevers commented. ‘But the few who do want revolution are organised. As they were in France. When their leaders spoke of liberty, not surprisingly everyone was for it. But liberty has ceased to exist in France now.’

  Mr. Sims reminded us, ‘People will follow anyone offering freedom. Look at John Wilkes. Thirty years ago the favourite cry of London mobs was Wilkes and Liberty.’ Mr. Wilkes, now an elderly gentleman, had a villa on the Isle of Wight, which he visited on occasion.

  ‘I met him once,’ Julia remarked.

  ‘Did you?’ I said, surprised. ‘What did you think of him?’

  Her eyes sparkled mischievously. ‘I rather liked him. His dreadful squint didn’t inhibit him at all. He flirted with me outrageously, and he’s nearly old enough to be my grandfather.’

  Opening his pretty enamelled snuff box, Mr. Hamerton murmured, 'He is a good fellow in many ways, but his reputation with the ladies is, I regret to say, lamentable.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Richard agreed darkly.

  ‘Nevertheless,’ Julia pointed out, ‘he did try to change the way Members of Parliament were chosen. Frankly it’s time we got rid of these rotten boroughs. If two members can be returned to parliament through the votes of only four electors, as they are in Dittistone, it’s no wonder corresponding societies are springing up everywhere.’

  'I do believe my wife is as much a firebrand as John Wilkes,’ Richard remarked light-heartedly. He seemed cheerful enough on the surface, but his eyes still had that haunted look.

  Julia smiled at him indulgently. ‘Well, I don’t think it’s right.’

  'Neither do I,’ I said.

  Julia eyed me curiously. 'I thought you’d be against changing the system, Drusilla.’

  ‘Did you?’ I made a slight grimace. 'Frankly, I think women should be allowed to vote. I wish I was able to. Don’t you?’

  Mr Sims broke in, 'Forgive me for speaking plainly ma’am, but that is ridiculous.’

  'Why?’ Julia demanded indignantly.

  'Women don’t understand politics.'

  ‘What nonsense,’ I spluttered, almost incoherent with anger, for I well knew that most men did think that, believing they were superior to women.

  Julia was even angrier. 'I know a great deal about such matters, and so does Drusilla.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ Mr. Sims said in the patronising manner so reminiscent of his uncle. ‘But you are very much the exception. Most women are incapable of making a judgement, and look to their husbands to show them how to think on such matters.’

  ‘I don’t,’ Julia snapped.

  Richard grinned. ‘I can vouch for that.’

  We all laughed but Julia had clearly taken a dislike to Mr. Sims, and said in barely concealed irritation, ‘I don’t agree with corresponding societies resorting to violence, but their demands are sensible. The ballot should be secret, and working men ought to have the vote. It was what Septimus wanted. And I’ve heard you say the same yourself, Richard.’

  ‘That’s true,’ he agreed, toying absently with his half empty glass of wine.

  Mr. East casually asked him, ‘Have you ever been to a corresponding society meeting?’

  Richard drained the remainder of his wine and slamming the glass down on the table, answered in defiance, ‘As a matter of fact I have.’

  Julia gasped,’ Oh no – Richard ----’

  ‘Don’t worry, my love. Once was enough.’ He began refilling his glass. ‘It was after I had been to the Admiralty the other week. I was walking through the streets when I came across the coffee house where the London corresponding society happened to be holding a meeting. So I went in to see what went on.’ And indicating Mr. Hamerton, he said, ‘In fact, that’s where we met.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Amid exclamations of disbelief, Mr. Reevers quietly asked, ‘Are you a member of the society, Hamerton?’

  ‘God forbid,’ came the good-humoured response. ‘But an acquaintance of mine is, and he persuaded me to go. He said I ought not to criticise corresponding societies without seeing for myself what they did. I can’t say as I was impressed. A lot of rabble-rousers if you ask me. Kept calling each other “citizen” as they do in France. I don’t mind admitting it sent shivers up and down my spine. Frankly, I was heartily thankful when the government had the good sense to arrest the leaders. Perhaps now we will be able to sleep more easily in our beds. Still I’m glad I went or I wouldn’t have met Richard.’

  Julia beamed happily at him. ‘Friendships can start in the oddest way, and we’re so pleased you are moving to the Island.’

  When she asked if he was leaving any family behind in Windsor, he said sadly, ‘Not now.’

  An answer that made her even more curious. ‘No brothers or sisters?’

  ‘I do have a sister, but she married unwisely and I haven’t seen her for many years.’

  ‘You must miss her,’ I said.

  ‘I do. We used to be very close.’ He did not mention that her husband was French and close to Robespierre, but then who would want to make such an admission?

  Julia asked, ‘Does she live far away?’

  ‘About two hundred miles.’ But he did not say that included crossing the English channel.

  ‘I prefer friends to relatives,’ Mr. Sims remarked coldly. ‘At least you can choose them.’

  Julia and I had to bite our lips firmly. As she said later, when I was leaving, ‘Poor Mr. Sims. Almost any friend would be preferable to a relative such as Mr. Upton.’

  Laughing, I agreed. ‘Last Sunday at church his sermon rambled on for half an hour, and I disagreed with every word. He will insist it is our duty to meekly bear every trial God sends us without a word of complaint. On the way out I asked after his health. As I’d expected, he immediately began to grumble about his boils, so I reminded him of the subject of his sermon. For once, he was speechless.’

  'Oh, Drusilla,’ she giggled, ‘I wish I’d been there. But you are being a little hard on him.’

  ‘Well, the man’s impossible.’

  Mr. East, catching that last sentence as he and Mr. Reevers came to take their leave of Julia, remarked jocularly, ‘Lady Drusilla is talking about you again, Radleigh.’

  Julia laughed and said, ‘We were speaking of Mr. Upton.’

  ‘Ah, the worthy parson,’ Mr. East said. ‘Who rides like a demented wasp and can bore a person to death in ten seconds.’ Which apt description made us both smile.

  In the morning Mr. Hamerton t
ook us to see his new house. ‘You must come, it stands in a splendid situation with a wonderful view of the sea.’

  Mudd drove us, and we sat back in the open carriage, enjoying the sunshine on this hot early June day. The road up to the house was extremely steep, but as Mr. Hamerton said, the view at the top was worth the effort. Aunt Thirza being in the best of moods, exerted herself to be pleasant to Mr. Hamerton, to whom she had taken a decided fancy. We all genuinely admired the house, although my aunt thought it a little isolated.

  ‘Oh, I shan’t mind that,’ he responded heartily. ‘It suits my needs perfectly. And I’ve already made so many friends on the Island I don’t think I shall ever be lonely.’

  In fact, the spot was so isolated that only those visiting his house would venture that far. Making it the perfect place in which to plan a revolution, and to gather the Fat Badgers together in secret. Mr. Hamerton, far from impulsive in other ways, had seen and bought the house in an afternoon. But then August, the month of the planned assassination, was only seven weeks away.

  The only other residence in the road, a hundred yards down the hill, belonged to Mr. Young, the reformed smuggling chief. Passing this abode on the way back, I saw Mr. Sims being admitted into the house. He didn’t see us, and my aunt was too busy talking to Mr. Hamerton to notice, but if the Uptons heard their nephew went to Dittistone, not to see his academic friend, but a man who hosted gambling parties, they would be horrified.

  On arriving home my aunt and uncle took a stroll in the garden, Mr. Hamerton rode off to see Richard, and I went into my workroom. I had barely sat down at my desk when a note arrived from Mrs. Jenkins inviting me to call on her the following afternoon, if convenient.

  I wrote an acceptance which Luffe gave to the waiting groom, and minutes later Luffe came in again to tell me Julia had called and was awaiting me in the drawing room. I was about to put the note from Mrs Jenkins into a drawer when I was distracted by a butterfly coming in through the open window. I managed to catch it eventually, and not recognising it, puzzled over what its common name was. Mr. Hamerton would know, but he’d gone out.