Charlotte: The Practical Education of a Distressed Gentlewoman

by Amelia Grace Treader

  Sam yelled after her, “Charlotte, where are you going?”

  Charlotte stopped for a moment and shouted back, “The vicar's, Dr. Answorth will know what to do.”

  Elizabeth, recovering from a combination of shock and amazement that left her momentarily speechless, snapped at Major Travers, “Sam, how could you let this happen? I'm guessing 'Lord Staverton' was at Lady Chalfield's abode this afternoon, wasn't he?”

  “Yes.”

  Sam found himself on the receiving end of one of Elizabeth's angry glares. It was a novel, and not very pleasant experience for him. She told him, “I'm not pleased with you Major Travers. We have to go home. Now.”

  “Yes Ma'am.”

  She laughed, “I did sound like the queen-mother just then, didn't I?”

  “A bit. I'm Freddy's second, so I can't honorably do this, but maybe your father could tell the parish constables about the duel? They would be willing to stop it.”

  “Why?”

  “Duels are against the law, and constables generally frown on breaking the law.”

  The door knocker at the rectory in Staverton banged repeatedly and loudly. When Dr. Answorth answered it, he found a disheveled Charlotte standing there while she panted for her breath.

  “Charlotte! What is it?”

  It took a bit for Charlotte to finally catch her breath enough to say, “Freddy, John, they're having a duel.”

  “What!”

  “A duel, tomorrow morning, at dawn in Holt common.”

  “That's what they think. I'm very much against duels. This is the 19th century and not the middle ages. Come inside and sup some tea with Mrs. Answorth while I go visit the parish constable. We'll put an end to this nonsense.”

  Charlotte had barely sat down with Mrs. Answorth and was starting to sup her cup of tea when the door banged again.” It was the older Mr. Talbot. He was shown in and immediately said, “Charlotte, good to see you're here. I'm glad I found you.”

  “Did you hear about the duel?”

  “Yes, Lizzy told me. I thought I'd try to find you first. It's not wise or safe for you to shoot off alone into the evening like that. Then we could find one of the parish constables.”

  “Dr. Answorth went to find him.”

  “Capital, I've long thought that he was one of the more level-headed of the gentry around here. Why don't you sup your tea while I go and meet with them? Mrs. Answorth, can you please keep Miss De Vere here until I return?”

  “It would be my pleasure. I haven't had a chance to talk with her since we were in Bath together. Something tells me that we have many things to discuss, don't we?”

  Mr Talbot respectfully bowed and left.

  It was about an hour later when he and Dr. Answorth returned. They were in a surprisingly good humor, and after entering the parlor, Mr. Talbot said, “Charlotte, if you'd please come with me. I'd love to stay and talk some more, but if we're to be active at dawn I'll need an early night.”

  Charlotte accompanied him out to the yard to find Henry holding the horse at the front of the gig. She asked Mr. Talbot with a tremor in her voice, “Are you going to drive me?”

  “Not tonight. There's room for us all on the seat. Henry, if you'll do the honors.”

  Dawn found Freddy, Major Sam Travers, and the town doctor's locum waiting for John De Vere, 'Lord Staverton'. Sam was holding two recently sharpened swords. The sun barely pierced the mists and fog that covered the commons.

  Freddy asked, “Do you think he's decamped?”

  “Could have, wouldn't surprise me.”

  “Sorry gents, I was running a little late.” It was John, chirpy and irreverent as usual. “Had a bit of a wet last night and overslept. Well Freddy are you ready to meet your maker?”

  “Eventually, but not today.”

  “If that's what you think, God help you.”

  They both removed their jackets and were standing with their swords raised with points almost touching while Sam stood in the middle holding his handkerchief. Sam first said, in his role as second, “Are you both sure there is no reconciliation possible?”

  Both men firmly said no.

  Sam raised his hand, ready to drop his handkerchief when the parish constable, a deputy, Mr. Talbot and Dr. Answorth came out of the mists. The constable shouted, “Stop! This duel is illegal.”

  Both Freddy and John De Vere stepped back and put down their swords. Sam quickly took them and replaced them in their scabbards.

  “Will you come quietly?”

  Freddy nodded yes, and while John felt a strong urge to bolt, the presence of the constable and his deputy made that a futile option. Trusting in his luck, he bowed and said, “Of course.” In the meantime he could keep an eye open for the main chance.

  Mr. Cateford, one of the local squires, was the local justice of the peace. He wasn't overjoyed at having his breakfast interrupted by the inability of two young bloods to settle their affairs peacefully. He listened perfunctorily to the facts that the constable presented and gave his judgment.

  “You two men are clearly guilty of a breach of the peace. Arranging to fight a duel in Holt Common, of all the places. Do you have anything to say for yourselves?”

  Freddy replied, “No,” while John started a long-winded and digressive explanation of how Mr. Talbot had besmirched the family honor with his attentions to Miss De Vere. Mr. Cateford promptly shut him up. “This individual, who calls himself John De Vere.”

  “I am John De Vere, Lord Staverton,” John began.

  “Quiet! As I was saying, this individual who claims to be John De Vere is clearly unrepentant.”

  “I don't claim to be John De Vere, I am John De Vere.”

  “Fine. I am binding you both to keep the peace or face serious consequences. Mr. Talbot?”

  “Yes?”

  “Normally I'd give you each a small fine, but I understand you are quite wealthy?”

  “That's true.”

  “Good. I fine you five hundred pounds.” A gasp ran through the room, five hundred pounds was a huge fine. “From what I understand of your wealth that is enough to for you to notice. We'll use it to start on that school your father has been talking about.” Dr. Answorth groaned to himself, it looked like Mr. Talbot hadn't forgotten his ill-founded idea of a school for the poor. Freddy smiled, “Since it will be going to a good cause, it will be my pleasure to pay it.” His father noticed Dr. Answorth's distress and whispered to him, “I know you don't approve of the idea, but it's still a good one. That's why I found a different parish for it.”

  “Now Mr. De Vere, if that really is who you are?”

  “It is.”

  “A fine of a pound, assuming you have it.” John smirked, and readily paid it. “Good thing I'm in the funds.”

  Mr. Talbot pulled out a sheath of papers, “Mr. De Vere, Lord Staverton?”

  John replied, “So you finally acknowledge it, do you?”

  “If you're in the funds, then you'll have no difficulties with these, will you?”

  They were the mortgage foreclosure notices and the post-obit bond he had issued.

  John shook and trembled at the surprise. He was truly caught in a tight place, “I can't pay those, and I'm not John De Vere so I don't have to.”

  “You just swore in front of the justice of the peace that you were him. Which is it? Gaol for perjury or the debtor's prison?”

  Mr. Cateford cleared his throat for attention and the issued another verdict. “Constable, it seems that this individual is clearly involved in felonious criminal conduct. It's beyond the scope of my authority to try him on these charges, but I can and do remand him into custody for further investigation. Will you make sure he is held while I arrange for his transportation to the Bristol gaol pending his trial?”

  “Sir!”

  That evening Mr. Talbot interrupted Charlotte and Freddy's intimate conversation. “Miss De Vere, if my son can spare you for a few minutes, I would like to talk with you, in private.”

  Charl
otte felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. Could Mr. Talbot have some objection to her?

  Seeing her distress, he calmed her, “Don't worry lass, I'd just like to know my soon to be new daughter better.”

  They wandered out to the yard and over to the piggery. “It's private in here, no one will interrupt us.” Charlotte sniffed, then regretted it, “I'm not surprised.”

  “I suppose I should move the pigs to a purpose-built piggery, but that's not why I brought you here.”

  “Why did you?”

  “It's about that dratted brother of yours, what should we do with him?”

  “Why ask me?”

  “He's your brother.”

  Charlotte thought for a moment, “When he turned up, I was thrilled to see he wasn't dead, but now I wish he had just stayed away from me.”

  “I could arrange either.”

  “What?”

  “He owes money to some of my friends, not my nice ones. They would dearly like know where his is. I could just tell them, and they'd just handle the rest. Or I could just spirit him away, give him a new adventure.”

  “I'd prefer it if he just went away and couldn't come back.”

  “How do you feel if he goes to chase kangaroos?”

  14. Mr. Talbot Takes a Hand.

  Mr. John De Vere, Lord Staverton, sat in the darkness in the village bridewellvi of the town that bore his title. Locked up for dueling and held for his debts, he faced a bleak future. Even when luck smiled on him by giving him the deeds to Chalfield, all it did was to add to the 75,000 he owed for his own estate. Not that he was too worried about those debts. The Talbot's might see him imprisoned for them, but they wouldn't kill him over money. The debts he owed the bookies at Newbury were far more serious. Somehow he doubted he'd last long in Fleet Street Prison or Coldbath Fields Prison, if he even got that far. As he watched a beam of light from the small window high up the wall out of his reach track a path on the wall below, he found himself thinking, “It's been a good run. Had just one of those throws come out right, I'd be living high.”

  The warder banged on his door. “My Lord,” he said with exaggerated civility, “There is a personage who wishes to see you.”

  John panicked, the bookies couldn't have already found him, could they? When he saw it was Freddy's father he relaxed. The old man could certainly be sweet-talked into some sort of deal. Mr. Talbot dismissed the warder. “What I have to say to you is in private, you little piece of.” He caught his words, paused and started over. “Mr. De Vere, you're dead, legally that is, aren't you?”

  “I'd planned to have that set aside, but yes, officially I'm dead.”

  “That's what I thought. Good, I was worried I'd have to talk to some of my rougher old friends.”

  “Your rougher friends?”

  “This current lawlessness goes both ways you know. Freddy's business methods are above reproach. Mine weren't always so nice. Especially not when I was starting out. It was a tough business.”

  John shivered at the implied threat. “What do you want?”

  “Your signature renouncing that you are John De Vere and have any claim to the Staverton title. That's all.”

  “That's all, that's rich!”

  “In return for that signature I'll pay your debts and get you to Europe. What you do then is your own problem, as long as you never return to Britain or its territories.”

  “You'll pay my debts?”

  “Specifically your post-obit bond, and then the twenty thousand or so owed on the estate. It will make a nice portion for Lady Staverton, your sister.”

  “And you're going to do this out of the goodness of your heart, aren't you?”

  “No. I want to spare Charlotte, Freddy, and for that matter Elizabeth and her Major Sam a great deal of embarrassment and discomfort. It isn't pleasant have a wastrel brother in debtor's prison or convicted of fraud. Let alone to live with the threat of him appearing at the worst moments.”

  “I don't know, I rather think I'd like debtor's prison.”

  “Some of my best and oldest friends make book on the racing at Newbury.”

  John paled. “You wouldn't tell them where I am, would you?”

  “Reluctantly yes.” Mr. Talbot grinned making it clear that every bit of his reluctance was only figurative and very slight at that. “It's only because otherwise it could make things a little awkward for my son and his fiancée, that I'm even being this generous. Much cheaper and more effective to tell my old friend Gentleman Jack about you.”

  It didn't take John long to make up his mind. “I'll sign. Where are the papers?” Mr. Talbot called for the warder to return. “Could you witness this?” John signed, and Mr. Talbot and the warder witnessed it. As he left, Mr. Talbot had a few choice words. “My people will be here tonight, with the proper papers for your release. They'll escort you to the coast and get you on a ship. You'll be dropped off with a reasonable amount of currency somewhere in the low country. If you ever darken England's shores again, or I hear that you try to contact Freddy or Charlotte, well you know me. I don't make idle threats.”

  It was a much happier and more cheerful Mr. Talbot who returned to the vicarage, where Freddy and Charlotte were discussing arrangements with Dr. and Mrs. Answorth. Charlotte asked him, when he returned, “Did your errand go well?”

  “Yes, very. I don't think we'll have problems in that direction again.”

  Freddy asked, “What errand?”

  “Flowers, Charlotte asked me to see if we could get flowers for the ceremony.”

  John's escort allowed him to have a heavy wet in Bristol before boarding the ship. A heavy enough wet that he barely noticed she was much larger than the usual channel packet, or for that matter that channel packets rarely left from the west of England. In fact, they left him sleeping it off in a cabin below decks when the ship cast off and eased her way into the Severn. It wasn't until several days later, well out of sight of land, that he asked one of the mates, “Shouldn't we have landed in Holland by now?”

  The mate laughed, “Holland! Lad, we're bound for New South Wales. You'll next see land when we stop for water in Cape Verde. See it, that is, you're not to get off the ship until we reach the antipodes.”

  Let it be known.

  If you liked Charlotte you might also like my other, earlier, books, Katherine's Choice and The French Orphan.

  About the Author

  Amelia Treader is a child of the south. She grew up steeped in that mysterious aura that accompanies Spanish moss, mosquitoes and barbecue, She has felt the urge to write ever since she was a little girl. Cats, dogs and children, not to mention a husband, occasionally get in the way, but she has eked out the time to write a unique combination of romance and action. This is her third book.

  Katherine's Choice

  Chapter 1

  “Damn these volunteers!” roared George Clarke, “all the ladies are smitten with them.” He'd worked his way up from midshipman – where it wasn't surprising that the females ignored him, to lieutenant – which elicited some tepid interest. Finally, he had been promoted to commander, almost a captain on the inevitable way to admiral. Because of his rank he expected female company and attention. Now when he came home on leave they weren't interested. Much to his disgust, a regiment of volunteers was quartered in the small coastal town of Whitstable and red coated officers were all the rage. The volunteers were here, as they were throughout England in this year of our lord 1803, to counter the massive army that Bonaparte was raising just a few miles across the channel. Still, it was an almost personal insult. Many of the young men listening to him nodded their heads in agreement. It was as if the females had all lost their heads over the men in red coats.

  “Anyone can put on a red coat and be adored by the females,” he continued, “but it takes luck, skill and effort,” pointing to his one epaulet, “to get that.” His friend, John Grant, still lieutenant and still hungry for the opportunity to advance, nodded agreement, and continued “prize money help
s too – lot's of prize money to be had.” They'd come to Whitstable to wait for his posting to the Lady Charlotte, an eight gun sloop still in dry dock in the nearby Sheerness docks for a thorough refit, raise some skilled recruits from the local fishermen, and relax – dancing and maybe some dalliance with the fair company. Instead of dancing, they were here, in a harbor pub, drowning their grievances in beer and expostulating the glories of the Navy to an audience of less than interested fishermen and coastal traders.

  This criticism of the volunteers was justified, if unfair. Unskilled, but enthusiastic, companies of men had been drilling in every village and town to defend their king and, more importantly, homes and families from the hordes of revolutionary French. “If you're naughty, Boney will get you,” was a common threat to children. The tiny regular army had shown, in several disastrous expeditions to the lowlands of Holland, that it was no match for the French – so the volunteer regiments stepped up.

  The 27th volunteers, one of the better regiments, was being reviewed by Colonel, now brevet General of Volunteers Howe, a distant relative of the old general. Every young woman who could find the time was watching, much to the disgust of the young men of the town. General Howe had inspected the uniforms and watched the men march in formation. Unlike many of the other volunteer regiments, they at least could keep step and follow some of the drummer's signals. The trouble started when they were asked to show how well they could shoot. The first volley was competent, if a bit ragged, but the second was a disaster. Pressed for time, half the men forgot to remove their ramrods – which meant that they were now almost useless as soldiers for a third volley. The flash and flames from the locks lead to massive flinching and the shots scattered widely down range.

  “Enough!”, General Howe shouted, “Cease fire!”