Thomas couldn’t stop the smirk as he and Victoria brought up the rear.
‘I hope he doesn’t become a nuisance.’ Victoria muttered.
‘Edward will be fine.’ Thomas said magnanimously. ‘Kitty will make sure of that.’ He prayed she would be responsible as he watched the three riders turn out onto the road. Thomas was relieved to notice that Edward broke into a canter first.
Before they reached Middleton-on-Tees, Kitty picked up the Pennine Way.
‘Is that the Tees?’ Edward asked excitedly as he looked over towards the river.
‘It is.’ Kitty informed him and suddenly he was galloping towards the bridge, with Kitty hard on his heels. ‘You’re going to get me into trouble.’ She admonished him. ‘Daddy already thinks I’m reckless, so slow down.’ And she reached across and yanked on his bridle to slow the gelding.
‘Why did you do that?’ Edward demanded with full ducal arrogance.
‘Your Grace.’ Kitty began, patiently. ‘If you want to reach the grand old age of twelve, please don’t rush this trip. I was being honest when I said the trail was not easy. If you lame your horse, the trip will be over.’
‘Oh!’ Edward said arrogantly. ‘Mama can’t make me go home.’
‘Are you willing to argue with the Duke?’ Kitty asked and clicked her tongue to walk on, leaving Edward scowling in her wake. Crossing the bridge, she looked down at the River as Richard caught up with her.
‘You might have bitten off more than you can chew.’ He whispered and leaned out of the saddle to kiss her on the cheek.
‘I would say at the moment Edward is thinking about crossing my father and the possible consequences.’ She said softly and laughed.
Edward suddenly appeared beside her again and said airily. ‘I didn’t actually think about that. Do you think he would be angry?’
‘I think if you upset your mother, he might be angry and having been on the receiving end of my father’s discipline, I would advise you to be cautious!’ Kitty said knowingly.
Richard was captivated by the rugged scenery. Majestic rock formations marched along their path, like a line of sentinels and with the chuckle of the river it reminded him so much of Portugal that he expected a french column to appear over the horizon any moment. Without even realising what he was doing, he urged his horse forward into the lead and he watched the top of the ridge.
Charles said suddenly. ‘Stop checking the environment, Richard. There won’t be any French Patrols here!’
Richard reined his horse in and smiled sheepishly. ‘Old habits die hard.’ He muttered.
‘I understand, I’m doing the same thing, but this is England not Portugal.’ He laughed. ‘No cuirassier is going to take us by surprise today!’
‘I should hope not!’ Thomas said heartily. ‘French Soldiers in the Durham countryside? Not to be born!’
‘Good job, really.’ Richard muttered again. ‘I feel slightly naked without a pistol or sword.’
Victoria and Louise were lagging behind and involved in a deep conversation. Kitty skewered herself around on her horse to check everybody and smiled. She knew Louise was checking Millicent’s information. Louise was calm, practical and thorough. If she didn’t know a thing, she found out and if she was unsure of the source, she checked it with someone else.
‘What’s this village called?’ Edward shouted from the front, where he was riding with Richard.
Kitty clicked her tongue and spurred her horse forward. ‘Holwick.’ She said. ‘It’s a hamlet. Be careful at the ford, the current is quite fast.’ She warned as she caught up with them and pulled up beside Edward so he was sandwiched between her and Richard.
The horses carefully picked their way across the stony ford, the tributary was quite deep and the water came up to the tops of their boots. Charles was guiding Louise and Thomas brought up the rear with Victoria.
‘I can now understand what you meant, Kitty!’ Victoria called, ‘my skirts would have been drenched.’
Her horse was a bay mare, sturdy and reliable, so Kitty was surprised when it reared and neighed loudly in the middle of the ford. Victoria squealed in shock and Charles turned his roan and grabbed the headgear as the mare landed back on her front feet. Thomas was caught by surprise, but he still swept Victoria off the saddle and onto his lap.
Charles gently led the mare out of the river and onto the bank. It was blatantly obvious she had thrown a shoe, as she was favouring her right front leg. He dropped beside the mare and felt down her front leg, carefully lifting her hoof, he inspected the damage. In the centre of the hoof was a swelling bruise and the shoe was missing.
‘She’s thrown a shoe.’ He said as he rubbed his thumb over the bruise and the horse whimpered. ‘She’s bruised her hoof too.’ He let go of the leg and stood up. ‘Well, Kitty, this is your expedition, who gets to walk home?’
Kitty was already off her mount and she went to Charles’s side. ‘I suppose I do.’ She said softly.
‘Nonsense!’ Thomas erupted. ‘I’ll go. It’ll only take me an hour or so to reach Middleton and Francis Burns will lend me a horse to reach the hall before lunchtime.’
‘Are you sure, Darling?’ Victoria asked. ‘I can come with you, if you’d like?’ but it was obvious she was unhappy about leaving Edward alone with two soldiers and two young women.
‘No, my dear.’ Thomas said softly and stroked her cheek. ‘You stay with Edward. Here.’ He offered his hand to help her into the saddle of the big roan stallion. ‘You shouldn’t have any trouble with him he’s relatively docile until one of the mares is in season.’ Behind the big horse, Victoria placed her hands on his chest.
‘Be careful?’
‘My love! It’s not like London. There aren’t any footpads around here.’ He smiled indulgently and dipped his head, taking her lips in a searingly passionate kiss. ‘I’ll see you when you get home.’ He boosted her into the saddle and smiled as she urged the horse forward. She looked over her shoulder as they left Thomas standing on the beech, the mare unhappy beside him. He waved once, gathered up the reins and turned the horse slowly for the ford. Kitty sat and watched her father until he was safe on the other side, then she waved and kicked her horse forward.
Twenty minutes later they arrived at Low Force and she manoeuvred Edward into the right position, so he could see up the falls. It was spectacular. The sun shone through the spray making rainbow prisms and the water gushed over the rocks in a white torrent.
‘And this goes all the way to Cauldron Snout?’ he asked innocently.
‘No,’ Kitty said shaking her head. ‘Only as far as High Force. It’s about five miles long.’
‘Can I get closer?’ he asked excitedly as he jumped off his horse. Kitty got down with him and then everybody was walking to the river’s edge. Victoria took Edward’s hand, but even she couldn’t stop him at the waters edge from kneeling down and scooping up a handful of water.
‘It’s freezing!’ he blurted and shook his hands vigorously.
‘Of course it is!’ Kitty spluttered. She turned to the horizon. ‘Do you see those mountains?’ She pointed and Edward nodded. ‘They are the Pennines and this water comes from high up there.’
‘Do you mean like snow off the mountain tops?’ Edward asked agog.
‘That’s exactly what I mean.’ Kitty said as she steered him away from the water by the shoulder.
They mounted again and carried on following the Pennine Way until they reached the top of the falls at High Force.
The footmen had commandeered a large table from the Inn and set it up by the river. Every conceivable delicacy from the ducal kitchen was on the table, including some fine claret, which Charles and Richard poured with alacrity.
‘You should eat, before drinking.’ Victoria said firmly.
‘Yes, Your Grace.’ Both men said and squirmed. Kitty and Louise exchanged bemused looks, both shrugged and sat down to eat.
Thomas had been walking for an hour and he could see Middleton just ah
ead. He only needed to walk into the village. He had debated Kitty and Richard’s relationship, hoping that Richard would be able to cope with the Stafford wildness, which brought his thoughts to Charles and his delight at his choice of a bride, he hoped that Charles wouldn’t become careless with her, she was far too pretty to be ground under foot, as Robin would have done.I must talk to Charles.He thought, before he commits the ultimate sin and just fucks his new wife.He shook his head.Maybe he’ll be aware of it himself.The horse whinnied, bringing his attention to the here and now.
‘Nearly there girl.’ He muttered to the horse soothingly as he stroked her nose. He got to the bridge and could see a young boy fishing, and as he strolled out into the middle he suddenly felt horrific pain in his chest and stopped dead, clutching his left breast. As the world darkened Thomas thoughtShit!And toppled over.
The boy at the other end of the bridge heard the shot that hit him, saw him fall flat on his face and ran straight to the village, screaming ‘The Duke! Somebody shot the Duke!’
‘Where away?’ Sir Francis Burns yelled and the boy pointed back down the road.
‘On the bridge!’
Francis jumped for his horse and shouted. ‘Send
for the surgeon!’ as he galloped out onto the road. As he approached the bridge, he was astonished to see the Duke of Durham face down in the road, his hand still holding the leader of the horse standing patiently beside him. He galloped onto the bridge and threw himself out of the saddle. Two other local men joined him, one of whom was a “proper” doctor and worked with the miners about the county.
‘Let’s turn him over and have a look, shall we?’ Doctor Hoskins said and between them they gently turned Thomas Stafford onto his back. His eyes stared at the sky with blank certainty.
‘He’s gone.’ Doctor Hoskins said softly, feeling inside his jacket, just in case. He pulled his hand out and found it covered in blood. ‘What the devil?’ he said firmly and ripped Thomas’s jacket open, revealing the massive bloodstain on the front of his shirt. ‘He’s been shot!’ he said in disbelief. He tore open the front of his shirt and there was the blue edged whole, right over the heart.
‘Should I fetch the magistrate?’ the other man asked softly.
‘Yes, Tom. Go and fetch the magistrate here. Charles Stafford will want to know what happened.’ Francis Burns said firmly. ‘And bring the wagon from the coach house down here. We’ll have to take him home.’
Francis looked up at the other end of the bridge. ‘I’ll need to talk to that boy. He must have seen or heard something, but I would imagine the gunman was waiting in those trees.’ He surmised, indicating the stand of poplar trees on the other side of the river. ‘He must have used one of those new rifles. They are far more accurate than a musket.’
‘Why would somebody shoot Thomas Stafford?’ Doctor Hoskins asked nobody in particular. ‘It wasn’t as if he had a prominent position in the government or something.’
‘I believe Lord Liverpool was considering him for Lord Chancellor, but it will probably remain with the Earl of Eldon now.’ Francis said quietly.
‘How do you know that?’ Doctor Hoskins asked indignantly.
‘Because Tommy Stafford and I have been friends for forty five years and he told me in his last letter.’ With that Francis sat down in the road as his shoulders shook and the tears flooded from his eyes. ‘Oh! Tommy.’ He said bereft. He couldn’t stop himself from remembering some of their wild escapades when they were boys. ‘He was a wild one.’ He murmured as he sniffed and wiped the tears from his face.
‘What about his family?’
‘I’ll have to tell the new Duchess myself.’ Francis said sadly. ‘She’s going to be gutted.’ He climbed back on his horse, rode back to his mansion and dispatched a messenger immediately to the King and the Prime Minister.
He arrived back at the scene at the same time as the wagon and the magistrate. He hummed and ha’d, but in the end he allowed Francis to place Thomas Stafford’s body on the wagon and lead it to Mickleton Hall.
As the wagon pulled up at the front door, Deacon hurried out. ‘You can’t stop here; you must take it around the side.’ He demanded loudly of the driver.
‘Deacon.’ Francis said as he climbed off his horse. ‘I don’t think the last time the Duke arrives at his hall he should be carried in the back door.’
‘The Duke?’ Deacon gasped and ran down the steps, peering over the side of the wagon at the body resting on the boards. ‘Oh! My God!’ burst from him and suddenly he was all butler as he bustled off for the footmen, leaving Francis to search out Lady Victoria. He found Agatha in the drawing room holding a reading. Francis stopped dead in the doorway, not realising that there would be a houseful of guests.
‘Francis!’ she gushed, he had asked for her hand her first season, but she had turned him down. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked as she got up.
‘I need to see the Duchess?’ he asked softly.
‘Victoria? What for?’ Agatha asked and then she truly looked at the expression on Francis’s face. ‘What has happened?’ she asked hollowly.
‘I’m afraid the Duke was killed this afternoon.’
‘Killed?!’ erupted unbidden from her throat. ‘What do you mean killed?’
‘Agatha.’ He said patiently as he took her hand. ‘Somebody shot him on the bridge at Middleton.’
‘What?!’ she almost screamed and fainted dead away, Francis just managed to catch her before she hit the floor and scooped her up in his arms. He strode to the nearest settee and laid her carefully down. Margaret Bonham was on her feet in an instant.
‘What has happened?’ she demanded and Francis could tell this woman was no wilting violet. He explained again and again asked for the Duchess. ‘Victoria is out with the party. They were going to High Force and then Cauldron Snout to show Edward the sights.’ She said emptily. ‘Poor Thomas.’ And then frowned and looked at him sternly. ‘Why was he on the bridge? He should have been at Cauldron Snout with the rest of the party!’
‘He had a lame mare with him, so I must assume she threw a shoe and Tommy was walking it home.’ He laid a gentle hand on her arm in rather an intimate gesture. ‘We will need to get him laid out in the chapel.’ Francis said.
‘Yes.’ Margaret said distantly and suddenly she was hurrying out of the door calling for Mrs. Tate, the housekeeper. ‘Ah! Mrs. Tate. We need to send a message to the party at Cauldron Snout, can you get one of the boys to go?’ she asked as she sat down in a small parlour and pulled a sheet of vellum towards her. Mrs. Tate bobbed a curtsey and went to roust out a boy to carry the message. Margaret sat and debated what to say. In the end she decided to be blatant. Nobody would appreciate her beating around the bush.
My Dearest Charles,
You must return to the Hall at once. Something terrible has happened to your father.
Regards.
Margaret Bonham, Countess of Pembroke.
She hurriedly folded the thick paper, lit the candle and melted a wax stick in the flame. She swirled the melted wax around and then pressed her signet ring into the wax, sealing the missive. She wrote Charles Stafford on the front and handed it to Deacon, who was stood at the door waiting.
‘As quickly as the boy can ride, Deacon.’ She said gently as she handed him the letter.
‘Yes, My Lady.’ He looked at her sorrowfully. ‘A sad day, Countess.’ He murmured.
‘It is indeed.’ Margaret Bonham said, knowing it was an understatement. She waited until Deacon left and then she sat in the fireside chair and allowed the tears to come. She had loved Thomas Stafford since the first time she saw him, but he was already engaged to Christina. She had tried to bury her unhappiness with another man and had married the Earl of Pembroke, only to watch him drink himself to death as he debauched his way through every whore in London and gambled away his fortune in every salacious dive in the city. He died of the raging pox, his syphilitic body one mass of lesions and sores and the only comfort he had was a b
ottle of laudanum. Margaret had left almost as soon as they were married. It only took her a week to realise the enormity of her mistake. Hope rekindled when Christina died after having her last child. She had watched Thomas bury two still born sons and was unable even to hold him for comfort. When Christina died he was inconsolable and took the children straight off to Durham for the mourning period. She was happy to see him when he returned to London eighteen months later and she hoped that they might find common ground, but Agatha told her not to bother, Thomas was not interested in another wife. So Margaret was patient. She cursed herself for a fool for listening to Agatha after she saw him dancing with Victoria Bertrand and recognised the light in his eyes. She had no choice but to watch him court and win the Duchess of Wentworth, but she didn’t dislike Victoria or blame Thomas in any way. He was happy and it was obvious, so why should she upset the apple cart. Now it was too late.
Margaret wiped her tears on her handkerchief, rose slowly from the chair and made her way to the Chapel to oversee the laying out. Chivers was already there, with the Duke’s best clothes and between them they stripped and washed his body, drying him carefully and dressing him in his finery.
Edward had been fascinated at High Force and had stood at the bend in the river for ages, just watching the water rush over the rocks in its inexorable journey to the sea. Eventually Victoria managed to get him to the food and make him eat. Kitty took his place and just watched the white water.
‘It is stunning.’ Richard whispered in her ear as he wrapped his arms about her body. ‘Just like you. Wild, untamed and beautiful.’ He mumbled as he kissed her cheek, traced his tongue around her ear and then sucked her earlobe gently.
‘Is that how you see me?’ she asked softly and turned in his arms. ‘As some sort of wild woman?’ She deliberately placed her hands on his hips and pulled his body against hers. The reaction of his body was instantaneous, as his erection rose quickly between them.
‘Yes,’ he said hoarsely, ‘Wild is the word, unpredictable would fit too!’ and he crushed his lips over hers and seared her mouth with the scorching heat of his own.
The Theft of a Dukedom Page 14