The Vice Of Virtue (A Poor Man At The Gate Series Book 10)

by Andrew Wareham

"Yes, sir. I have been asked by Lord Grafham - the Marquis, that is - to provide an escort to his daughter who has been visiting relatives in Vienna. I am to meet her party in Prague. I am normally in the service of Viscount St Helens, son of the Marquis' sister, and was conveniently available to perform this duty."

  Hood thought it as well to drop nobly-born names, give an assurance of power.

  "You speak German very well, Captain Hood."

  "Wartime service, sir."

  "Of course. Please to continue your journey, sir, and I hope you travel quickly and comfortably."

  Hood tucked his documents away and wondered just what was happening that was so out of the ordinary, why there should be so many men pulled out of their barracks, so many policemen watching travellers.

  Local police were without exception poorly trained, badly uniformed and surly; many seemed to be auxiliaries and reminded him of English Militia. Typically only the officer in charge of the roadblock could read, and he generally had to be pulled out of the nearby inn. Hood suspected that he was treated better than the bulk of local travellers – he was merely delayed.

  He left Frankfurt and discovered that there had been a fire, a substantial conflagration, in the small town where he changed horses. He said nothing, merely noted the number of uniforms in the streets - there had been a riot at minimum. A dozen stores were gutted, not all of them next to each other - these had been separate blazes, presumably following looting.

  He exchanged smiles with the maids at his posting inn that night, rapidly and easily acquired company for his bed. Kind words and a couple of small coins brought his companion to talk as well, to tell him of all that had been happening.

  It was, it seemed, all the fault of the foreigners who were stirring up trouble for ordinary people.

  That was to be expected - it was always the foreigners to blame.

  He asked which particular set of aliens was the cause of this trouble.

  She did not actually know, would not be surprised if it was the Jews - they could never be trusted. Failing that, it might be the French, but she had heard that whoever it was they were burning towns down and killing women and children for some wicked purpose of their own.

  He nodded, said he had heard the same, left her clutching a Dutch gold guilder and full of gratitude to so open-handed a gentleman. No need to give away sovereigns and advertise that he was English.

  He made the best time he could to Prague and went searching for reliable information.

  He called first into a bank to change one hundred sovereigns for local gold. There was no need to do so - any large inn or hotel would take gold of any nationality, valuing the coins by their weight. A word to the cashier, a mention of Mostyn and Goldsmid, and he was led through to a back chamber and a more senior official to whom he presented his accreditation; senior men tended to be loyal and close-mouthed, juniors were commonly informers in the pay of police or competitors.

  "How can I assist, Captain Hood? Riots and revolutions? Unfortunately widespread in the south of the German states this year. Not in Prussia, one gathers - but that is an organised sort of place. Two separate sets of influences, I believe, sir. Old-fashioned hatred of the Jews has surfaced - all it needs is a couple of bad harvests and a few loans called in from farmers and small businessmen and the mob is up in arms. The churches are busy again, as well, for some reason. The other factor is that of German Nationalism - there is a feeling amongst many that there should be a country of Germany - and every Archduke and Elector and Prince believes that he would far rather remain in control of his own little state and wishes to hang any who disagree with him."

  Political rioting then, essentially domestic, except that 'foreigners' were being blamed. Always easy to target an outsider; understandable in its way, but awkward when one had to travel and escort a young female through a troubled land.

  "To return safely to England, Captain Hood? Go north - Berlin and then to Hamburg and take ship. Far longer but in all probabilities much safer."

  He spoke to English merchants as well, received the same advice - the roads were turbulent in the south, more sensible by far to go north.

  It might be wiser, but it would be much longer. He returned to the bank and begged that they might send a letter for him, using their own network. He handed the sheet across, unsealed, directed to the Marquis and informing him of the route he now proposed to take, warning of the certain delay and stating that he would make contact with British consuls or ambassadors as was possible on the journey.

  He waited two days in his inn, amusing himself quietly, unable to go out and see the sights for having to be immediately available to the travellers when they arrived. They should have found no problems on the roads of the Austrian empire, should be making good time.

  He met the younger Masters and exchanged bows unenthusiastically – they seemed in no way out of the ordinary. He arranged coach and horses for two days hence and entertained the pair for the evening – dinner and early bed, both being tired from travelling.

  At breakfast he discovered that Frederick proposed to stay a few days in Prague before returning to Vienna. The younger man wished to see the old city and it was convenient for him to be away while his relatives arranged a house for him in a suitable quarter, well separate from them and uncontaminated by their Jewishness.

  “It seems, Captain Hood, that my value lays in being an English milord, able to meet on equal terms with any good Austrian or German gentleman and to look down on every merchant, talking business only in passing. I am not sure I like such a concept – it seems to me to be a fraction underhand, but my great-uncle assures me not so – but it does enable me to change my existence. I had hoped to make a name as an artist, a painter, but reality has, sadly, supervened – I have the ambition, the colours, the canvas, all I lack is the talent!”

  There was little response to make to such devastating honesty. Hood took a mouthful of coffee, could say nothing the while.

  “So, Captain Hood, I shall stay in Prague for a while and admire the masters and the city itself and then set to work. Four or five years and I may earn a respectable sum and then there is talk of representing my relatives in Russia, where there is an iron industry to build, or perhaps taking their name to the wilds of America. There is much that one might do, sir, and I have decided that I prefer to be busy in my new life. If I cannot make a great name, then I shall put together a small fortune!”

  “I must applaud your resolve, sir.”

  Hood turned to Margaret, sat quietly over a substantial meal.

  “I was too tired to do justice to dinner last night, sir! I would wish, if it is not impossible, to return to England by way of Cassel.”

  He hardly knew of the city, dug into his memory.

  “West from Leipzig, some distance to the north of Frankfurt, I believe. Why, ma’am? Have you relatives there?”

  “The maestro, Herr Spohr, has his residence there, sir. Since the death of Herr Beethoven he must be regarded as the greatest German man of music – and that, one must accept, places him as the leading composer in the whole world. A few days in Cassel and it might be possible to hear him play; it must be the case that the music shops there would have copies of all of his scores, probably with piano transcriptions for many.”

  Hood vaguely remembered that the girl was renowned in the family as a pianist and could imagine that she would wish to make such a musical pilgrimage. This might well be the sole chance in her lifetime to do so; the question remained whether it was safe.

  “It is to the north, but not as far as I had intended to go, ma’am. There is some rather nasty unrest in the southern parts of the German states and it had been my intention to vary our route to travel by way of Berlin and then to a northerly port, probably Hamburg, for safety’s sake.”

  “I would very much wish to see, possibly meet, Herr Spohr, sir.”

  She did not cry, but Hood feared she might.

  “I will speak to my contacts in this city, ma’
am. If they can reassure me that the route is safe then we shall travel by way of Cassel.”

  It did not matter too much, and possibly might even be advantageous – there would probably be a choice of routes from Cassel.

  “I should be able to plan our way today, ma’am. The banks will tell me all of the latest news of trouble in the south. We should set off early tomorrow morning, perhaps?”

  She agreed – she had seen the sights of Vienna, in some depth, would be quite satisfied to take a cursory glance at Prague.

  The bank suggested that the way to Leipzig was wholly safe and said they had heard of little trouble directly to the west. They thought that the week from Cassel to Hamburg should be perfectly secure.

  “The posting-inns are all clean and wholesome, I presume, sir?”

  “Within reason, certainly so, Captain Hood.”

  He wondered just how reassuring a statement that was, decided to accept it at face value, for the while.

  There were no new reports of actual violence within fifty miles of Cassel, and the highways were known to be heavily policed. They set out on the Leipzig road next morning.

  Four horses and a light carriage, the equivalent of the English post-chaise, a second behind for her baggage, her maid sat at her side in chaperonage, Hood uncomfortably in the front seat, and they were off, expecting to make at least four stages of fifteen or so miles every day.

  Three uneventful days and overnight in Leipzig, delayed a little setting out while Captain Hood sought the latest information.

  “Nothing out of the ordinary, ma’am, but the bank tells me that there are reports of minor unrest – meetings and processions and that sort of thing and so the reserves have been called out.”

  He explained that these were mostly men who had served as police officers or in the equivalent of the Militia and had returned to civilian life and were liable to be unwilling and poorly disciplined.

  “If we are stopped at roadblocks then it would be better if you were to remain inside the carriage, ma’am. Out of sight. I doubt there will be any need to worry, but it might be as well if you were to carry a small pistol with you.”

  He produced the lady’s gun he had brought with him.

  “Have you ever fired a pistol, ma’am?”

  “At Thingdon Hall, when I was younger, sir. I know what to do. I have reloaded as well.”

  “Very good! This piece is unloaded at present – do you wish to do it yourself?”

  He watched as she poured in powder and followed it with a well-rammed wad then a ball; she slipped the percussion cap into place and made the pistol safe, carefully lowering the hammer.

  “Should I place it in my reticule, sir?”

  “A pocket would be better. One may drop a purse.”

  Her maid watched open-eyed, obviously terrified of the weapon, drawing back from it.

  “Better safe than sorry, you know.”

  The abigail was not convinced.

  They made their four or five changes each day, had only two stages, little more than twenty miles, left to cover on the third day of travel when they came to a small checkpoint on the road.

  The carriage slowed and Hood looked out.

  There was a pair of tents; one smaller, for an officer he supposed, the other big enough only for four or at most six men. They were set up by a bridge across a small river, a sensible location as it would be impractical to swing off the road and bypass them. Two men were stood on duty; neither had shaved that day and their uniforms were sloppy, buttons undone, coats wide open and showing food stains.

  He undid his own greatcoat, worn against the dust of travel but usefully concealing his own side-arms and stepped down from the coach.

  “Papers?”

  He produced his documents, left-handed.

  “I am English, escorting a member of my lord’s family home from Vienna and Prague.”

  “Who? Tell him to get out as well.”

  The others at the post came wandering across; two more private soldiers from their seats by a fire, a sergeant from the tent.

  “Foreigners, sergeant.”

  The sergeant glanced at the papers, could not read the English.

  “Where are the others?”

  “In the coach, sergeant.”

  “Tell them to show themselves.”

  Margaret and her maid had been listening, stepped down without further order.

  The sergeant looked at the young women and licked his lips.

  “Foreign spies! Troublemakers. Arrest him!”

  The two armed men pointed their muskets at Captain Hood as the sergeant made a grab at Margaret. The off duty men jumped at the maid, one of them holding her arms while the other tore the front of her dress open.

  Margaret screamed as the sergeant’s hand groped inside her bodice and all four looked across, laughing.

  Hood pulled out the double-barrelled pistols and opened fire, the two armed men first at a yard’s range. They fell, dropping their muskets at the sergeant’s feet; he snatched at one as Hood killed his other two men as they tried to run to the tent where their own guns lay.

  The sergeant cocked his musket and Margaret produced her own pocket pistol, pushed it into his back and pulled the trigger. He dropped and Hood took out one of his own short-barrels and put it to his head, finishing the job.

  “Well done, ma’am! And thank you – I was dead otherwise. I am sorry; I did not think their discipline was so very bad as to do that. I should perhaps have known better!”

  “We have both learnt, Captain Hood. I thought I would die rather than use the pistol you gave me – I know better as well. It is strange, but I feel no revulsion, no horror at taking a man’s life.”

  “That sort of man is better dead, ma’am! You should feel no scruple at all. We should leave here as soon as may be. Is your girl well enough to continue on our way?”

  The maid was sat, wailing into her hands, her chest fully exposed.

  “Do cover yourself, Dorcas! Captain Hood has better things to look at! Get into your other dress, quickly!”

  The girl fled into the second coach.

  Hood turned to the drivers, still sat on their benches, neither having moved or intervened on either side.

  “Poor excuses for men! I suppose they dare not take a risk for fear of the consequences – that would not happen in England!”

  Hood turned back to the coach, pulled out his little travelling case and took out the equivalent of twenty English sovereigns each in gold. He had been informed that the drivers were single, and were given only their meals and bed spaces, relied on the generosity of their passengers for a money income. Most, typically, would see less than five sovereigns’ worth of tips in a year.

  “You saw nothing! We came here, showed our papers and passed through. Understood?”

  They nodded and pocketed the cash. If they were discovered in possession of gold coins they would almost certainly be hanged, the money proving their complicity in some crime as far as the authorities were concerned, but the amount was too great to be refused.

  The teams were whipped up and they made fast pace for half of the next stage, slowing down for the last part so that the horses would not show up as lathered.

  “Should we stay in Cassel, Captain Hood? Would it not be safer to go away as quickly as possible?”

  “No, ma’am. Better we should have nothing to run from. Three or four days at least taking our ease would be best.”

  “I am sure you know more about these things than I do, sir.”

  Hood left them in their inn that afternoon, made enquiries in the town, discovered that Spohr would not be playing publicly during the next week, but that there was a music shop, as she had expected. He did not have the entrée to the Prince-Elector’s court, was not able to arrange a meeting with the maestro.

  “Let us make do with all we have, sir.”

  “I could perhaps give your name at court, beg that you might be received, but it is not the normal thing for unac
companied young ladies… it might be misunderstood.”

  “I think I prefer to be governed by the rules of convention, Captain Hood. By the way, if you will excuse my curiosity, do all naval officers habitually carry pistols in such profusion as you displayed, sir?”

  “No, ma’am. It is known, but not mentioned, in the family that I served in the Intelligence office of the Admiralty during the latter part of my career. It is quite normal for those few of us to be rather heavily armed.”

  It explained much to her – she had wondered why such a quiet, inoffensive-seeming little fellow had been able to take such effective action.

  “The wolf in sheep’s clothing, sir?”

  “It is better to seem less and do more, rather than the opposite, ma’am. I have no great need to present myself as a paragon of manliness, or, indeed, to present myself at all!”

  She was used to the strutting, preening young gentlemen of the fashionable world, not one of whom would dream of belittling himself; the captain’s attitude was refreshing.

  They dined in a private parlour, sat at table together for most of the evening, quietly chatting. She managed to draw him out, to talk of some of his experiences in the New World and his occasional ventures onto the shores of northern Europe.

  “I did not enter France, ma’am, and consequently can roam freely there now. I believe my name was not discovered in the Germanies either, but I shall never venture into the Americas again!”

  She talked a little of her musical ambitions, of her grief that they should have come to nothing, of her fear that she would drift into a marriage of tedium.

  “Living the life of a fine lady, sir, with every luxury at my fingertips, as befits the daughter of Grafham – and here I am, whining like a spoilt child that I cannot have my life’s ambition. If I lived in a tied farmworker’s cottage then I might have grounds for complaint!”

  He nodded; how could he disagree?

  “What of you, Captain Hood? What do you do next?”

  “To a great extent, whatever I wish, ma’am…”

  “Less of the ma’am, Captain – we have, after all, saved each other from death… and more.”