by Don Jacobson
Winterlich retreated a few steps as the awful simplicity of Fitzwilliam’s pattern 1796 Heavy Cavalry Sword prodded him back toward the alley.[xlvi] The dance completed its set as the squad, always keeping its aim on Winterlich, rotated behind the General. A sergeant stepped forward and efficiently searched the spy. Once he had relieved him of two pocket pistols, he clapped manacles on the man’s wrists.
Winterlich sought to brazen his way out of the situation.
“You may know my face, Fitzwilliam, but do you know my connections and the damning information I have on all of them…including the Prince Regent himself? You had best let me go now before you run afoul of forces that will destroy you and all you hold dear,” the German aristocrat sneered.
Fitzwilliam was nonplused.
This…this…popinjay thinks to treat me like those fat and soft wastrels who snarl like a pack of curs fighting over the leavings of Prinny’s table?
Ice dripped from Fitzwilliam’s next words, “I do not know you so you may never speak to me in such a familiar manner.
“You assume rightly that, like other men, I have some sort of self-interest I wish to protect. However Herr Winterlich, it is a self-interest that you yourself helped me discover.
“A month ago your actions harmed the woman I will take as my wife. That she is on the mend is no thanks to you or your man Wadkins…”
Winterlich’s eyes widened as Richard spoke the name of the dead would-be kidnapper.
“…ah yes, that little bit surprises you, does it not? You now think that perhaps you have underestimated this Bond Street uniformed second son of an Earl. Maybe I am not some puffed up fool who murders his men because his Papa had enough ready to buy him a commission. What else do we know, you now wonder.
“Oh, I imagine you will be surprised. There is little about your current caper that remains hidden. I expect you will eventually be more than willing to assist us as we fill in the few remaining blanks.”
Winterlich made one last desperate throw, “You would not dare expose me for the damage it would do to the Prince. And you cannot threaten my family in Swabia with forfeiture of land and title.”
Fitzwilliam sheathed his sword as he allowed the smallest of smiles to flicker across his face. “Hmmm…yes, exposure. No, that will not be a concern for us. As of this moment you belong to me. I will decide whether you wake or sleep, stand or sit, boil or freeze. The daylight you see will be the daylight I allow you to believe you are seeing.
“I will peel you layer by layer like an onion.
“All the world will ever know, and that includes the little playmates of our rotund Prince, is that you died in London ‘under unfortunate circumstances.’ I imagine bungled espionage does qualify as unfortunate, does it not?
“But not before you tell us everything.”
Desperation froze the spy’s features as the color drained from his face. Before he could begin to beg, Fitzwilliam raised his voice, “Captain Fleming…our business here is concluded. Would you please be so kind as to escort him to The Nursery? I will join you in the morning.”[xlvii]
At this point, Wilson spoke up to remind the General that Winters, the inside man, was being held in the Gold Suite.
Fitzwilliam admired how the Sergeant had discretely avoided mentioning who was staying in the Gold Suite and had been unchaperoned with a man. Even though Winters had been bound and gagged, the rules of propriety would have been outraged. Wilson continued to protect Miss Bennet even when he was not by her side.
Fitzwilliam spoke quickly, “Captain, please load Winterlich into the carriage and do something with the driver’s corpse. Miss Reynolds, Wilson and I will go inside—best not to have too many strangers trooping around the house—and bring out that last bit of trash.”
As the three padded down the hall to the Gold Suite, Fitzwilliam spoke softly, “Miss Reynolds…I am offering our nation’s thanks in general and mine in specific for your honesty, intelligence and bravery.
“Do not concern yourself over the fate of Winterlich and Winters. They knew, but did not appreciate, that their destiny was that which always comes to traitors and spies.
“They will be questioned until they will be glad to meet the hangman. Then we will send the bodies to Swabia.
“We will leave a talisman so that when the caskets are opened, the Germans will know that a Fitzwilliam collected the head bounty.”
Chapter XXVI
In Transit to Burghley House, December 4, 1815
The servant’s coach was close quarters after leaving Meryton. As new persons joined the carriage train in Miss Bennet’s hometown, Henry had switched places with Michael Tomkins who now rode atop the box next to the driver. Mr. and Mrs. Hastings had settled on the front-facing seat next to Henry who tried to make himself as small as possible against the window. Sarah and two elderly servants who had accompanied Mrs. Bennet filled out the passenger manifest. Annie rode in the family carriage so she could tend to her lady as the party shifted from Town to Northamptonshire.
The General had, as promised, reconnoitered the roads from London to the front gates of Burghley House. Satisfied that his dear Miss Bennet would not be unduly jostled, he had quickly returned to Town arguing that he had had a few responsibilities to discharge before he could vanish into the Midlands. He then went to ground and only reappeared as everybody boarded in front of Cecil House.
Henry had had little time alone with Annie over the past two days. Neither had spoken of the events in the mews. Preparations for closing the London house were extensive and demanded the attention of every member of the staff. Trunks needed to be removed from the attics and distributed around the residence. Clothing needed to be wrapped in tissue paper before being stowed for travel. Chandeliers needed to be protected under muslin wrappings. Dutch covers were pulled from storage and draped over furniture. Mementoes and heirlooms—those not being shipped back to Larchmont—needed to be packed in cotton wool and stored against the time their decoration was demanded once again.
The few moments he had been able to steal with his beloved were spent in whispered assurances of continued feelings coupled with discrete handholding. The couple understood that there was an understanding waiting to be formalized. However Henry was determined that his relationship with Annie be governed by the rules of propriety. He had not asked permission of her father to court her much less marry her. Thus, even though his heart was fully engaged, he would neither embarrass Miss Reynolds nor the Cecil family. Wilson consoled himself with the knowledge that Northamptonshire was adjacent to Warwickshire. Larchmont was about four hours ride from Burghley House.
Now that they were separated once again, Henry took the opportunity to study the couple that had accompanied Mrs. Bennet. They had introduced themselves as Mrs. Alma Hill and Mr. George Hill. Wilson understood that they had been in service to the Bennet family since their youth—he as footman and then butler, she as maid and then housekeeper.
In their mid-fifties, they had been fortunate to receive a small bequest from the late Mr. Bennet which had allowed them to retire from Longbourn along with Mrs. Bennet. They lived with her at Oakham Cottage, not unusual for a widowed lady. According to the desultory conversation flowing around him, Henry learned that Mrs. Bennet nominally employed them, although with none of the daughters still at home, the Hills’ duties were light, and they spent most of their days making sure that loneliness did not overtake their mistress.
Mr. Hill noticed Henry looking at him and caught his eye. Then the older man addressed the younger, his Hertfordshire colored Rs rolling deeply off the back of his tongue.
“Ah, ye be that footman who wuz with Miss Kitty when she got ‘urt?”
Henry abashed, looked away, but nodded.
Mr. Hill continued, “Son, from the sounds of it, ye did whut ye could. Don’t be ‘shamed, man. None of us is perfect.”
At this Mrs. Hill snorted, “You speak more truth than you know, old man.” She reached across and tapped Henry’s knee say
ing, “Mr. Hill and I have known Miss Kitty since the day she was born…all of the girls for that matter. Believe me, if either of us had thought you were in any way to blame for what happened, both of us would be up atop the box instead of your friend.”
Mr. Hill smiled lovingly at his wife, perhaps remembering himself without 30 years of worklife in his bones.
He related a story, “I recall me da, who went with Mr. Samuel, that’ ud be Miss Kitty’s Grandpa, off to fight with Gen’ul Braddock in the colonies back in the ‘50s. ‘e beat ‘isself up, ‘e did, ‘cuz Mr. Samuel got ‘urt bad. Felt guilty, ‘e did, that ‘e wuzn’t the one ta take the ball in ‘is leg.
“So ‘e did th’ next best. ‘e took care of Mr. Sam until the day the Good Lord took him ‘ome ta be with Mrs. Martha and Mrs. Lizzie. Then ‘e took care of Mr. Thomas and Mrs. Fanny until ‘eaven needed a butler.”
The old man puffed up and fixed Henry with a piercing glare, “Ye jes need ta take care of Miss Kitty. The Gen’l will be o’ ‘elp there. But if ye make that little girl cry, I will take ye down. Don’t care ‘ow big ye are. Mark me, boy!”
Henry glanced around the carriage and saw Sarah and both Hastings stifling grins with little success.
He could only smile and raise his hands in surrender, “Believe me, sir, aside from the woman I hope to marry, my life will be devoted to caring for your girl.”
Still, as the journey continued, each time he looked back from the countryside passing by the window, he could not avoid the elder retainer’s gaze. When Mr. Hill subtly tapped his finger next to his right eye and then pointed Henry’s way, he read the butler’s message clearly.
Chapter XXVII
On the road, December 18, 1815
Once the Cecil party had settled into the Marquess’ manor, Henry’s workload as second footman dropped considerably. Lady Mary had suggested that as he was surplus to Burghley House staff, he attach himself to the General who “would certainly have a variety of tasks he might wish you to undertake.”
Fitzwilliam had kept Wilson busy, mostly away from Northamptonshire. Little of that which they did could ever be written about much less discussed outside of certain secure locations. Any appropriate papers were later held in vaults at either the Nursery or in the Jermyn Street archives. What could be said is that the enemies of Great Britain were fewer and less likely to threaten the security of the realm after the pair focused their attention on any peculiar activities.
One day, a sennight before Christmas, the two men were riding along returning to Burghley House from the Nursery’s campus near the Fitzwilliam estate at Thornhill in Derbyshire. As they passed through Warwickshire, Wilson asked if they could detour to Larchmont.
Fitzwilliam saddled atop his great white stallion, Imperator, turned and looked up at Wilson who, even though seated on a more modest steed, still towered above the aristocrat.
He brushed at the snowflakes that had collected in his shaggy eyebrows and needled Wilson. “Sergeant, Impy and I are both quite curious. Are you going to finally get off your rather large arse and make that girl an offer?”
Henry feigned outrage and retorted leaving huge puffs of frosty air hanging around his head, “Large arse? General, I am not the one who had to have the waistbands on all of my pantaloons let out in the past month.
“But as we are so near to Larchmont, I would like to seize the opportunity to have a private conference with Mr. Reynolds. Unlike you, sir, I have not formally requested a courtship.”
Richard erupted in laughter, “Oh Wilson, you have such a thin skin. You remind of my cousin Darcy. If I ever get the two of you in the same room, I will become utterly confused not knowing which of you to tease first!
“Actually, though, I anticipate seeing him later in January or early February when we return to Town. Perhaps I will be able to introduce you two then.”
Wilson shook his head wryly as they turned toward Lord Tom’s family seat.
For a great warrior, you, my friend, can be remarkably blind. You think that everybody in your class accepts on merit rather than birth. You are inclined to do that thanks to your stigma as being a second son. I imagine the Master of Pemberley will barely condescend to recognize me, a servant.
Larchmont House appeared gradually as the riders broke through the thinning forest and entered the rolling open park that extended for nearly 1,000 yards around the dwelling. The brick house in the Palladian style with two one-story wings off either side was perched on a little rise above a modest river that meandered through the sward.
Fitzwilliam was playing tour guide as the pair approached the dwelling along a drive lined with the trees that gave the home its name. Late as it was in the season, the trees, probably transplanted from the colonies in Canada after the end of the Seven Years War, had already dropped their needles.
“This is one of the older Cecil properties, with ownership running back to the times of Good Queen Bess. You can well imagine a fortified blockhouse up on the top of that hill commanding the approaches in every direction. Such clear field of fire would have put paid to any attempt to assault the house.
“There were probably Cecils and their underlings at the slits when the Gunpowder Plot bubbled over in 1605. You know that most of the insurgents were Warwickshire men.
“Then there was all of the trouble during Cromwell’s time. The Cecils probably kept their heads low and their feet in both camps until the Restoration in 1660.
“I imagine that they tore down the old place sometime in the last 50 years.”
He cut his narration short as the pair arrived at Larchmont’s front entry. A groom raced up to take their mounts as Fitzwilliam dismounted. Wilson stayed in his saddle. Fitzwilliam looked up at him impatiently.
“Not getting cold feet, are you Sergeant? Although this blessed weather has me chilled to the bone. Let us hurry inside and get something warm to drink,” he urged.
Wilson leaned down and spoke softly so as not to draw attention, “General, my business is with Mr. Reynolds, Larchmont’s butler. His office is below stairs. Also, I am in service to Lord Tom and Lady Mary. I will enter Larchmont through the side door as is fitting for a person in my station. I will send a boy to alert you once my business is concluded.”
Fitzwilliam was rocked back on his heels. While Wilson was indeed just a footman, the General had never seen him as anyone lesser than he himself—especially not after their most recent conversations with Winterlich pere et fils up at the Nursery. The Sergeant had shown a sophisticated level of resourcefulness that had caused the miscreants to reveal more about Metternich and Talleyrand’s desires than the usual tactics favored by the specialists in British intelligence.
Wilson deftly turned his horse and cantered away around the side of the building.
Henry had never met the senior servant of Lord Tom’s household. He consoled himself that anyone who had raised a daughter like his Annie could not be that fearsome—he hoped. His nervousness increased as he stood in the hallway outside of the butler’s rooms.
Lord, my palms are sweating just like on June 18th when the Duke had us lay down behind the crest of Mont St.-Jean. Mr. Reynolds is just one man not the Old Guard.
He had asked for and received a character from Mr. Hastings. This he had passed in to Annie’s father when he had been announced.
Hearing heavy steps approaching the closed door, Henry straightened up and pulled his riding clothes into shape.
Please do not let him be some sort of Tartar!
The door opened at a stately pace to reveal a handsome man of above-average height. His hair was the same brown as his daughter’s, but shot through with steel-grey. Unlike Annie’s, Mr. Reynolds’ eyes were deep brown, almost chocolate, in color.
As was his way, the headman was no nonsense, “Please enter and take a seat.”
Wilson arranged his large frame in the sturdy black lacquered lyre-back armchair that faced the desk behind which Mr. Reyno
lds settled. Annie’s father focused his attention on the document in front of him. Wilson anxiously awaited permission to speak.
Finally, Reynolds looked up and said in serious tone, “You have earned the approbation of Mr. Hastings; no mean feat. He writes that you are a man of great moral fiber and loyalty. He especially notes your dedication to Lady Margaret’s governess, Miss Bennet.
“The entire household is aware of what transpired in the Park over a month ago. When we learned of Miss Bennet’s survival and recovery, we all rejoiced. Mr. Hastings has related your role in this adventure, as well.”
Henry’s stomach clenched at this. Would Mr. Reynolds refuse his daughter’s hand because of Henry’s failure?
Seeing the young man’s reaction, Reynolds quickly added, “Mr. Hastings further notes that you acted with great distinction in the aftermath. He suggested that any incapacity was as a result of your service to the country. He added that my daughter told you of old Colonel Cecil and Tom Shrimpton.
“Remember son, I saw what went on with my master. If such a sad malady gripped you that morning, you should not be ashamed. Not a soul blames you for Miss Bennet’s injuries.
“Well then, let me continue…Mr. Hastings concluded by saying that if I had any other questions about your nature, I should apply to General Fitzwilliam.”