The Fat Badger Society (Drusilla Davanish Mysteries Book 2)

by Dawn Harris

  ‘Yes,’ I said. I found it difficult to speak. We did not have one shred of evidence that could be presented in court to prove Mr. Hamerton was Mr. Brown, we had no idea where the Fat Badgers were meeting, and Mr. East had failed to discover the purpose of the yachting trip. The only good news was Howe’s victory over the French.

  Before they left I reminded them it was the Uptons party that evening, and Mr. East said, ‘I shan’t be going, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Visiting Miss Adams, no doubt,’ Mr. Reevers suggested good-humouredly.

  ‘Possibly.’ And he grinned.

  When their horses were brought up to the house, I walked out with them. As Mr. East climbed onto his horse, Mr. Reevers asked me, ‘Are you going to this wretched party?’

  ‘I must, I suppose.’

  ‘In that case, so will I.’

  I laughed. ‘And if I had said I wasn’t going?’

  ‘I’d cry off.’

  ‘I am flattered,’ I said demurely.

  ‘My dear girl, you cannot imagine I would go otherwise.’

  That evening I dressed with more care than was usual for visiting the parsonage, and my new gown of deep red, with delicate silver trimming, gained my aunt’s unstinting praise.

  ‘The Uptons,’ my uncle declared, emphasising the name teasingly, ‘will be bowled over.’

  Before Aunt Thirza could ask what he meant, Luffe came to inform me the carriage was at the door. Mudd drove us sedately to Breighton House, where we collected Julia, who looked her best in a gown of the softest green, and a few minutes later the Uptons greeted us in their usual overpowering manner. Several other guests had already arrived, but Mr. Reevers was not among them. He was the last to appear and the expression in his eyes when he saw me made the colour rise rapidly in my cheeks.

  The party itself was every bit as insipid as I’d expected, but I tried to enjoy it for my aunt’s sake. Only there wasn’t even a tasty supper to look forward to, for as my father used to say, the local blacksmith could shoe horses with the pastry made by the Uptons’ cook.

  There was much rejoicing over Howe’s victory, with Mr. Upton pronouncing his views on this, and every other subject, as if he was still in the pulpit. Even so, Howe’s great victory had given us all hope that we would soon win the war.

  A mood of optimism that was dampened by Mr. Upton informing us we were in for a real treat tonight as his wife was to sing for us. He accompanied her on the piano, without ever quite keeping up with her. When she occasionally hit a right note, Mr. Reevers glanced across at me, slowly lifting an eyebrow, and I had to bite my lip most firmly.

  After three such ballads my uncle quickly intervened, suggesting Julia should sing for us, which she did in her clear, strong voice, with my aunt’s accompaniment. Her singing was greeted with great enthusiasm, but she steadfastly insisted two songs were enough, and proposed, ‘Perhaps Lady Drusilla and Mr. Reevers would delight us with a duet.’

  I suspected she knew exactly how things stood between myself and Mr. Reevers, and before I knew it I was standing beside him at the piano. He chose a simple song and had a good baritone voice.

  ‘I didn’t know you could sing,’ I murmured to him as we sat down afterwards.

  ‘I enjoy it.’

  ‘So do I, and I do at least sing in tune, but I don’t have Julia’s range or ability.’

  ‘At least you know your limitations,’ he murmured. ‘Unlike the Uptons.’

  I stifled the chuckle rising in my throat, for both Mr. and Mrs. Upton clearly believed their performance to be superior to the rest of us.

  But Francis Sims, when applied to, refused to take part. ‘I cannot sing or play.’

  Mr. Reevers whispered, ‘It must run in the family.’

  I choked, quickly turning it into a cough as Mrs. Upton urged her nephew, ‘A poem, then.’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t like poetry.’

  ‘Don’t like poetry,’ she echoed in amazement. ‘But surely----’

  He looked round at us all. ‘Forgive me, but I am not at all artistic.’

  I found myself in sympathy with him, and as I said to him before we left, to be pressed to do what one has no talent for is most disagreeable. ‘People with that kind of ability don’t always understand why everyone can’t do what comes so easily to them.’

  A slight smile crossed his features. ‘Indeed, ma’am. Much, I admit, as I expect others to know every king and queen since William the Conqueror. But few do.’ He didn’t actually glance in the direction of Mr. Upton, but we both knew to whom he was referring. And I found myself warming to Mr. Sims a little; perhaps he was more human than I’d first thought.

  The evening lifted my spirits more than I thought possible, more due to the presence of Mr. Reevers than anything else. On the way home, we dropped Julia off at Breighton House, and as Mudd drove slowly down the steep hill back towards the village, my uncle asked in a puzzled voice, ‘Why does Mrs. Upton insist on singing when she has no voice?’

  Before anyone could answer, the horses squealed in fright, the carriage came to an abrupt halt, and the door burst open to reveal a masked man pointing a pistol directly at us. ‘Get out,’ he snarled in a deep, uncouth voice, ‘or I’ll shoot!’

  And my aunt, who had always feared being held up by highwaymen, promptly fainted.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Aunt Thirza’s fear of highwaymen, pronounced when travelling on the mainland, had lessened on the Isle of Wight, but had never quite gone away. In fainting she cracked her head on a sharp edge on the side of the carriage, and began to bleed profusely. As my uncle cradled her in his arms, using his handkerchief to stem the bleeding, I turned my fury on the man responsible. ‘Now look what you’ve done!’

  ‘Never mind them,’ he sneered, levelling the pistol at me. ‘You’re the one I want. Get out.’

  I was too angry to be frightened, but those words made me shudder. He showed no interest in my aunt’s valuable diamond necklace or my own gold bracelet, which told me he was no ordinary highwayman. I was the one he wanted, he’d said. His eyes, cold and menacing, watched me in the manner of a cat stalking a mouse. And, in that moment, I knew he intended to kill me.

  ‘Hurry up,’ he growled, waving the firearm to indicate where I was to stand. He wanted me outside the carriage to be sure of firing a fatal shot. The Fat Badgers, having failed to get rid of me on the cliff top, did not mean to fail again. Since then I had not gone out alone, certain I was safe when with other people. And I still had no idea what they thought I knew.

  Much of the sky was covered in high cloud, with occasional glimpses of moonlight, and in one of these I saw another man, on horseback, holding Mudd at gunpoint. Mudd could not help me, but I did not intend to go tamely to my death. I rose to my feet, swaying, as if I too was about to swoon. Lurching against the side of the coach, I grabbed the loaded carriage pistol my aunt insisted on keeping in the holster. The highwayman stood back to allow me to get out, and didn’t see what I was doing. Still feigning faintness, I passed a hand across my eyes, begging him not to take my gold bracelet. ‘My father gave it to me,’ I whimpered.

  A sharp cry from his accomplice to ‘Get on with it!’ made him grab my left arm in an attempt to yank me outside, causing his gun to be momentarily directed away from me. And that’s when I shot him.

  He dropped like a stone, crumpling up on the carriage steps, the pistol landing at my feet. Grabbing it I fired at the other man before he realised what was happening. The bullet must have struck his arm for he dropped his own gun with an agonised howl, and digging his heels into the flanks of his horse, he rode off at speed into the woods. Instantly Mudd reached for the weapon he always carried and fired at the rapidly disappearing villain.

  ‘I don’t think I hit him, my lady,’ he called out regretfully. I wasn’t surprised, there were too many trees in the way, for they came right to the edge of the road at this particular point. Jumping down, Mudd dragged the masked man away from the steps, announcing with
satisfaction, ‘He’s dead, my lady.’ Removing the mask, Mudd closed those cold callous eyes. Then he searched the man’s pockets, finding some coins and the now familiar Fat Badger token.

  Thankful to see my aunt was coming round, I said to my uncle, ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’ He looked up at me and I told him one man was dead and his accomplice had ridden off.

  ‘There may be others, Drusilla. Do be careful, my dear.’

  Alighting from the carriage, I looked at the man I’d killed. I felt no remorse; his friends had murdered Jeffel and Septimus and I was glad I’d shot him. I would kill them all if I could. Mudd told me he hadn’t seen the men until they charged out of the wood, when the noise and suddenness of it all had caused the horses to rear up. He hesitated, then said, ‘They were waiting for us, my lady.’

  ‘Yes, they were.’ Hearing a movement, I swung round on my heel, praying there were no others, but it was only my uncle descending from the carriage.

  ‘Are you both all right?’ he asked me anxiously.

  Reassuring him, I said, ‘The other man escaped, but not before I put a bullet in his arm.’ And I asked in concern, ‘How is Aunt Thirza?’

  ‘Still rather dazed, but well enough to insist I help you.’

  The moon having gone behind a cloud, I used one of the carriage lanterns to take a proper look at the man. He was about thirty, and thin-faced with a deep scar running from just under his right eye down to his chin. None of us recognised him, but I knew who the other man was. It was Mr. Silver. Described in Septimus’s journal as a great bear of a man, he was the one who’d got away after attacking me on the cliff top. And I gave an involuntary shiver.

  My uncle put his hand on my arm. ‘It’s only natural to feel a little shaky, my dear. You were very brave. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to get your aunt home.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I said at once.

  Mudd dragged the body under a tree by the roadside before driving us the short distance back to Westfleet. Aunt Thirza was still distressed, but managed to say, ‘It’s as well for us all that I insisted on having a firearm in the carriage.’

  ‘It is indeed, Aunt. I am very grateful to you.’ And I was. Her obsession had saved my life.

  ‘You thought I was making a fuss about nothing.’

  ‘I did,’ I admitted. ‘But I was wrong.’

  Thus mollified she said rather smugly, ‘Perhaps you will listen to me in future.’

  ‘It was Drusilla who saved our lives,’ my uncle reminded her gently.

  ‘Yes, but she couldn’t have done so if the pistol hadn’t been in the carriage.’

  ‘Very true, Aunt,’ I agreed smiling, quickly moving on to say, ‘When we reach Westfleet I shall collect one of the other grooms and----’

  ‘What on earth for?’ she demanded.

  ‘Well, we can’t leave the body where it is. Imagine if Julia and Edward were to see it in the morning.’ Her eyes widened in horror and I said, ‘I’ll speak to Mr. Upton and have it taken into the church.’

  At which she clutched my hand and begged, ‘Don’t go, Drusilla. That other man might come back.’

  ‘Not with a bullet in his arm, he won’t.’

  My uncle said, ‘I’ll come with you.’

  I assured him kindly that it wasn’t necessary. He took some persuading but, as I pointed out, my aunt needed him. By the time we reached Westfleet he had reluctantly agreed, provided I reloaded the pistols and took a couple of lanterns. I went into the house with my aunt and uncle, while Mudd fetched one of the stronger grooms to help with the body.

  Luffe greeted us with the news that Mr. Hamerton had returned earlier in the evening and retired to his bedchamber before ten, saying the sea air had made him extremely tired. If he was back, then so was Richard, and I thought how happy Julia must have been to find him at home when she went indoors after the party. But, remembering Pitt’s letter, I wondered how long such happiness would last. I did not believe Richard was guilty, and nor would she, but that did not mean a court martial would acquit him. Innocent men had been executed before.

  My uncle helped to reload the firearms, and heading back to Breighton Hill I stopped at the parsonage first. Mudd accompanied me down the dark path, leaving the other groom to look after the horses. There wasn’t a light to be seen in the house, and Mudd hammered on the door three times before Mr Upton put his head out of an upstairs window.

  ‘What is it?’ he demanded testily.

  ‘I am sorry to disturb you Mr Upton but----’

  ‘Lady Drusilla?’ he exclaimed, astonished. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘It is,’ I asserted.

  ‘I thought you’d gone home long since.’

  Ignoring this, I urged, ‘I need your assistance, Mr. Upton. Would you be so good as to come down, please?’

  ‘At this time of night? Why, in a few minutes it will be the Lord’s Day, and I-----.’

  ‘It is a matter of some urgency.’

  ‘Very well,’ he said wearily. ‘I will be with you directly.’

  He left the window open and I heard Mrs Upton demanding to be told what was going on. In some irritation he responded, ‘I don’t know, my dear. It’s Lady Drusilla-----’

  ‘Lady Drusilla?’ she echoed in disbelief. ‘What the devil does she want at this hour?’

  ‘Language, my dear,’ the parson scolded.

  ‘I’ll say what I like in my own house. She left well before eleven. Why on earth has she come back?’ I couldn’t hear his answer, but Mrs. Upton promptly announced, ‘I’d better come with you. We must pray that nothing dreadful has occurred at Westfleet,’ she ended, speaking in the tone of one who hoped quite the opposite.

  Despite everything we had gone through, I had to bite my lip to stop myself laughing. I murmured to Mudd, ‘I suppose you heard all that, John?’

  ‘Y-yes, my lady,’ he said, trying to control his voice.

  ‘Well, for heaven’s sake keep a straight face, or I shall be lost.’

  At which moment the door opened to reveal Mr Upton in his dressing gown and nightcap, holding a lighted candle aloft. ‘It really is you, Lady Drusilla.’

  Behind him, Mrs Upton peered out at us. ‘And Mudd too.’

  ‘Naturally,’ I replied in my most prudish voice. And quickly explained what had happened.

  ‘I’m sorry you had such a nasty experience,’ he sympathised. ‘But I fail to see what it has to do with me.’

  ‘A man is dead, Mr Upton, and we cannot leave him in the road for some child to find in the morning.’

  ‘Well no, but----’

  ‘The church is the only suitable place.’

  He frowned. ‘Well, this is most irregular, I must say.’

  ‘Can you suggest an alternative?’

  He could not, of course, and promised to get dressed and go across to the church. But when Mudd drove us to the place where we had left the dead man, the body had gone. Stunned, I turned to Mudd. ‘This is the right spot, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’ Fetching a lantern he shone the light onto something under the tree. ‘Look, there’s his hat.’

  ‘So it is,’ I said. ‘You’re sure he was dead?’ He had certainly looked it to me, but in the darkness I might have been mistaken.

  ‘Yes, my lady. The bullet went right through his heart.’

  ‘Really? I hadn’t realised.’ I had been remarkably lucky with my shot. Mudd looked for the man’s horse but it had gone. ‘So there was a third man. You didn’t see anyone else?’

  ‘No, my lady.’

  It being too dark to see anything in the woods I decided to come back in the morning. Stopping at the church, I found Mr. Upton impatiently pacing up and down. When I told him the body had disappeared he burst out angrily, ‘Do you mean I’ve been dragged from my bed in the middle of the night on a wild goose chase?’ I apologised, of course, but he carried on, ‘Our little party went on long past my usual bedtime, Lady Drusilla. And I have to be up early, it being Sunday.’

&nb
sp; ‘I do beg your pardon, but I didn’t know someone was going to remove the body.’

  Having done what I could to mollify him, I went home to find my uncle waiting anxiously, reminding me of how Jeffel used to wait up until I came in at night, no matter how often I told him it wasn’t necessary. And I sighed. Life would never be quite the same again without Jeffel, and I meant to see that every one of those Fat Badgers paid for his death with their lives. As two of them already had. The man tonight and the one who fell over the cliff.

  When I told my uncle the body had vanished, he was naturally astonished. ‘Someone must have been waiting in the trees,’ he said. ‘Thank the Lord none of us thought to look there.’

  I couldn’t have agreed more, and I was immensely thankful we were all safe now. ‘The local constable must be informed,’ I said, thinking out loud. ‘I’d better write a note.’ I went into the library, settled myself at a table, wrote a brief description of the incident, explaining the body had since disappeared, presumably removed by an accomplice. I left the note in the hall for Luffe, instructing him to see a groom delivered it first thing in the morning.

  With so many unanswered questions racing through my mind, I lay awake for a long time, going over all that had happened. ‘You’re the one I want,’ the scar-faced man had said, deep menace in his eyes. But why? Why did the Fat Badgers want to kill me? Who had removed the body? And why had they done so? They hadn’t worried about the man who fell over the cliff. Was that because he was French, and not known to anyone locally? If that was the case, then this man, if identified, would lead us to the others.

  But why didn’t the third man show himself? Was he afraid of being seen? If so, it meant we would have recognised him. Which kept me even wider awake.

  If we had seen him, we would now have the cast-iron evidence we so desperately needed. The kind my father and I insisted on, before declaring any long-dead dubious character guilty of a crime. That was how we had worked, and it was that kind of certainty I needed now.