The Fencing Master's Daughter

by Giselle Marks

  Henri's grumbling about walking home in the wintry weather only rubbed salt into the wound, for to agree with him would leave her open to him advising her to accept Edward's proposal. Which, she knew she could never do, not even to please her father. Madelaine had warmed to Edward's presence and good-humoured persistence, acknowledging to herself that marrying Edward would ease her concerns for Louis' constitution, as he had lost weight over his money worries. However she knew she could never accept.

  Even the knowledge Louis’ health would benefit from spending fewer hours on his feet teaching the art of swordsmanship, would not change her mind. She did not doubt Edward Charrington would be a generous and kind husband, but it would be to some other woman. A pang of jealousy struck her thinking of that other woman at his side, another woman bearing his children. She imagined the children she could have borne for Edward with some sadness; they would be handsome and healthy she believed. Madelaine tried to put the idea of Edward’s future children from her mind because her longing to have children had to be ignored. That joy was one that Madelaine could never permit herself to hope for.

  At least one of her worries had lessened, Sir Robert had gone out of town for at least two weeks, so she need not fear a chance encounter with him. The girls at Claudette's were looking forward to Christmas and a few days off work. They were anticipating with eagerness attending a special seasonal tableaux followed by fireworks at Vauxhall at the end of the next week. A visiting troupe of acrobats and performers had hired the gardens for the week. Most of the girls were making up a party together with their beaux to attend. If Edward had been in town, Madelaine might have been tempted to consent to his escort if he had invited her. Madelaine, listening to Nicola's gushing giggles whilst the girls were planning their excursion, found she was jealous of their good humour.

  ***

  Edward's party kicked their heels through the next morning waiting for the local smith to repair the carriage. The doctor visited Fulton again and declared him to be doing well, but stated he would need at least a week's rest before risking the final fifty miles to Chalcombe Manor. So when the repair had been completed, the baggage re-packed in the boot and the horses considerably fresher for the rest, were re-harnessed; it was a somewhat reduced party setting out. Julian stayed behind with a purse from Edward to keep an eye on Fulton, intending to ride the distance to Chalcombe St Mary the following day when Fulton's oldest son, who worked in the stables at Chalcombe Manor, could take his place.

  Clarke was now seated in the carriage with the loaded musket across his knees next to Plovett opposite Edward. Timothy Griggs had elected to drive the coach taking turns with Clarke. Clarke's horse had been left behind for Julian to ride. Brown rode ahead on the lookout for further trouble. The weather was kinder to them, the sun was bright and although the air was still chilly the wind had dropped leaving only a gentle breeze. The road was still boggy with churned up mud, what snow had settled the day before had melted, leaving small streams of dirty water filling in the ruts and pot holes in the road’s surface. They made reasonable time, changing the horses at dusk, whilst they took a brief dinner in a warm alehouse some fifteen miles from their destination.

  It started to rain steadily as they set off again but it remained warm compared with the previous day. A letter had been sent before setting out from London informing the staff of their arrival and they would be looked for. Chalcombe Manor was built upon one of a gentle series of small hills, the other hills being part of the grounds landscaped in woods and arbours together with its own lake, grotto and Doric style folly. In daylight the manor had spectacular views of the countryside for miles around and the gate house lanterns came into sight a couple of miles down the road, although a proper view of the house was blocked by the tall trees at the edge of the park.

  Twilight had fallen and the temperature was dropping once more as the ground under the horses’ feet sounded crusty as the water within the mud started to freeze. The rain eased off and an occasional flake of snow settled on the ground and hedgerows. The horses’ breath steamed out in ghostly plumes as they tiredly pulled for home up the slight incline of the hill to Chalcombe Manor.

  The road meandered so they lost sight of the gate house lights and the sudden darkness was a strain to the eyes. A gentle thud was heard ahead then the horses were dragged to a shaky halt. Timothy had spotted a tree fallen blocking the road. Timothy noticed Brown's horse without its rider, stirrups banging lose racing away from the other side of the tree. Brown lay face down in the road beside the fallen tree. Timothy called back into the carriage and Edward and Clarke climbed down to check on Brown. As they neared the fallen man, shapes emerged from the scrubland beside the road.

  Edward reacted before the others and discharged the first of his pistols into the nearest ruffian, who fell to the ground with a short scream. Clarke, who was now aware of the danger, stepped back to protect the earl and discharged his musket. A huge bang behind them indicated Timothy now having got the horses under control had set off his blunderbuss, which from the screams coming from that direction had been well aimed. Two more men from behind them were running yelling towards them. Timothy leapt from the box and used the blunderbuss to ferociously clout the first of the two men around the head knocking him into the sticky mud of the road.

  Timothy was yelling a strange wordless howling, to the counterpoint of some raw English invective coming from the men he was occupied in thrashing. Edward had discharged both his pistols and discarded them drawing his foil, with which he neatly skewered the next man to come at him. A number of men came running down the road yelling, carrying pitchforks and shovels, wearing the livery of Chalcombe Manor's stables. They had heard the sound of gunfire from the house and as the earl was overdue had promptly set off to assist. Some of the ruffians who had hung back ran off over the hedge and were soon heard racing away across fields on horseback. Five injured assailants lay bleeding in the road together with Brown who had been briefly knocked unconscious by his fall.

  Another two of the felons escaped the rope by expiring on the spot. The one who had taken the full blast of the blunderbuss was a grisly sight and Edward doubted even his wife, if he had one, would find it easy to identify him. The other corpse who had taken his pistol ball neatly between his eyes lay on his back with a distinct expression of surprise on his face. Edward recognised none of the men, who from the accents of the survivors were not even from the same county.

  More of Edward's staff appeared clutching an ill-assortment of weaponry, his footmen, cooks and gardeners, trotted up followed by a flutter of maids who wanted to see what had happened. One silly girl promptly added to the drama by swooning at the sight of Timothy's victim. Timothy swiftly covered the body with a carriage rug before any more of the maids followed her lead. Edward automatically reloaded his pistols and re-sheathed his foil. Then he set the house servants to guarding and tying up the injured men under the supervision of Peterson, his under-butler and the gardeners and grooms to removing the tree from the road.

  Clarke was sent down the road to retrieve Brown's horse which had galloped past the gate to the Manor. Clarke returned shortly leading the uninjured but lathered horse as the tree was dragged free from the road by the cheering gang of workers. Plovett had stayed hidden in the coach throughout the battle. Brown, who was only bruised and a little dizzy was helped into the seat next to Plovett in the coach and joined by Edward. He had directed young Fulton to fetch the doctor.

  The carriage finally headed off towards the Manor, followed by the rest of his employees. Under Peterson's direction, footmen, gardeners and stablemen armed with guns, pitchforks, shovels, carving knives and at least one poker walked behind the injured trussed up ruffians prodding and jeering at their reluctant prisoners unsympathetically as they shuffled along.

  The curious maids joined the parade indignantly complaining of the mud they only now realised bespattered their skirts and shoes. The two corpses had been left at the side of the road covered by a c
arriage rug and would be fetched once the party reached the Manor. Edward breathed a sigh of relief. They had been lucky that only Brown had been injured, considering he estimated there to have been more than ten in the group. His enemy must be getting more desperate to kill him to have to hire so large a group.

  They had taken two muskets, several knives and bludgeoning instruments together with a couple of cutlasses from the dead and injured men. Both of the muskets were damp, which probably explained why they had not been fired. No soldiers, these men, they had not covered their muskets and kept their powder dry.

  Edward arrived home, to be greeted only by Mrs. Moss, the housekeeper, and a couple of the maids, who had more sense than to join the exodus. As the rest of the staff straggled back to the house with their prisoners, Edward washed and changed for a late supper.

  Chalcombe Manor was a three storied building of honey coloured stone in the Palladian style, with steps sweeping from the left and right, ascending to the doors which opened into a majestic marbled entrance hall. The frontal facade was flanked by two similar wings and no additions to the original design were visible from that elevation. To the rear an Indo-Chinese style conservatory had been added by Edward's brother, George, shortly before his death, in homage to the Prince of Wales's Pavilion at Brighton, but as the room was comfortable and its colour scheme considerably more muted than the Brighton edifice, it caused little offence and was now used in summer to take breakfast and afternoon tea.

  The public rooms were on the ground floor with bedrooms, parlours and guest rooms on the first floor. The second floor contained the nursery, schoolroom, some smaller bedrooms intended for children and their attendants, all of which were currently empty and under holland covers and servant’s quarters. The attics contained only store rooms and a few pipistrelle bats which were cosily hibernating; and, besides making a mess in the attic, were generally little trouble. The basement contained kitchens, sculleries, laundry, food stores and cellars. The basement ran only underneath the main frontage and was entered through doors towards each end.

  On returning downstairs Edward was informed by an awaiting Peterson that the doctor had arrived and was tending the prisoners who had been locked in an empty building beside the stables. The building was sometimes used when one of their mares foaled but was at present laid with clean straw. The five prisoners under the close guard of several grooms now armed with muskets taken from the armoury with Peterson's permission, including young Fulton. Lamps had been brought, for the doctor to work by, as he extracted Edward's second pistol ball from the shoulder of a dark-haired fellow who was being roughly held down by two grooms and screaming loudly. Edward arrived as he was delving into his body to retrieve the ball.

  Dr Ashton chattily addressed Edward as he continued to prod the screaming man, "The ball has apparently gone deep and chipped the bone. I've had to extract a few of the splinters but it is giving me quite a time of it to remove, my lord. I've already seen to Brown who will be absolutely fine after a couple of days quiet in bed. Ah, there it is!" he declared cheerfully holding up the ball in his forceps.

  “One of yours was it?" to which Edward replied with a nod. "Fine shooting, saw the other fellow on the way in, got him clean between his eyes, no nonsense there!"

  The bodies of the other two felons had been placed in the root store until the magistrate had seen them, but Edward saw no reason to disturb him until morning and had merely sent a message asking him to visit Chalcombe Manor as soon as was convenient after breakfast on the following morning and bring with him transport for five prisoners, who had tried to kill the Earl of Chalcombe.

  The ruffian who had been skewered by Edward's foil had been stitched and his arm bandaged and held tightly in a sling. The largest of the group, a slightly slow-witted, grossly fat buffoon had been injured by Clarke's musket ball, but it had hit him in the side, well below his ribs, and had managed to pass out his rump without hitting anything important.

  He was kneeling on the floor as he could not bear to sit on his damaged posterior. He had been patched up and beside a couple of holes where the ball had passed through, had some nasty bruising and swelling about his head and face where Clarke had clubbed him with the other end of his musket when he did not stay down after being shot. All of the ruffians looked battered and bruised, for the servants had been far from gentle in conveying them to the outhouse.

  “This is really a considerable waste of my time, my lord,” Dr Ashton declared as he removed some scattered shot that had peppered from the blunderbuss into a thin straggly-haired man. “As they will soon be dangling from the gallows,” he said while concentrating on removing each little pellet.

  “They are considered innocent until tried, Doctor,” Edward said with some amusement.

  “It was a cowardly attack, my lord.” The man groaned in pain and begged for mercy.

  “Be quiet, you should have thought of the consequences before you attacked a good and honourable man. I won’t waste laudanum on the likes of you.”

  “Too many of our soldiers are operated on without it, I fear doctor.” Edward said feeling sorry for the man but understanding the doctor’s anger. Dr Ashton had brought Edward into the world and was as fiercely loyal to the earl, as were all his staff.

  “They deserve everything they are suffering,” the doctor said emphatically whilst he delved and poked inside the man's chest and shoulder for yet another pellet. Finally the doctor was satisfied that he had located all the pellets and bandaged the groaning man.

  The final patient was propped up against the wall, his head was bandaged heavily.

  “That man’s skull has been fractured. He will either get better or he will die from his injuries, I have done what I can, but I will not hazard a guess as to whether he will survive. If he is still alive in the morning, then he will probably live long enough to hang,” was the doctor's morbid opinion. Edward remembered Fulton senior’s plight and turned to his son.

  “Fulton, I’m sorry, I meant to tell you that your father is at the Boar’s Head in Cobblemere, with a broken collar bone. Mr Creighton stayed to look after him. The doctor said he would need to stay in bed for a week. I am sure you would prefer to be with him while he is unwell. Ask Peterson for sufficient funds tomorrow morning. Don’t worry, you will both be paid as usual and your father will receive a bonus for his suffering. Take the gig and relieve Mr Creighton of his nursing duties, make sure your father rests until he feels up to being brought home,” Edward said apologetically to his groom.

  “Thank you for making sure he was taken care of, my lord,” Fulton junior declared reassured to know the reason for his father’s absence.

  “If you are finished dealing with our captives, perhaps you would like to join me for a quiet supper and might stay for the night?” Edward offered the doctor.

  “Thank you, that’s very kind of you, my lord. I’d appreciate not having to drive home in the dark,” the doctor stated, having finished acting as reluctant ministering angel to the bedraggled gang. They headed back to the house together.

  Chapter Ten – Découvrir

  Sir Henry Johnson arrived with his clerk and a closed wagon as Edward finished the coffee with which he was completing his breakfast. The day bloomed fair and crisp as the two gentlemen, accompanied by the clerk, went out to the outhouse to examine the miscreants. The felon with a broken skull had survived the night and although looking ashen was slowly consuming the oatmeal porridge that Edward’s stablemen had supplied for them after consuming their own breakfast. The room stank of unwashed human bodies and excrement, but at least buckets had been set up in one corner. There was no fight left in the men, who made a despondent group. Muddy and tattered, bruised and bandaged; they stood raggedly as the earl and magistrate entered the room. The prisoners stood with their heads bowed; they knew what to expect as their fate.

  The interrogation did not take long, the clerk efficiently taking notes throughout. The men claimed they could find no work and had been promise
d ten guineas and a horse each for killing the earl. They had come across the county border two days earlier from the village of Hambury and had slept in the hedgerows waiting for the earl's carriage. Their leader had been the man who had been killed by the blunderbuss, whom they identified as one Dick Platt. Most of them had been carted from their home town by a carrier and dumped with a few meagre supplies a couple of miles from the Manor. They had never met the man who offered the money and had seen none of it.

  However, one of them said Dick had said they were being employed by a "Nob" to kill another Nob, he had apparently thought it funny! The ones who had escaped had ridden their own horses and their erstwhile comrades were bitter about their desertion.

  One horse had been found remaining behind the hedgerow and was brought to the stables. The roan mare had previously belonged to the late Mr. Platt, who was no longer requiring its use. Her saddle bags were found to contain little but some stale bread and cheese and a small hand-drawn map of Chalcombe Manor and its environs. The map was drawn on poor quality paper, with muddy ink, in an elegant hand. Dick's pockets held a small leather bag with twenty shiny guineas, six shillings, five pennies and a farthing. The only other item he owned was a very dirty handkerchief, not much to show for a life. The other corpse was found to have only three shillings and two pennies tied in a small scrap of rag upon him.

  There being no further information to be had from them, the prisoners were loaded up into the closed wagon which Sir George had brought with him to convey them to the local jail. They loaded the corpses on to the roof, but they would be buried at the expense of the parish. Sir George took Edward, Timothy, Clarke and Plovett's statements which his clerk inscribed. They had agreed the evidence was far too overwhelming, to necessitate disturbing the recovering Brown. Before Sir George left with the prisoners, Edward took him to one side and quietly asked whether the men could be offered their lives, if they enlisted in the army. That way they had a chance of survival. The guiltiest culprit of their number had already made his way to hell and the others were merely stupid greedy dupes. The man he really wanted dead was not among these poor shabby dupes, but whoever had ordered the attack and provided the guineas in Platt’s pocket.