She must accept Anstruther's word for the reality of existence in the country - she had no better source of advice, and Mr Williams had said much the same.
Existence in England seemed far less sweet to her of a sudden.
Book Two: The Making
of a Man Series
Chapter Seven
"Message for you, Major. Come off the stage. Letter, I suppose I better call it."
Dick thanked the desk clerk, waited hopefully for him to hand it over.
"Oh, yup! Here it is - knew I'd put it some place, Major!"
Dick stepped back to open the brown manilla envelope - very official looking but at least it did not have the Embassy crest on it.
'Dutch Bob is informed that the English gentlemen have left Buffalo. Using the names of Lord Francis Tarleton and Mr St John Fellowes. Both seem to be their own! Contact was made with the Knights of the Golden Circle. Each was presented with a pair of Remington revolvers and boxes of shells. They carry as well small Derringer pistols, two apiece. A wagon has been despatched from St Louis carrying explosive materials and consigned to them in Kansas City. This wagon is to be intercepted well outside of any town by arrangement with the Provosts; there will be no mention of the arrest in any newspaper.'
A pity there were no dates, but one could not have everything; the stage always drew up outside the Parsons Place so it would be easy to watch for them. The detail suggested that the Embassy had a man active and senior in the Knights themselves rather than observing from a distance. It could be assumed that the information was good. There was contact with the Federal authorities as well, which might be useful.
An early confrontation might be desirable; they could choose to ride out on discovering the failure of the wagon to arrive on its unknown day. In any event, they would enquire of the location of the Union generals and soon be informed that none were in town or expected.
The weather was within reason dry and the stage could be expected to run to time. It would be simple enough to be on the sidewalk outside the hotel, talking idly with one of the loungers always to be found there, at the right moment. After that - a grievance could be easily manufactured - a casually disparaging comment about Britishers could serve to create a general laugh which could be built into fighting talk in a few moments. Better in any case in the street than in a room in the hotel; witnesses would be desirable to scotch any talk of assassination.
Two days later the end of the afternoon saw the stage and a pair of obvious English gentlemen descending to honour the locality with their presence. They rapidly drew unfavourable attention to themselves.
"I say! Parsons!"
Every head turned, incredulous and very willing to be entertained - it was a slow time, too early to drink seriously and too late to work, and amusement was hard to come by. Dick moved towards the stagecoach, at the front of the group of loungers.
The driver slowly peered round and shifted a quid of chewing tobacco, spitting juice into the dust nearby. The English gentlemen grimaced fastidiously.
"You gents want you bags, you better take hold to 'em. I ain't keeping the hosses out of their stable no longer than I got to."
"But there is no jolly porters!"
"That's right. Ain't no jolly old chap goin' to do you work for you, mister. You want you bags, you fetch 'em. Quick!"
The guard took pity on them, put down his shotgun and lifted out four leather valises apiece and dropped them in the dirt at their feet. He nodded to the driver who slapped his reins and took off in an unnecessary cloud of dust, to the applause of the onlookers, all of whom had been ready for it, heads turned, hands to mouths.
The larger of the men, and the more obviously confident, looked round angrily. He did not like being the butt of laughter, especially that of ill-dressed peasants, not one of whom wore a necktie even! He caught Dick’s eye, stood at the front.
"Where is that stable? I have more than half a mind to teach him a lesson!"
"Are you addressing me, sir?" Dick enquired in a carefully mild tone and precise English accent.
"No. Though I suppose you are the boots from the hotel, by the looks of you.” Dick was wearing an open-necked check shirt which showed no signs of the flat-iron; he was obviously no better than a labourer to gentlemanly eyes. “My bags, get them inside!"
"I beg your pardon, sir?"
Dick took pains to be almost cringingly polite, to encourage the bully he could see in the gentleman.
"My valises, man - can you not see them? Get them inside and get a move on!"
That should be sufficient to make a start to the afternoon’s proceedings. Dick squared his shoulders, crisped his voice.
"I would recommend you to mind your mouth, sir - we have a short way with the ill-mannered and underbred in these parts. I have not introduced myself, sir. My name is Richard Burke. Like you I am an Englishman."
"My name is Fellowes. My companion is Lord Francis Tarleton." A gentleman was bound to respond to an introduction and Dick felt some need to ensure he had the right men.
"Not a name loved in America, sir, Tarleton - but I am sure you are no relation. After eighty years, of course, there can be no reflection upon you in any case."
The smaller Englishman bridled and then sneered.
"My great-grandfather, Banastre Tarleton, achieved fame fighting for his king, I believe."
"Most would rather refer to infamy, sir - the man was a vicious butcher, rapist and casual murderer. A bullying thug of the worst sort."
The insult to the family name achieved its desired end.
"That is a lie, Burke!"
The onlookers scattered instantly, removing themselves from pistol shot; men began to run towards the excitement, one of them shouting into the sheriff's office as he passed.
"You are new here, Tarleton, and may not realise what you have just said. You have given me the lie, sir. You may withdraw the word, immediately, or draw the pistol I see at your waist. Now, sir!"
"But you cannot..."
"You have called me a liar, Tarleton. Apologise or fight. Now."
Tarleton was horrified, looked round for help; he was not here to get involved in casual street brawls. He saw the sheriff, called to him.
"You, there, with the star on your shirt! This man is threatening me."
The sheriff, an older man who liked a quiet life but was alert to the feeling of his little town, knew there was something wrong. This smacked of a deliberately created confrontation. If Major Burke, who had come back from Washington, wanted to fight these men, then probably he had a reason; he might well know something about them. Nothing for a sheriff to poke his nose into.
"They tell me you called him a liar, mister. You got a gun; so's he. None of my business. But if that man besides you draws that Remington he's got his hand on then I reckon it will be my affair – we go one on one hereabouts, mister. You been called, mister. You use that gun or drop it and start walkin', because we ain't got no use here for a man who got no balls, mister."
They were too close to miss; both would probably die if it came to shooting.
The sheriff recognised that and was none too concerned; he did not much care what happened to a pair of unpleasant Englishman and he had small liking for gunmen on his streets. A quick exchange of fire and his life would become much more peaceful.
"There are people in range - I can see women and children by the store there!"
"Then step out onto the road, mister."
Dick made a show of turning his back and walking out into the middle of the main street; he took the opportunity to pull back a few paces.
Tarleton looked around for support; every face was stony. There was no place here for a perceived coward.
"I warn you, Burke, I am no stranger to the pistol!"
There was laughter among the watching men, all of whom knew Dick. It served as a final provocation.
Tarleton pulled off his coat, passed it to Fellowes who draped it over his arm very casually, trying the
hide the Derringer he was easing out of his pocket. An anonymous voice from behind him advised him to put it back where it had come from, if he wanted to live, that was.
"We don't like hide-out guns, mister."
Tarleton decided to make the best of the situation, strode boldly out and stood four-square opposite to Dick.
"Well, Burke, what now?"
"Apologise or pull out a gun, Tarleton. Do neither and I will shoot you down like the dog you are!"
Tarleton grabbed clumsily at the revolver holstered on his right, hauled it out and triggered an immediate shot, well off line and low, throwing up a fountain of dirt. Dick shot him twice before he could recock the pistol, the second shot unintentionally high but ripping through his throat. He had stood the man’s first shot – no jury could have anything to say to him.
Dick shrugged, job part done. He turned to Fellowes, asked him if he had anything to say or do.
"You have killed him!"
"Yep."
"Lord Francis is an important man, the son of the Marquis of..."
Dick interrupted him brusquely.
"He is dead; he was a fool. He had every opportunity to apologise for his mistake. His choice. And, Mr Fellowes, corpses ain't very important - they're just dead."
The sheriff had gone out to the body and had made an inventory of its pockets, coming up with four hundred dollars as well as an assortment of personal possessions and two pocket pistols.
"He can pay for a burial anyhow. You men got too many hideout guns for me, mister. Best thing you can do is buy yourself a riding horse and a pair of pack mules and get out of this town. Now."
"I shall go to the Embassy in Washington and register the most formal of complaints, sir."
"You can go just where you want to mister. But you got an hour to get out of here or I'm comin' after you as well."
"What about him? That killer over there."
"Major Burke is a respected citizen, sir. You ain't. Besides which, he done nothin’ wrong."
"We will see about that, sir! The Marquis will not stand for this; he will send men to deal with him, see if he doesn't!"
There was a mutter from the crowd - they did not like men who paid for killings.
"Better shut you mouth, mister, and get out whiles you can."
"Don't tell me to shut my mouth, you bloody peasant!"
Dick intervened - the job was only half done
"I'll tell you to shut your mouth, Fellowes! And if the Marquis sends men after me then I shall go back to England and shut his mouth for good and all. You can tell him that from me!"
"You would not dare!"
"You sound as stupid as your dear little friend, Fellowes. One of your chums from school, was he? We Englishmen know all about those friendships, do we not? Is that why you are so angry?"
Fellowes could not understand the reason for the gratuitous insult, the implication of unmanliness, and did not stop to think.
"You disgusting bastard, Burke!"
He flung down the coat he was still holding and disclosed the little Derringer, firing at a range of more than three yards. He made no allowance for the kick of a forty-five calibre short barrelled gun, put a trivial flesh wound, no more than a burn scar, across Dick's shoulder.
Dick and the sheriff fired together, both very much at home with their own pistols.
They peered down at the bloody corpse, shaking their heads disapprovingly; the man had behaved dishonourably.
"What's that you're carrying, Sheriff?"
"Smith and Wesson, forty-four, brass cartridges, Major. Damn sight quicker on the reload and packs a punch."
They peered at the three large holes in Fellowe's belly, comparing them with the pair of smaller wounds in his chest from the thirty-six Colt.
"Time to change the old Navy in, I reckon, sir. Good piece in its way, but too old for modern times."
Dick made his way inside the hotel, asked for a whiskey; he dipped his bandanna in the spirits and wiped down the wound on his shoulder. He drank the rest of the glass.
The sheriff came in.
"Damned Englishmen, Major - nothing but trouble, sir!"
They laughed together, but Dick accepted the implied warning.
"So they tell me, Sheriff. I think I shall make my way back to Washington, sir. Better not to hang about here, I think."
"So it is, Major. Will you tell the folks in Washington you're available for another job right now, sir? Did either of them two gents get round to sayin' what they was doin' hereabouts, sir? Came down from Canada, did they?"
There were known to be Confederate agents working out of neutral Canada, frequently crossing the long and open border and making minor attacks in the North.
"I believe they had travelled by that route, but I cannot guess what was in their minds, Sheriff."
"Neither can I, Major Burke. Can’t tell why they might be here. Be glad when this damn war is over, sir."
"Me too, sir. There's parts of this war a man might not like at all, sir. But duty is to be done, nasty or not."
"You'll get no argument from me on that, Major. There's money enough to bury the pair of them and to pay for their bags to go back to where they come from. Who do I send things to, Major Burke?"
"British Embassy in Washington, if you would be so good, sir. They would be glad to take care of them for you.”
“I expect they might, Major. Did I ought maybe to send them to our folk instead? To the War Department, or whatever, in Washington? Might be I should take advice from the Governor?”
Dick called for another drink and one for the sheriff, chose his words carefully.
“You could, sheriff, and some men would say you should. But I don’t want to see any trouble caused between my country and America. You might say both of my countries, thinking on it, because I got no idea where I shall end up living, when this is all over – there’s much to be said for each. If the whole business goes to the British Embassy, then it will all blow over quietly. I promise you, my word of honour, that the Union will gain as well. If it gets into the hands of the men in Washington, and they find out what these men had it in mind to do, then there could be bad feeling made against England. Not what Mr Lincoln needs just at the moment, I reckon. The way the war’s going he needs all the friends he can get.”
“You been sent from London, Major? Not Washington?”
“In a way, sheriff. The government there wants no part in this war, and will allow no Englishman to attack the North especially.”
“When are you leavin’, Major?”
“On the stage in the morning.”
“The bags go with you.”
“My thanks, sir. You have my word that what I am doing is for the best for the Union, and will do the Rebels no little harm.”
“And what will it do for England, Major?”
“It is one in the eye for the lords who think they can bully their way across the whole of the world, sir. Their day is coming to an end, and this brings that finish a little bit closer.”
The bitterness in Dick’s voice rang true and the sheriff accepted his words – the young man had fallen foul of that sort before, it seemed, and was taking blood in exchange. Not a bad idea, but preferably on some other sheriff’s streets next time.
“Job done, my lord. I have their baggage with me – it seemed appropriate to bring it to the Embassy so that it might be returned to their homes.”
“So it is, Major Burke. Exactly the correct thing to do.”
Kuyper pulled the canvas wrapping off the valises, discovered them to be locked.
“There were keys in their personal possessions, my lord, so I made bold to bring them with me. The remaining contents of their pockets will be forwarded from the office of the sheriff in Kansas City. One might be inclined to offer him the official thanks of the Embassy for his services, my lord. He is taking care of the burials, using the funds discovered in their pocketbooks. I suspect the sums remaining will pay for a substantial wake.”
There was the address of a hotel in Washington and nothing else at all.
“Either no conspirators in America, or too professional to be caught out in writing. Not to worry, Major Burke. You have, by the way, sir, been granted a commission as major in the Royal Engineers, for the sake of tidiness – government likes its employees to have a known status. You have been given permission to accept a military decoration from the Federal Government and may wear it in Britain, an uncommon honour, I would add. You are on extended furlough and will be under no compulsion ever to report for duty, of course.”
“Never, sir?”
“Well… only under the most exceptional circumstances, shall we say.”
Dick laughed; the alternative was to wail, after all.
“What next, my lord?”
“You might wish to visit with some of your acquaintances in the Army of the Potomac, sir. Pittsburgh, by the way, is no longer of interest to you in any direct sense. Miss Parsons – a most redoubtable young lady, one is assured – has sold her steel works to Mr Carnegie and has taken ship for England, there to indulge, one understands, in the construction of iron-clad ships of war for the Royal Navy.”
“That could be an interesting endeavour, my lord. It is necessary, of course, but one might query whether she is best placed to enjoy success in the field.”
They said no more, turned conversation to a discussion of the progress of the war.
“Lee is to take the offensive again, Major Burke, or so I am assured. He has the lesser army and fewer of resources and so must be defeated if he permits the Union to grind him down. He must attack and hope to so dispirit the Northerners that they will choose peace rather than endure any more defeats. The election gives the opportunity to remove Lincoln – provided there is an atmosphere of defeat when the votes are cast.”
“Will Lee succeed?”
“He should not, but that is not to say he will not. He is a man of some considerable ability, but he has only faced the treacherous McClellan before.”
Dire Shenanigans (The Making of a Man Series, Book 2) Page 16