A Certain Threat
The Merriman Chronicles Book 1
By Roger Burnage
Copyright Information
The Merriman Chronicles - Book One
“A Certain Threat”
Copyright © Roger Burnage
All rights reserved
With the exception of certain well known historical figures the characters in this book have no relation or resemblance to any person living or dead. This book is a work of fiction.
Foreword – Author’s notes
In the spring of 1998, workmen demolishing an old nursing home in the country to the north-west of Chester, discovered bundles of old papers concealed behind a bricked up fireplace.
One of the men with more perspicacity than his fellows, rescued the papers from the bonfires of rubbish and gave them to his employer, a builder, who, knowing of my interest in such things, passed them on to me. The discovered papers were mostly in a very bad state due to the effects of dampness, mildew and the depredations of vermin over the years, and many of the oldest bundles were totally illegible. Another obvious problem was that the papers had been written by different people and some of the handwriting was not of the best. Sorting the papers into chronological order took many months of part time effort, indeed I gave up on the job for weeks and months at a time, but as I progressed with the work I realised that it was a history of the Merriman family from the late 18th century to the early years of the 20th century.
The first clearly decipherable writings referred to a certain James Abel Merriman, a naval officer at the time of the Napoleonic wars, and revealed some startling facts about French activities in and around Ireland and the Irish Sea at that time. I quickly realised that I had in my hands the material for a novel or novels about a little known part of our history.
Other papers showed that beside those serving in the navy, other members of the family were connected with the 22nd Regiment of Foot, the Cheshire Regiment. Intriguingly, a family tree was among the papers in one of the later bundles. Armed with that and from research in local archives, church records etc., it appeared that the last direct male heir of the family, Albert George Merriman was killed in France in 1916 and the last descendant, his unmarried sister Amy Elizabeth, a nurse, was also killed in France in 1917.
I have written several novels about members of the Merriman family whose members served their country and sometimes died for it and I have collected them under the heading “The Merriman Chronicles”. This novel, the first, is “A CERTAIN THREAT”.
Prologue
In the pale light of dawn the sea was the colour of old pewter and the sullen grey clouds emptied their contents in a steady downpour that had not ceased for several hours. As the rain eased, a stray gleam of pale sunshine broke through the clouds, illuminating a small boat moving sluggishly with the waves, urged on by the wind and flooding tide.
The boat was partly filled with water which surged backwards and forwards over the three people lying inside. Only one of these appeared to be alive. He was young, little more than a boy, wearing white breeches and a blue coat, both torn and horribly stained.
Suddenly the boat lifted and crashed down onto a sandbank causing the water inside to surge forward and splash into his face and mouth. The boy coughed, the movement causing a ripple of agony through his shoulder and chest. Weakly he tried to lift himself up to see where the boat was, but fell back against the thwart with a groan. Blood ran down his chest as the wound in his shoulder opened anew. He raised his head slowly and his eyes moving along the boat saw the two bodies half covered in water.
At once he remembered……….. the shouts and screams, the Welshman Aled, picking him up and jumping over the side, another seaman there too, swimming, climbing into the boat, the musket fire, the seaman killed even as he cut the painter to free the boat, The ball in his own shoulder and Aled shot down, dying in front of him as the boat whirled away into the darkness. He stared at the bodies with tears pricking his eyes as he thought about how kind the Welshman had been to him, a raw newcomer to the service.
He was only thirteen and he was sure he was going to die. Half lying, half sitting, leaning against the thwart, in the icy water sloshing about in the bottom of the boat, he was aware of this with a vague sort of resentment and detached interest as though he was somebody else. His head dropped and he stared miserably at his clothing. He had been so proud of that blue coat with the brass buttons when his mother sewed them on.
He could feel the boat bumping on the sand beneath him but he was lost in his own little world of pain and misery.
The next thing he knew, rough hands were lifting him, wrapping him, and the neck of a bottle was thrust into his mouth. The fiery spirit burned a path down his throat, he coughed, cried out and then he passed into darkness.
Chapter 1: The Doctor and his daughter
The year 1792
Merriman wakened, cursing fluently when the coach lurched violently as a wheel dropped into a hole in the appalling road, causing his left arm and bandaged hand to bang sharply on the window frame. “God damn it to hell, can’t the damned coachman keep out of the bloody holes------ Your pardon Ma’am,” this last as he realized where he was and that the lovely dark haired and bright eyed young lady seated on the opposite side of the coach, swathed in a voluminous travelling cloak, was looking at him with something like a smile of amusement on her face. He flushed with annoyance and turned to the window vowing not to fall asleep again, thus giving others the opportunity to show pity or sympathy.
Despite the appalling state of the road the coachman managed to encourage his horses to maintain a reasonable speed, the old mud splashed coach bouncing and rattling as it hit the worst parts of the road or moving more smoothly on the better stretches, although better was only a relative word for it. The horses were more often than not up to their fetlocks in squishy mud, the result of the heavy rain of the last few days on to the poorly maintained road surface. Indeed it was only fit to be called a road where the turnpike trusts took the trouble to repair it which usually only happened close to the various towns and villages along the way.
The day was cold with no rain at present with but a small, pale, weak sun glimpsed briefly through the mist enveloping the countryside and which did little to help. Although the heavy frost of the early morning had mostly disappeared the air was still cold enough due to a biting easterly wind to make the breath of horses and passengers alike look like the steam from a boiling kettle. The passengers on the roof of the coach were the worst off and could only sit and shiver and huddle into their coats and scarves, cling desperately to the handrails and hope not to fall off when the coach swayed, lurched and bounced on its through braces which passed for springs. Inside, the passengers were at least sheltered from the wind and rain by the leather window blinds and in their coats and blankets managed to keep tolerably warm, some even managing to doze off on the smoother parts of their journey.
Merriman, looking out unseeingly at the passing scenery where the remnants of the late September frost lay in the hollows shaded from the weak sun and the trees were no more than black outlines, let his mind drift back over the past few weeks. The arrival of the flagship at Portsmouth, the surgeon fussing over his arm and hand, the constant pain, the fear of losing his hand and the dark despair at the realization that he had lost his ship Conflict, even though he had been cleared at the subsequent court martial at Gibraltar.
Unthinkingly he clenched his bandaged hand, the pain in his arm making him gasp aloud and the sweat to gather on his forehead.
“Are you unwell Sir, may we be of some assistance?”
Merriman came out of his reverie to find the lady and the elderly gentleman seated next to her leaning forward, looking anxiously at him. “Thank you Ma’am, I shall be myself directly, just a small twinge, no more.” He lapsed into embarrassed silence again. The coach began to pick up speed again on a down slope and the jolting and rattling were enough to ensure that he would not drop off to sleep again.
The young lady regarded him with interest. She saw a dark haired young man of perhaps twenty-two or twenty-three years, dressed in naval uniform. His face and one visible hand were deeply tanned, so that it was clear that he had been in the tropics, but the darkness of the features was enlivened by his bright blue eyes. The face was interesting, severe and brooding as it was at present, she felt that the serious expression was but a facade to hide the real person beneath. Merriman was aware that he was still the subject of the young lady’s attention which annoyed him and he looked about him with a little more interest at the passengers enduring the journey with him.
Beside the lady and gentleman opposite, to whom he had already spoken, there sat next to him a gentleman of sober appearance dressed all in black except for his cravat and tie-wig. His large, well rounded paunch and several wobbling chins indicated that he was no stranger to good living, confirmed by the food stains on the front of his waistcoat. He was trying to read what appeared to be a legal document. Beyond him, a smallish little man, with a wizened face and beady eyes, which gave him a sly and furtive look, peered from time to time into the depths of a large black leather bag which he carried clutched tightly on his knee. He too was soberly dressed.
Merriman took one look at this character’s unprepossessing appearance and made an immediate judgement, saying to himself, “I wouldn’t trust that one further than I could see him.”
In the opposite corner was a young man dressed in full regimentals, scarlet coat with buff and gold facings and buff vest and breeches, obviously an officer, fast asleep in spite of the rattling and bouncing, snoring gently, his wig twisted askew revealing a short growth of blonde almost white hair.
With a sigh, the fat man next to Merriman folded the document and passed it to the little man who carefully placed it in the black bag.
“Impossible to read Sir “ he said addressing the elderly gentleman opposite to him, “As we are likely to spend some time together in this contraption before we reach our destination, it occurs to me that the time might pass more agreeably if we each knew who the others are.
“Permit me to introduce myself; my name is Jeremiah Robinson, attorney at law and this person beside me is my clerk Beadle, a man of discretion, having a prodigious memory for suits and torts, precedents and punishments, faces and names, documents, wills and all cases of law. In short, my right arm as it were.” During this recital of his virtues the little man bobbed his head and smiled slyly.
“We reside in the city of Chester and I shall be heartily pleased to be back there. Too much hustle and bustle in London Sir, too much hustle and bustle. And now Sir, whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
The elderly man, as slim as the lawyer was fat replied “Doctor William Simpson Sir, at your service, returning home after some twenty four years in India in the employ of The East India Company, or John Company as it is commonly called.” He indicated the young lady next to him, “May I present my daughter Helen, my only child.”
The lawyer inclined his head, “Your servant Ma’am. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. And you Sir, it is obvious from your uniform that you are part of our glorious navy. May we know more?”
“Merriman Sir, James Merriman, Lieutenant in His Majesty’s navy. As you see, nursing a small hurt received in a trifling skirmish with corsairs off the coast of Africa.”
“Upon my soul” said the doctor, “I am sure that you must have many interesting tales to tell of your experiences. We’ve all heard about the heroic deeds of our navy but certainly you will be able to give us more details than are conveyed in the dispatches.”
Merriman shook his head, “I fear that I am but a poor raconteur Sir, a sailor who might know the handling of ships in a gale or in a naval action against the enemy but one who has difficulty in finding adequate words to describe these things, especially with a lady present. But you Sir, surely you will have many strange stories to relate about your time in India. I for one would be glad to hear them.”
There was a general murmur of agreement. “Well, yes I do have,” replied the doctor “and I would be pleased to tell you but not whilst this infernal contraption is bouncing around so.”
“If I may join in?” All heads turned towards the young army officer who sat up and straightened his wig. “I must apologize for falling asleep in your company, but it was late before I saw my bed last night and with the early start this morning, dashed if I could keep my eyes open. Captain Robert Saville, en route by way of Chester, to rejoin my regiment, the 22nd of Foot, in Ireland.”
The conversation became a little more general, even Mr. Beadle chancing the odd timid remark, but as the journey continued, the talking became less frequent and each passenger retired into their own small world of discomfort and boredom, which lasted until darkness was almost upon them and the coach rattled under the archway and into the yard of the Crown Inn at Oxford.
All was then hustle and bustle, with ostlers and stable hands un-harnessing the sweating, steaming, stamping horses and servants dashing to and fro carrying the passengers’ luggage into the inn, chivvied on by the innkeeper. That personage, a large jovial man almost completely bald and of prodigious girth was there to welcome the weary travelers. “Welcome, welcome, come inside, come inside, there’s a grand fire to warm you and my wife will show you to your rooms, take care with that lady’s travelling case Tom you clumsy oaf, or you’ll find yourself in trouble my lad!”
He appeared to say all this and more without once drawing breath. As they descended from the comparative warmth of the inside of the coach, the passengers stretched aching muscles and hurried into the inn. Merriman looked up at the half frozen passengers climbing down from the top of the coach to see his man Owen helping the servants with the baggage.
“Inside with you man, smartly now, and get yourself warm. A hot toddy will do us both good.” “Aye – aye Sir, just the thing” replied the shivering man, following Merriman inside into a large room with a low ceiling where the other passengers were gathered in front of a roaring, crackling and welcoming log fire, reveling in the warmth whilst the landlord dispensed hot drinks and urged the servants to help the ladies and gentlemen with their coats, chattering all the while about the dreadful weather and the terrible state of the roads.
Later that evening, well fed and warm, Merriman relaxed in front of the fire. The doctor and his daughter had retired to their rooms, pleading fatigue from the journey. The lawyer and his clerk were in a corner, their heads close together, discussing in whispers several documents spread on the table in front of them. Owen had disappeared into the kitchens where no doubt he was trying to make himself popular with the serving girls.
The soldier had joined a group of men round a large table in one corner where a game of cards was in progress. One of the men, a tall, lean, hawk faced individual, was obviously of quality, but the other three appeared to be rougher types although perhaps a little better dressed than one might expect. One of these three was a large, fat man with a pock marked face wearing a grey coat and breeches. The table was illuminated by a lantern suspended from one of the beams overhead which did little more than give the players enough light to see their cards and which cast heavy shadows beneath the table. Watching the men, Merriman saw one of them pass a card to the fat man on his right who surreptitiously slid it into his cuff. It was obvious that the others had not seen this, so Merriman rose to his feet and casually approached the table as a spectator might do.
That the soldier and the hawk-faced man were losing was clear from the small pile of coins before each of them and the larger pile in front of the fat man.
“Come Sir, must we wait all night for you to play?” said one of the ruffians with a sly grin at his fellows.
The soldier cursed, “Damn me, it’s no use, you have the better of me again” and he threw down his cards with something like despair. The fat man placed his cards on the table and reached forward for the coins in the center of the table with a smile of triumph on his face, which instantly disappeared when he felt the muzzle of Merriman’s pocket pistol pressed below his ear.
“I think Gentlemen, that you should all place your hands on the table or this little toy might go off” and for emphasis Merriman cocked the small double-barreled pistol.
He continued, speaking to the fat man, “You are an honest man and I’m your uncle. That’s two lies at once.”
“Damn me Mr. Merriman, what’s this,” cried the soldier as they all complied with Merriman’s command including the hawk-faced man who smiled briefly, saying nothing.
“If you would feel in this fellow’s cuff, I think that is all the explanation you will need.”
Saville reached forward and felt in the cuff, pulling out three playing cards.
“By God! A cheat,” he cried. “I thought his cards were too damned lucky. Quite plainly these three are together so I think this gentleman and I should share the pot.”
The table went over with a crash as the fat man threw himself violently backwards. As he fell, Merriman caught a glimpse of a glittering blade in the man’s hand and felt his pistol explode. The man screamed and fell away and then Saville was helping Merriman to his feet. One of the ruffians was cowering on the floor clutching his arm from which blood was falling in bright drops to the floor. The fat man and the third man had vanished as had the lawyer and his clerk.
A Certain Threat (The Merriman Chronicles Book 1) Page 1