He splashed cold water onto his face from the bowl on the washstand in order to drive the dregs of sleep from him, and to drive away the lingering effects of the recurring dream. He dressed and went downstairs to take his breakfast. The landlord came up to him and handed him a letter.
‘This was delivered for you this morning, Mr Blackdown,’ he said. ‘A boy from Blackdown Manor.’
Blackdown thanked the man and sliced open the seal. He unfolded the letter. It was from Addison. He had arranged a meeting with Lord Tresham for ten o’clock that morning. Blackdown took out his pocket watch. He had an hour. Idly he wound up the watch, his mind casting back to his meeting with Sarah Jones. He was finding it difficult to forget her.
Her husband-to-be had most likely slipped away to find another woman, or slipped back to an abandoned wife. He’d known so many soldiers who promised love and marriage with no intention on delivering against those promises. That she had been led a merry dance by him and yet was blind to it was nothing new in his experience. But the information about the other missing soldiers piqued his interest, if, indeed, it wasn’t all a product of her young imagination. Perhaps he should see her again. After all, he had been unduly curt and she’d left with a bad impression of him. But did he really care what she thought about him? It hadn’t bothered him in the past what people thought. He shook his head to free himself of the strange feelings being stirred in him like the long-stagnant mud from a river bottom, and set about his breakfast.
He collected his horse from the stable. It seemed reluctant to allow him to mount it. ‘You’re a stubborn thing, that you are,’ said Blackdown, patting its neck. It shook its head in annoyance. ‘But we’ve got to get along so there’s no point in fighting it.’
He rode the five miles to Lord Tresham’s house, riding over once familiar countryside but which now seemed to belong to a different age, a different man. It was a land now soaked through with bitter memories, as alien as any of the foreign lands he’d traversed as a soldier; a land he would be glad to be shut of as soon as his business here was finished. A land that itself had turned hostile and poisonous towards him, its people suspicious and angry. Even his horse didn’t like him.
Lord Tresham’s house was, if anything, grander than Blackdown Manor. Where Blackdown Manor had been allowed to fall into disrepair and ruin, their neighbour had made large and impressive additions to his already sprawling stately home. The Tresham’s were relative newcomers to the area, their family going back a mere three hundred years, but the family’s influence had long been powerful and was even now on the ascendant, unlike that of the Blackdowns, whose star, it seemed, was fast burning out. Or being snuffed out, thought Thomas Blackdown. The blackening of his father’s name had been a deliberate act, and for reasons he had yet to get to the bottom of. What’s more, Thomas Blackdown believed his brother’s death was somehow connected to it.
Blackdown was met at the foot of grand stone steps that marked the entrance to the stately home by a servant, who summoned someone to take his horse. He was led inside, the shining opulence standing in marked contrast to Blackdown Manor’s faded grandeur. Lord Tresham, or Lord Tresham’s wife, had been keen to follow fashion and there was an exotic feel to the entrance hall, liberally peppered with Chinese vases and screens, and walls decorated with Chinese-inspired silk wallpaper, gilded tables with Moorish designs lining the walls and sitting on colourful tiles imported from the East and laid out in complicated geometric designs.
‘My boy!’ said Lord Tresham when Blackdown was shown into the parlour. He rose from his seat and strode over to him, holding out his hand to shake. ‘It has been so long since I last saw you! But how you have grown into a man!’ He pumped Blackdown’s hand up and down vigorously.
The man was far older than he’d remembered, thought Blackdown. But it had been over twenty years, he had to remind himself. Lord Tresham was an old man now, his body bent, his thin hair all but white, but his kindly face remained, his once luminous eyes a shadow of their former self but still as warm and inviting as ever they were. His voice was feebler, and yet it awoke many fond memories in Blackdown.
‘It is good to see you again, Lord Tresham,’ he replied.
‘Lord? What is this Lord business? You may call me uncle, as you always used to, and no more of that Lord nonsense!’
Blackdown smiled. ‘Uncle Tresham,’ he said.
‘There, the years have fallen away just like that!’ he said. ‘Forgive me, I must introduce you to my guest and my daughter.’ He turned and held out his hand. A man had risen from his seat. A man in his middle years, tall and straight, elegantly dressed, a man whose good looking though serious face gave nothing away. ‘This is Sir Peter Lansdowne.’
The man stepped forward and took Blackdown’s hand. It was the firm grip of a man who knew his superior position. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Mr Blackdown.’
‘Sir Peter,’ said Blackdown. ‘I’ve had the honour of running into your Blackdown Horse Patrol.’
He smiled. ‘So I hear. A sad affair at the barn last night and further justification, if justification is needed, as to why I put into the field a paid force to keep law and order.’
‘And this is my daughter, Julianne,’ said Lord Tresham.
Julianne Tresham was seated by the fireplace, a fine low-cut, sleeveless Grecian style dress in sleeveless pastel-blue accentuated her slender figure. She must only just be into her twenties, Blackdown thought. She had a soft round pretty face, framed by brown hair in ringlets, earrings shimmering beneath it. He could understand why Jonathan fell for her. She held out her small hand for Blackdown. He grasped the fingers lightly.
‘A pleasure,’ he said. It is good to meet with you at last,’ said Blackdown. ‘I have heard so much about you.’
‘All good, I hope,’ she said brightly.
‘All good. From Addison, and he never speaks ill of anyone.’
‘Please, take a seat, Thomas!’ Lord Tresham enthused. ‘And take a drink with us.’ He took a decanter and began to pour out wine into a glass.
‘I can see the Blackdown likeness,’ said Lansdowne, his fingers wafting in front of his face. ‘You have the look of your father, and your unfortunate late brother.’
‘Some things we have no control over,’ Blackdown replied. ‘For good or for ill.’
‘You father was a regular at the clubs in London,’ Lansdowne continued. ‘I often saw him at White’s and Brookes. I myself prefer Brookes, for that is where the best gaming is to be found.’
‘Sir Peter here has a reputation for gambling,’ said Lord Tresham. ‘Macao, faro, hazard, he will chance his hand at any and all.’
‘I play to win,’ said Lansdowne with a thin smile and a bright spark in his eye.
‘And indeed you do!’ said Tresham. ‘Did you know he once took £200,000 at a game of whist? He had many unfortunates running with their tails between their legs to Howard and Gibbs the money-lenders!’
‘As I say, I do not gamble, I play to win,’ Lansdowne said. ‘It is a fool who gambles. Do you not agree, Mr Blackdown?’
‘It depends upon the stakes,’ he replied. He was trying to work out what was going on behind those frosty eyes. ‘And the risk.’
Lansdowne nodded slowly. ‘I hear you are not averse to taking risks yourself. The tales of your bravery abound. But bravery and foolishness are close companions, wouldn’t you say? It is difficult to say where one ends and the other begins.’
‘A successful outcome is considered bravery, and an unsuccessful one but foolishness,’ said Blackdown. ‘People have a habit of shifting between the one and the other to suit their fickle moods. I care not what people think.’
‘I first met your father in the Clarendon Hotel,’ Lansdowne continued. ‘It was kept by a French cook called Jacquiers, and was the only place in London where one was guaranteed of getting a genuine French dinner, a place where one never paid less than two or three pounds for the convenience, and a guinea for a bottle of champagne or claret.
You father was a frequent visitor and it was well known he liked his French dinners.’
‘What are you driving at, Sir Peter?’ Blackdown asked.
‘Why, I drive at nothing, Mr Blackdown. It was an observation, nothing more. I merely say it because it is sad that he has been barred from the places he loved to frequent; barred from mixing with others of his class and standing. It is a sobering thought that one moment one might be dining on boiled fowl, oyster sauce and apple tart with the Prince Regent at White’s, and the next confined to one’s house dining on plain, local fare. The thought of such a narrow existence makes me shudder.’ He rose from his seat. ‘My apologies but I have to be leaving. I have matters relating to my estate that need to be taken care of. It has been a pleasure meeting the son of Lord Blackdown. Please pass on my good wishes to your father, and I hope you will do me the honour of calling on me one day. You will be most welcome.’
Blackdown assured him he’d consider it and the man made his goodbyes and left.
‘Sir Peter can seem a little bluff,’ said Tresham, ‘but he is a good man with the interests of the local people at heart.’
‘I’ve no doubt,’ said Blackdown, unconvinced by the lack of warmth in Tresham’s voice.
‘You are so like Jonathan,’ said Julianne. ‘Sir Peter was right; the likeness is quite terrific, and at the same time unsettling. It is as if he were here in the room again.’ Her eyes looked to fill up and Lord Tresham went over to sit beside her, taking and patting her hand.
‘It came as such a shock, Thomas, to hear of your brother’s death. And to be taken from us in such an inhuman manner…’ He realised the effect his words had on his daughter and he squeezed her hand tight. She pulled it away. ‘I insisted Julianne and Jonathan were still to be married, in spite of all that spy business with your father. In spite of your father’s reluctance to offer the couple his blessing. Of course, there were calls from others for me to call off the wedding. To be associated with a spy would blacken our name, too. But your father and I have been long-standing friends; I could not abandon him to the hyenas. In any event it all proved groundless, the accusations an elaborate fabrication. But as you are aware, the harm had been done, and it set your father off down a costly litigious route that will be the downfall of him if he does not call a halt to the many actions he has against powerful men. Slander is almost a fashion these days, and I have had to bear my fair share in defending your father.’
‘Yet you buy up his land,’ said Blackdown evenly.
‘Would you have it go to outsiders?’
‘It was at my insistence,’ said Julianne.
Thomas Blackdown looked to her. ‘Yours?’
‘To save the Blackdown land being split up and going out to greedy speculators and developers, who readily swoop down like vultures. When it was put up for sale I suggested my father buy it and thus put it in our safekeeping until such a time as the Blackdowns can afford to buy it back. My father does not wish to see an end to such a long and fruitful dynasty.’
‘It is true,’ said Tresham. ‘I did it with your father’s best interests at heart, but he has not seen it so and now reviles me. We have not spoken since before your brother’s death. You must forgive your father, Thomas. His mind has been turned, first by the death of your mother, his wife, and in turn by both the absurd charges against him, and then by the death of Jonathan. He is not the man he once was. It was not right of him to cast you out like he did, to abandon you and disown you. Blackdown Manor and its lands are rightfully yours as the eldest child, but I am afraid there will soon be very little of it left, and I can only do so much to help protect my friend’s property and what is your legacy.’
‘I care not about any legacy,’ said Blackdown. ‘It is a dark mantle I can well live without. But I applaud the kindness you have shown towards my father. And my brother,’ he said, looking at Julianne. ‘He must have loved you very much,’ he said to her. ‘I cannot understand why father was against the marriage.’
‘He has been unwell…’ she said. ‘Not himself.’
Blackdown turned to Lord Tresham. ‘How did the accusations come about? I hear there were certain papers found.’
Tresham nodded. ‘They came to light in London.’
‘By whom?’
‘Anonymously, unfortunately. They were in French and were said to have been taken from an enemy baggage train in France just before Napoleon’s capture and exile. They went into great detail about a network of spies, and the leaking of information to the enemy that seemed to betray English plans; plans which had been very real. They also predicted Napoleon’s escape from exile his attempt to take back France and Napoleon’s plans to make peace with Britain and its allies. The papers implicated your father, stating that he would use his influence to turn influential people towards backing a deal with the emperor, and failing that to help force an uprising over here to demand Napoleon’s reinstatement as sole ruler of France. It was all a complicated hoax, as it turned out. Many elements of the papers were discredited and eventually your father’s name was cleared. But your father had been pounced upon by many hounds, his name dragged through the mire, and he wanted revenge.’
‘So who would have wanted to carry out such a hoax?’ Blackdown asked.
Tresham shook his head. ‘We shall never know. That it had been aimed at him with the intention of discrediting him is without doubt, but though every effort has been made we cannot trace the origin of that scandalous affair.’
‘And Jonathan’s death…’ said Blackdown.
‘Ah,’ said Tresham. ‘That came at the height of your father’s attempt to sue all and sundry for their slanderous insults. Instead of diverting his attention from his growing mania, his son’s death merely threw oil on the fire of his desires. He’s been like a man obsessed ever since, and you see the distressing results.’
Blackdown noticed Julianne was wringing her hands on her lap, her face pale. ‘Who would want Jonathan dead?’ he asked her.
Her eyes widened. ‘He was killed by an animal,’ she said. ‘Everyone has said it was so.’
‘So you believe in the Beast of Blackdown, too?’
‘I don’t know what I believe anymore,’ she said. ‘All I know is that Jonathan was taken from me most cruelly. He was my life. We were to be married, even if that meant going against your father’s wishes. He threatened to disown Jonathan and remove his inheritance if the wedding went ahead. But Jonathan still wanted to marry me.’
‘A sad affair. And she has refused many offers since,’ Tresham added. ‘But soon she must try to forget what happened and move on with her life…’
‘Forget Jonathan?’ she said. ‘You ask me to forget him?’
‘Julianne…’ he said, sighing. ‘You are my only child. My precious daughter. You came to me late in life when we thought we may never have a child of our own. It cuts me up so to see you grieving like this, but life goes on…’
‘My life ended with Jonathan’s,’ she said.
‘Don’t say that, dear,’ he said, attempting to take her hand again. But she pulled it out of his reach. He turned to Blackdown. ‘Jonathan was like a son to me, Thomas. Your father like a brother. And now it is all turned to dust. Would that I could bring back your mother and brother from the grave, and turn your father back to the man he once was, but alas it is not in my power.’
‘Why was Jonathan up at Devilbowl Wood that night?’ Blackdown asked.
‘I don’t know,’ said Tresham. ‘But sometimes he would ride the Blackdown land checking to see all was well.
‘My father said he went to meet someone.’
‘Perhaps so,’ said Julianne. ‘But he was met instead by an animal that killed him. There is no more to it. Why bring this up again? It only causes me more pain!’
‘I think that we have talked enough about Jonathan,’ said Lord Tresham. ‘So how is your father, Thomas?’
‘He is the same, perhaps worse. He is dying.’
‘Oh,’ said Tresham, h
is eyes widening.
‘Consumption,’ said Blackdown without any real emotion.
Tresham shook his head and rubbed his tired eyes. ‘I sought to meet with him on numerous occasions, but he refuses my every advance. I would wish to see my friend before…’
‘He doesn’t have long,’ Blackdown said evenly. ‘But I wouldn’t waste my time on him. He is set in his ways and will not be diverted.’ He reached into his coat. ‘Do you know what this is?’ He produced the black calling card from Jonathan’s trunk.
Tresham took it, turned it over. ‘A curious thing. I see the impression of a she-wolf but no more.’ He handed it to Julianne. ‘Is this familiar to you?’
It stood in contrast to her slender white fingers. She shook her head. ‘What is it?’
‘I found it among Jonathan’s possessions.’
‘It is an inconsequential piece of black card, that is all,’ she said, handing it back.
‘It may be, but I suspect it is far more than that.’ He rose to his feet. ‘I must go now, I’m sorry, but it was good to see you, Uncle Tresham. And good to meet my brother’s fiancé. I am sorry it is not under better circumstances.’
‘Will you not stay for something to eat?’ said Tresham.
He smiled at the offer. ‘Thank you, Uncle Tresham, but I have a mermaid to see.’
11
The Prize
Commodore Pettigrew’s was just one of many companies that had set up in the large field. Tents and marquees in various sizes and quality were sprawled across the land like a vast, camped army, thought Thomas Blackdown. Colourful flags and banners waved, and men stood hailing through makeshift trumpets by an array of wooden stalls bearing fruit, beads, bread, ribbons and hats. Women wandered amongst the milling people with trays filled with sweetmeats, corn dollies or posies of dried lavender, calling out their wares. Employers’ deputies wandered down lines of men who put themselves up for hire and hoped they’d be picked. Geese were being sold to fatten up for Christmas. Piglets put into bags and handed over in exchange for coins. Fiddlers scratched different tunes and drummers beat their drums, together creating a discordant din that irritated the ears.
BLACKDOWN (a thriller and murder mystery) Page 10