by Dawn Harris
Sealing the note, I went back upstairs and sent for Mudd. As I waited, I wandered over to the small window at the side, which offered an excellent view of the wide alley running beside the house, and enabled me to see much further along the street to my right. I was watching the people milling around in the alley below, thinking we would get our first glimpse of the procession from here, when Mudd came in. I was about to hand him the note for Mr. Reevers when I caught sight of Mr East. He was dressed in breeches and a dark brown coat, and standing in the shadow of a doorway in the alley below, talking to another man in the manner of people who knew each other well.
So, despite his duties, he’d found time to watch the procession after all. I’d suspected he would. The other man was hidden in the shadows and I didn’t recognise him until he stepped into the sunlight and jabbed his finger several times in the direction of Government House. The sight of him made me gasp out loud.
Mudd said, ‘I beg your pardon, my lady?’
I pointed out of the window. ‘Look down there, John. Quickly.’
He did as I bid, and looked back at me with widening eyes. ‘It’s Mr East.’
‘And the other man?’
I heard his sharp intake of breath. ‘Mr Silver, my lady.’
CHAPTER TWENTYEIGHT
Mudd turned to look at me. ‘So you were right, my lady,’ he said, his voice tinged with sorrow. ‘A fine gentleman like Mr. East too.’
It filled me with an immense sadness, for I’d met few people more likeable than Toby East. But he’d twice mentioned facts that were unknown to anyone on the Island, except Mr. Brown and his murderous Fat Badgers. Facts I had not known either, until I read Mrs. Jenkins’s letter. Details which, not being significant in themselves, I had not spoken of to anyone. Yet Mr East clearly knew.
First, before he and Mr. Reevers went to Portsmouth, we had talked of the night George Jenkins overheard Mr. Silver discussing plans for assassination, and he’d said Mr. Jenkins might still be alive if he hadn’t gone back into the inn to collect his gloves. Septimus, in his journal, did not say what his friend had left behind, but Mrs. Jenkins had mentioned it in her letter.
Then, when Julia was speaking to Mr. East, and expressed concern for the safety of Mrs. Jenkins, he said he was sure that lady would be quite safe with her brother in Wickham. I’d failed to discover where her brother had moved to, except that it was a place in Hampshire beginning with a W. But from the threats Mrs. Jenkins had suffered, it was obvious Mr. Brown had found out. And, again, Mr. East knew. And that too was in Mrs. Jenkins’ letter.
I wished with all my heart that I had made a mistake, for I liked Toby East enormously. It did not seem possible he could be Mr. Brown, responsible for the deaths of Septimus and George Jenkins, and for trying to have me killed.
But Mrs. Jenkins, in her letter, could not have been clearer about her husband’s gloves, or where her brother lived. With that knowledge, I had looked again at all the evidence I had, and realised there was no mistake. It had to be Mr. East. And I saw too why he’d tried to stop me investigating the Fat Badgers.
Mr East had only been on the Island a day or so when that Frenchman tried to push me over the cliff, but quite long enough for a French spy to discover my morning routine. When that failed he staged the highway robbery. And, later, Mudd’s kidnap. I realised now it was the questions I’d asked, the doubts I’d shared with him and Mr. Reevers, rather than anything I actually knew, that made him fear I would find him out. As indeed I had.
The evidence, cleverly manipulated by Mr. East, came close to convincing me that Mr. Hamerton was Mr. Brown. Yet, I could not quite rid myself of a nagging doubt. For, as time went on, and I saw how well organised the Fat Badgers were, I could not believe that Mr. Brown would allow something as vital as a letter to Robespierre, hang on the chance of Blackgang smugglers being prepared to take it to Paris. It didn’t make sense.
Doubts that grew as I became better acquainted with him. For, his character and general behaviour soon made it clear to me that, if this was an act, and he was a French agent, then he was the cleverest man I had ever met. Which I could not believe, for in all other ways his intelligence seemed no more than average.
In fact, as I saw now, he was exactly what he appeared to be. A good-natured, likeable gentleman, with an even temper, who was genuinely interested in moths and butterflies. He was also, unquestionably, a patriot. Despite his sister’s close connections to Robespierre.
In the beginning I had puzzled over the attempt on the King’s life at Windsor. I thought it poorly planned, almost as if it was meant to fail. And that seemed odd, especially when Mr. Brown took such meticulous care with everything else. In fact, as I eventually realised, Mr. East had deliberately sacrificed the lives of those two men, so that he could be seen apparently risking his life to save the King. For, who could doubt his loyalty to England then?
Thus when John Hamerton arrived late that day with some far-fetched story, no-one believed a word of it, and suspicion was planted in all our minds. But his story was the exact truth. Mr. East had organised that, just as he’d made sure it was always possible to blame Mr. Hamerton for the attempts on my life. Which was why I knew I was perfectly safe when Mr. Hamerton was out; and in danger when we were in the same house, or out at the same time.
As for Richard’s behaviour, I could not believe he was involved with the Fat Badgers. All his life he had been intensely patriotic. Whatever his problems were, he would never betray England. Or so I thought until that afternoon I overheard him talking to Mr. Hamerton about “going ahead in August.” That had thrown me into utter confusion. But, checking what was written on my charts, I saw another possible answer to that. And why Richard was willing to help him. But I still didn’t yet know if I was right.
I had considered Mr. Sims, for he was exactly the kind of cold, calculating man I imagined would be a fanatic. He spent very little time at the parsonage, was supposedly out walking during the highwayman attack, and had been in the vicinity when Mr. Hamerton met Mr. Silver at the church. But all Francis Sims wanted was to become a Member of Parliament, and to keep his plans from the Uptons until everything was settled.
I looked down into the alley again, taking good care to keep back from the window, in case Mr East or Mr Silver happened to glance up. I wondered briefly why he’d chosen such a meeting place, until I remembered Mr. Reevers had promised the owner of this house to keep our arrangement quiet, and consequently had told no-one, not even Mr. East.
A steady stream of latecomers were hurrying through the alley, adding to the wildly excited throng waiting for the King to drive up to Government House. No-one took any notice of Mr. East and Mr. Silver, nor the two men who had now joined them. One, a bespectacled tradesman of about forty, I guessed was the Mr Garnet in Septimus’s journal. He carried a bag, which he set down in the darkest corner of the doorway. The fourth man kept looking around nervously; short and slim with ginger hair, and rather more refined, he had to be the clerk, Mr Pearl. He, along with Mr Silver and Mr Garnet, wore bright red neckerchiefs, making themselves easily recognisable to each other in the crowd. Only Mr. East did not wear one.
This, I assumed, was all that remained of the Fat Badger Corresponding Society, for Mr East was already addressing them in the manner of someone issuing orders. He was no longer the cheerful, carefree Toby East we all knew; this man did not smile, and in place of his usual nonchalance was an intensity I had never seen before.
I assumed he’d brought them here to observe how the King was guarded, to study the faces of the ministers, in order to recognise them in August, when the assassinations were planned. It was a sensible precaution, and typical of how the society was organised.
Until Mr. East had made those two small slip-ups in conversation, it hadn’t even entered my head that he could be Mr. Brown. For Mr. Reevers, Mr. Pitt and the King all had absolute trust in him. And I had actually watched him save the King’s life in Windsor. Unfortunately this wasn’t my only
mistake. As I was about to discover.
Looking down at the alley I realised time had run out. And I saw exactly why Mr. East had tried to prevent me coming to Portsmouth. He had stopped speaking, and as the other three moved closer together making conversation, he carefully concealed himself behind them, opening the bag brought by Mr Garnet. He was virtually hidden from people walking past, but I could see precisely what he was doing.
He took out two identical objects wrapped in cloth, and from the shape of them I guessed they were pistols. Having slipped them into the two deep pockets of his coat, he thrust the cloths back into the bag, changed places with Mr Silver, who then collected his two pistols.
That was the moment I realised Mr East did not intend to wait until August. The assassination was to be here and now, on the twenty-seventh of June, amid these victory celebrations, where the King and most top ministers were assembled together in one place. I ought to have realised that such a gathering offered the Fat Badgers the perfect opportunity to send Britain sliding into revolution.
One glance at the clock told me that, within five minutes, the King would drive through the dockyard gates on his way to the ceremony at Government House. I wished I knew who else would be in the procession. Were Dundas, Chatham, Lord Howe and other important admirals already at Government House? Or were they helping to make a fine spectacle for the public by being part of the procession? It seemed to me that virtually the whole of Portsmouth had come out into the streets to cheer them. And among them were four men, each carrying two pistols.
If only Mr Reevers was here. I hated to admit it, but he was the man I needed in this situation. So where the devil was he? And why had he ignored my urgent demands to see Mr. Dundas? The last message I’d written no longer mattered, and I thanked heaven I hadn’t sent Mudd to deliver it. I needed him here.
Looking out the window again I cursed under my breath, and my uncle said, ‘Did you say something, Drusilla?’ I shook my head but he walked over to my side. ‘What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ I pointed out of the window and he declared, ‘Good heavens, isn’t that Mr East?’ Watching Mr. Pearl take the last pistol from the bag and put it in his pocket, he looked at me in utter amazement. ‘What on earth is Mr. East doing with that gang of cut-throats? I thought he said-----’
‘Uncle, I don’t have time to explain, but you must go to Government House this instant.’ Already the Fat Badgers were dispersing, going off one at a time, mingling with the crowds. Even if we ran down the stairs and out into the alley, it would be too late to stop them.
I had to get word to Mr. Reevers, but he’d ignored my other notes, and if I sent a verbal message that the man he trusted with his life was actually a French agent, he would not believe me. But if my uncle urged him to read the information I’d prepared for Mr. Dundas, and told him he’d seen the pistols being handed out, he must believe it.
When he read my reasons for believing Mr. East to be Mr. Brown, he would see I was right. I rushed off to my bedchamber, grabbed a hat and put it on, snatched up my letter for Mr. Dundas, ran back to my uncle and thrust it into his hand.
‘Give this to Mr Reevers and make sure he reads it. Tell him Mr East and three other men are in the crowd with pistols, and they mean to kill the King. Tell him each man has two firearms, and three of them are wearing bright red neckerchiefs. He’ll understand.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Go after them, of course.’ And giving him a tiny push towards the door, I urged, ‘Go down the alley and round the back way. It will be quicker.’
As he clattered down the stairs I turned to my aunt, who was staring at me, dumb with shock. ‘I’m sorry Aunt, but I must go. You’ll be quite safe here.’ I didn’t need to tell Mudd to follow me. He would not have stayed behind, even if I had ordered him to.
The Fat Badgers had gone now and running to the window at the front of the inn, I caught sight of a man in a red neckerchief pushing his way through the crowds towards Government House. Under normal circumstances it was a two or three minute walk, but it would take him much longer today, and I was exceedingly thankful that my uncle had gone the back way.
I slipped the two pistols I’d brought with me into the pockets of my gown, and made sure Mudd was also carrying two pistols. Hurrying down the stairs, we went out by the side door into the alley and onto the street, where we, too, were quickly swallowed up in the jostling crowds. For once my height proved useful, for within a few minutes, I caught a glimpse of Mr Garnet pushing his way to the front, and quickly pointed him out to Mudd.
With a brief nod, he barged through the happy throng, tapped Mr Garnet on the shoulder, and when the man turned round, delivered one almighty blow to his chin, dropping him like a stone. People stared in amazement, and such unexpected force from my gentle groom surprised me too, but I said in a loud and imperious voice, ‘That man stole my reticule.’ And, at once, the crowd parted to allow Mudd to drag him out of the crowd, for the celebrations had brought many notorious London pickpockets to Portsmouth, and I heard a man announce angrily that he had lost a watch. Quietly I told Mudd to remove Mr Garnet’s pistols. ‘We might need them.’
Mudd handed them to me, then dragged the unconscious man into an alleyway and left him there. Glancing round I saw Mr Pearl mopping his brow, his eyes wide with sheer terror, for quite by chance I was pointing the two pistols directly at him. In an instant he tore off his coat and red neckerchief, threw them on the ground and ran off as fast as he could go. If the situation had not been so serious, I would have laughed. But there was no time for that with Mr Silver and Mr East still at large. A single bullet could kill the King and there were still four loaded guns out there.
In the distance we could hear the crowds cheering, which told us the King was not far away, and it sent the people around us wild with excitement. While I searched this side of the street, I sent Mudd to the other side, telling him, ‘Look for someone wearing a red neckerchief, or anyone not waving and cheering, or for Mr East himself.’
Louder cheers made the crowds surge forward in eager anticipation, giving me a little space at the back. Picking up my skirts a trifle, I ran along, frantically searching for the two men, and wishing Mr. Reevers would hurry up. I prayed my uncle had found him. And that he’d read the report immediately. The facts were clear and concise. But would he believe what I had written?
My uncle would confirm Mr. East, Mr. Silver, and two other armed men were mingling with the crowds. Whatever else I thought of Mr. Reevers, he didn’t lack intelligence. But he had to act quickly. If he sent his men out onto the streets now, we might still find these assassins in time. If we didn’t, the King would soon be dead.
The cheers grew ever closer, the crowds pressed forward, eager to catch the first glimpse of the King’s carriage. A woman fainted, and as the people made a path for her to be carried out, I caught sight of Mr Silver.
He was standing at the front of the crowd, as near to Government House as he could get. So that’s where they meant to assassinate the King. A carriage slowing to a halt, or the King stepping from that carriage, was an easier target than one moving down a street. Mr East had planned it all very carefully.
It was then I saw Mudd on the other side of the road, and as I waved my arms at him and tried to shout out over the tumult going on around us, a familiar voice spoke quite calmly into my ear, ‘I shouldn’t do that if I were you, ma’am.’
CHAPTER TWENTYNINE
I swung round to find Mr East composed but determined. We were at the back of the crowd, but as all eyes were fixed on the direction in which the King would first appear, no-one noticed the pistol he dug into my ribs.
Speaking closely into my ear, he said, 'Lady Drusilla, we are going to walk away from here and find a quiet spot where no-one will bother us. If you would take my arm, then everything will appear perfectly normal.’ When I hesitated, he urged, 'Please do as I say, ma’am. I don’t wish to shoot you, but I will if I have to.’
; I had no choice but to obey; the noise of a shot would never be heard above the joyous acclamations of the crowd. I’d hoped that being bumped and pushed by so many exuberant people would offer a chance to escape, but he made me walk close to the houses, warding off anyone who barged into us with comparative ease. We were walking in the direction of the house where I was staying, and as we reached it, he pointed to the alley beside it. ‘Down here, if you please.’
The alley that had been so busy, was empty now, and as he forced me along it, the only sign of life I saw was a grey cat curled up in a small patch of sunlight. The doorway, where he had met the other Fat Badgers such a short time ago, was in deep shadow, and he retreated into that darkness, still holding me at gunpoint.
When I asked how he’d found me he said, ‘I came across Mr Garnet and knew you must be nearby. With you out of action, there’s no-one capable of stopping Mr Silver. Your uncle is an old man, Mudd is only a servant, and Radleigh would never believe I am Mr. Brown.’
I said nothing, preferring to let him think I had no argument to offer. Mudd did not need an order from me to deal with Mr Silver, my uncle might not be young but that wouldn’t stop him doing whatever was necessary, and when Mr Reevers read the clear, indisputable proof of guilt that I’d written down for Mr. Dundas, I was convinced he would believe me.
Mr East eyed me speculatively. ‘So you worked it out?’ I inclined my head in acknowledgement. ‘May I ask how?’
