The Fencing Master's Daughter

by Giselle Marks

  “Attacked Jenkins? Was he robbed? Did the doctor say it was serious?” Julian asked whilst buttering a slice of toast, sounding rather shocked.

  “He wasn’t robbed and I don’t believe his injuries are too serious, Master Julian. Patrice has made some devilled kidneys, sir, they look particularly fine,” Jenkins offered.

  “Yes please dish me up a little. So spill the beans, Jenkins, what happened exactly?”

  “I could not rightly say all what happened, but he was brought home in a hackney cab, by an ugly, portly French emigrée, together with a diamond of the first water, an absolute piece of perfection. My lord was carried in and in she marches, with this Frenchman, carrying my lord’s bloodied foil.”

  “And then what happened, Jenkins?”

  “He was placed on the settee in the drawing room and the young lady ordered his doctor and the runners fetched, Sir.”

  “And did the runners and the doctor come, Jenkins?” Julian asked pouring himself some coffee.

  “They did, the doctor arrived and bandaged his head and wanted to cup him, but the young lady said he had lost enough blood already and sent his about his business. Then the runners came, three of them, clomping their big heavy boots all over my lord’s lovely floors and carpets. The young lady told the runners that my lord had been set upon by three men and that the ugly Frenchman had killed one, and wounded another. My lord confirmed her story.”

  “What did the French hero have to say?”

  “Very little except ‘We mamzel’ and ‘say fray mamzel’,” Jenkins said somewhat affronted that the hero had not spoken the King’s English.

  “So the diamond was French too?” Julian said having demolished his kidneys, toast and a couple of slices of bacon.

  “Yes, but she spoke very pretty English. There is a letter from Chalcombe St Mary for you, sir,” Julian thanked Jenkins and carefully slit open the letter. Jenkins hovered hopefully.

  “It is from my father, Jenkins. He says my younger brothers, Cuthbert and Swithin are over the chicken pox and that my little sister Mary escaped catching it. However Thomas has got himself in trouble again climbing the trees in Mrs Caldecott’s gardens. Alban is doing well with his studies and it looks like he might get a scholarship at Cambridge.”

  “Will he be studying classics like you, sir?” Jenkins enquired.

  “No he means to follow in my father’s footsteps and is going to take theology. He says he is going to become a bishop,” Julian laughed.

  “That would make your father, the Reverend Creighton very proud, sir. Is there any prospect of finding him a living?”

  “He’s got to get through university first, I expect with my lord’s help something may be arranged. Thomas is mad for the army and hopes father will be able to buy him a pair of colours, when he is old enough. The family is always short of money, even with what I contribute from my salary as my lord’s secretary. The rest of the letter is mostly about his parishioners living in Chalcombe St Mary, Jenkins,” Julian said, folding the letter and putting it in an inside pocket. Julian thought back to Edward’s return to England.

  ***

  Julian allowed himself to remember when Edward had visited Chalcombe St Mary after his convalescence. He had known the earl had been back for some weeks and was recovering from an injury. One day, the earl had been driven to the vicarage and helped from the carriage by a footman upon whose arm he leant on one side, while supporting himself on a stick in the other, to walk up the vicarage path. Mrs Creighton had opened the door and ushered him into the parlour where most of the family had been gathered.

  “Sit down please, my lord, and welcome home,” Julian’s father Reverend Creighton had declared holding a chair for him to lower himself into.

  “Wait for me in the hall please, Smithson,” the earl had asked his footman.

  “Agnes take the younger ones away, please,” his father had requested and Julian had been about to leave with the others, but the earl restrained him, by reaching out and gripping his sleeve.

  “Stay please, Julian, it was really you I wanted to see, although it is always good to see you Reverend and your fine family. Am I right in remembering that you have finished your doctorate in classics at Cambridge, Julian?” the earl had asked.

  “Yes my Lord, I am producing a translation of ‘the Library’ by Apollodorus, for publication in the hopes it might persuade the college to offer me a fellowship there,” he had told the earl, slightly embarrassed to not be earning anything to help support himself and his family.

  “But that does not take up all your time, does it?” the earl did not wait for an answer and continued, “I have need of a secretary, Julian, at least part time, someone I can trust. Until I am restored to health, I need someone who can make sense of the estates’ business for me. As far as I can tell George neglected everything. My father would be turning in his grave, he made improving the estates his life's work; and he employed honest hard-working agents to assist him, I’m not sure who I can trust of those George chose. So Julian do you want the job? I am sure we can come to an agreement over remuneration,” the earl had asked.

  “I would be honoured to take the position, my lord,” Julian had stated gratefully, and the salary they had agreed on had been rather more than he could hope for in a stipend from Cambridge.

  “Good, I need you to start immediately. I suppose I should not speak ill of the dead but my father would be grateful George’s tenure as earl was not longer. His extravagances have not yet caused losses of note to the income from the tenant farms or the home farms. His proclivities tended towards showy fillies with long legs, of both sorts. There is a large stud of racehorses eating their heads off that he raced, without much success. They need to be disposed of, for the best price you can manage, and three ladybirds are ensconced in houses owned by the estate in London, who need to be persuaded to move on,” the earl said wincing as he laughed.

  Luckily, George's foibles had not included placing huge bets upon his high-strung racers and although Chalcombe's cellars had been much depleted, he had had no interest in cards or other forms of gaming.

  ***

  Edward, entering the room, brought Julian back to the present. Julian knew better than to enquire whether he should be up, following his injury, and merely stood to pull a chair out for him to seat himself. Edward lowered himself carefully into the deeply upholstered armchair and steepled his fingers, looking closely at his childhood friend who awaited his instructions with attention.

  Observing his most efficient secretary and friend, Edward worried about losing his services if he got his fellowship. In Edward’s opinion he would be wasted lecturing at Cambridge. The slight, dapper young man, dressed immaculately in sober clothes, except for his rather high starched shirt points and an extravagantly arranged mathematical cravat, had a way of simplifying things for him. It would be a shame indeed for his friend to drift into the life of a Cambridge don, Edward felt. Nor did he think it would suit the handsome young man. Julian attempted unsuccessfully, to fade into the background and so the brown of his coat almost matched his light brown hair, which had been carefully brushed into a Brutus cut. His unassuming presence was offset by a pair of beautiful clear blue eyes and when amused, by a mischievous smile, which he now turned upon his wounded employer.

  "What have you learned about yesterday's events, Julian?"

  "Only what Jenkins has told me, you walked home from the environs of Black Friars, were attacked by three footpads, when a French émigré cook accompanied by a diamond of the first water killed one and drove the others off. I understand they brought you home and that the young lady much impressed Jenkins."

  "That is the story she told the Bow Street runner, regrettably to my embarrassment it's not the truth."

  Edward paused before going on, "The cook did indeed help with my rescue, but the lady herself spitted both the dead man and disarmed and sliced another, forcing the two survivors to flee."

  "Well, well, so did Jenkins exagge
rate? Was she really a diamond?"

  "No exaggeration. Her swordsmanship was top drawer too! Mam'selle has been trained by a master of the art. The name she gave was Mademoiselle Madelaine Deschamps, but I fear it might not be correct. She escaped without leaving her address and I believe that was as deliberate as her killing of the felon. Do you think you can find her?"

  Julian expressed his willingness to discover her place of abode and his confidence in its discovery.

  "When you do, I want to know everything about her and her family circumstances and I mean everything!"

  Edward then told Julian his suspicions about the motives of his attackers and they debated what actions he could discreetly take to prevent a second attempt succeeding. As a result of the discussion Edward had brief interviews with his butler Jenkins, his chief groom Hodgson, his temperamental London chef, Patrice, his London agent, and even his lawyer. Finally he asked Julian to locate a fellow named Griggs, a Londoner by birth; formerly a sergeant in the army who had taken it upon himself to nurse Edward through his injury and had returned to England with him. He had acquired some money after the battle of Salamanca and had opted to retire intending to go into business with his brother running a hackney cab stable in Whitechapel. If anyone had his ear to the ground in London, he would bet it would be Charlie Griggs!

  Chapter Three – Decouverte

  Louis Deschamps failed to notice the late arrival of his daughter, though she was never far from his thoughts as he struggled with the accounts of his salle. Trying to decide which of his creditors would wait a little longer and which must be paid at least in part, made his head ache. The room in which he was working in was small, like the rest of the rooms that made up the apartment above his salle and the few items of furniture were shabby and of poor quality. The apartment was, however, both neat and immaculately clean, as some attempt had been made to make it appear homely. He was aware his dinner was a little late appearing, but that was not too unusual as Henri, like himself was getting old and was not as quick at his work as he had once been. Meals had to be brought up from the kitchen in the basement in which Henri both lived and worked.

  The salle in Soho where he taught fencing to the young men of the town was not the most fashionable, since the Spanish style of swordsmanship was now in vogue. He had plenty of customers from the sons of affluent merchants wishing to cut a dash amongst their fellows, but the patronage of the ton and the higher fees he could then charge had passed him by.

  When Madelaine at last appeared for dinner, neither she nor Henri made mention of the reason for its delay. She ate her meal quietly, concerned about her father's abstracted air. Madelaine was well aware the bills were building up and was worried by her father's adamant refusal to even consider allowing her to pay some of the more pressing debts from her earnings as a seamstress. She was greatly concerned about his health. Her father seemed to tire so much more easily these days. Tall and slim with neatly tied back white hair, he still had that whipcord grace of an expert swordsman. Dressed completely in pristine black in the outmoded jacket and breeches considered the correct costume for a fencing master, the features of his face stood out as in relief Madelaine feared her father was becoming gaunt..

  Louis remained a very handsome man, despite the fine lines on his long-tanned face, but his dark green eyes still held a faint twinkle and his strong Roman nose lent distinction to his face. These days however, he appeared thinner than ever as if he was held together purely by sinew and steel determination. His bearing was naturally aristocratic, even though he unbent considerably to the youngest of his pupils, for his stern expression hid a gentle nature.

  It seemed so ironic that her mother had died first, being only twenty-six when she died following childbirth. The birth of Madelaine’s baby brother Emile should have been a time of great rejoicing for Louis and Madelaine. Instead, Emile had breathed only a few hours. Madelaine's beloved mother Julia had hung on fighting for life for a few days, but had followed Emile to the grave. Madelaine had been only eight; and although her father was already in his forties, it had been Madelaine who had looked after her beloved father in his inconsolable grief. There had been other women, of course, although Louis had been discreet, but none whom Louis had seriously considered marrying. The two of them had been alone together for a long time. Alone, except for Henri who had been with Louis since their early childhood.

  Madelaine had been grateful for Henri's offer of escort that evening, especially having stayed out longer than she had originally intended. The merchant's house they had visited to deliver Madelaine's exquisitely made day dresses for the three daughters of the family, aged between ten and six, had been on the other side of the river. The merchant's wife had been so satisfied with her workmanship that she had ordered further garments and the discussion of the details of each garment had taken them until dusk. Madelaine had taken a hackney there with Henri whilst encumbered by parcels, but they had economised by walking home. Henri had suggested a short cut, but by missing their turning they had instead come across the earl being attacked.

  Madelaine was gratified that she had managed to help rescue the earl, although it would displease her father if he discovered she had been walking rather than taking a hackney in that district of London. She realised there would be unpleasant gossip, if it became known she had been the earl's prime rescuer. It would not be considered the correct behaviour for a respectable young lady and her father would be mortified. Whilst she ate her dinner quietly in company with her father she considered her actions of that afternoon. She was relieved the earl had not denied her version of the attack and believed he would keep her secret. His look and raised eyebrow had reassured her, he would keep silence on her behalf. Despite his injury, his eyes had followed her every movement, and sought out her face. Madelaine did not doubt he was interested in her as a woman. She feared he would make it his business to find her out and regretted giving her name, for no good could come of his pursuit of her.

  The deliberate omission of her address might delay the pursuit but she thought the earl had a determined streak; and money could buy most information. She suppressed a sigh for despite the earl's battered condition, she had not been unaware that he was an extremely attractive man and she had been impressed by his uncomplaining acceptance of his injury. If her situation had been different, she could imagine furthering the acquaintance with pleasure. She smiled to herself considering the chagrin the earl must have experienced to be rescued by a woman, such a man would find that indeed irksome.

  Madelaine would have liked to enquire how the earl was recuperating, but dared not attract his attention further. With a lot of luck, maybe he would forget her. After all there were plenty of pretty girls in London. Many would welcome his advances, for he had been good looking even when feeling as unwell as he had been. Plenty of debutantes from his own strata of society for him to court and even more who would encourage his advances of the other kind. But amongst neither group was Madelaine. She had no intentions of marrying, or of inviting any man, no matter how wealthy or handsome, to her bed.

  It would have daunted Madelaine to know just how easily Julian had found it to locate her whereabouts in London. He acquired a list of fencing salles and set off to visit them to enquire whether a Madelaine Deschamps was known in the émigré community. The first had denied all knowledge of any Deschamps, but at the second, which he reached as the last of Senor Vargez's pupils was leaving, was far more fruitful. Had the Senor any knowledge of a father and daughter by the name of Deschamps, Julian enquired?

  Senor Vargez paused; he looked closely at Julian and obviously liked what he saw, before ushering him into his private office and pouring them both a measure of fine dark sherry.

  “I know a man who goes by that name, sir, who has the most exquisitely beautiful daughter, but I fear to tell you that you waste your time in trying to pursue that acquaintance!"

  "I am employed as secretary by the Earl of Chalcombe.” Julian informed the fencing master.


  "He was unfortunate yesterday to be set upon by footpads whilst walking through London, the young lady and her servant, one Henri Vallon came upon him as he was being attacked. Henri fought off the thieves and they assisted him home. My master would like to properly reward them for their timely assistance, but they failed to leave their direction. If you could give me any information about them, my master would be pleased to reward you."

  "No money is necessary, but Louis is a proud man and I doubt that either his daughter or Henri would accept a reward. I find it hard to believe that fat old Henri could drive off hardened footpads. Louis Deschamps has a small salle down Beak Street. It is not fashionable, although he is a brilliant swordsman taught in Paris by Messieurs Texier de la Boessiere, pere et fils. Louis was better in his day, I admit in confidence than I! He has lived in London for a little over two years, but I've known the man for over twenty."

  Senor Vargez sat back in his chair and considered the tawny liquid in the fine cut crystal glass he was holding.

  "Perhaps your lord's interest is not just in rewarding Henri? Perhaps he saw the Oh so beautiful Mademoisselle Deschamps? No? One of my pupils, a young buck, Lord ...., no names, I think. He saw the Mam'selle and he pursued her with flowers, fans, jewels. The presents were returned. He tried to persuade the young lady to accept his advances, catching her alone tidying the salle at the end of the afternoon one day.”

  “I fear he was over enthusiastic in his pursuit, for the lady kicked him where no man wishes to be kicked and then had a foil, button off cutting into his throat. She called the so faithful Henri who beat the unfortunate pupil out of the salle. I had this story from one of his friends when I remarked on his fortnight's absence from my salle. Your master should think twice before offering the young lady a carte blanche, both she and Louis would treat it as an insult."