The Alarming Career of Sir Richard Blackstone

by Lisa Doan

  Sir Richard sighed. “I am not opposed to a dog around the manor. But the runt?”

  “Please, sir.” Henry’s heart had begun to beat hard in his chest. He couldn’t bear to imagine the little dog being killed.

  “You understand she might not even survive?” Sir Richard said. “Many of the small ones don’t.”

  Henry did know that. He had known of smaller children dying on the streets of London. Their frail bodies couldn’t hold up against the heat, cold, and hunger of living out of doors. One day you saw them on your usual route through the city, the next day you didn’t.

  “I understand,” Henry said firmly.

  Farmer Giles was amused by the idea that somebody wanted to buy the runt of the litter. He joked that a dog like that wouldn’t grow big enough to win a fight with a cat. Seeing Henry’s grieved expression, he softened and said, “There now, there’s no accountin’ for taste. Take her for nothing; I was just going to snap her neck anyhow.”

  Henry carried his puppy in his arms as they walked back to the manor. He named her Matilda and was greatly relieved to have arrived at Farmer Giles’s farm in time to save her from having her neck snapped. He held her under his coat so she would not become chilled in the wind, though it had dissipated to a soft and gentle breeze. Still, he felt he couldn’t be too careful as his puppy had a rough start in life. She would need a lot of attention to prove Farmer Giles wrong about her.

  Matilda seemed to sense that she had just taken a great step up in the world and by turns looked eagerly about at the countryside and at Henry with a loyal gaze.

  It was arranged with Farmer Giles that the pick of the litter, a hefty male, would be delivered to the duchess that very afternoon. Farmer Giles would hand it over to the butler with a message that it was compliments of Sir Richard.

  As they turned down the lane toward Blackstone Manor, Henry squinted his eyes at the edge of the forest. Thin strands of white hung over tree branches and draped down to the ground like so many sewing threads. “Sir, just there. Is that—”

  “Spider silk,” Sir Richard said, nodding his head. “As it appears we cannot count on the Theraphosa nigrum lapis to remain hidden in the forest, I’d better spend the rest of the day in the laboratory searching for an antidote.”

  Henry thought of questioning the prudence of that. Sir Richard’s experiments only went in two directions—nowhere or wrong—but the knight had such a determined look on his face that Henry decided to stay silent. In any case, he had a puppy to look after.

  Mrs. Splunket took one look at Matilda and fell deeply in love. Henry’s notion that he would have to scrounge up food for his new charge quickly fell by the wayside. Mrs. Splunket rummaged through the kitchen stores and tempted the puppy with every tidbit she could think of.

  “Will you look at that appetite,” Mrs. Splunket said, feeding Matilda a bit of toast with butter. She leaned down and cupped the puppy’s face in her hands. “From now on,” she said, “I’ll see to it that you can eat as much as you can fit inside of you. To thank me for my trouble, you’re to guard this place and keep out the vermin. In particular, any large spiders you may see creepin’ about.”

  Henry felt bad that Mrs. Splunket was under the illusion that Mary was small enough to be conquered by an undersized puppy. On the other hand, he reasoned, would it really help her to know the truth? She’d probably have nightmares. He’d already had a few himself.

  Henry left Matilda under the supervision of Mrs. Splunket and ran to the stables to find Bertram. He had the idea that there might be some old horse blankets lying around the barn that would make for a cozy bed. He hoped he would not find the coachman in too bad a mood.

  “Bertram,” he called.

  “If you want to ride your horse, you know how to saddle him,” Bertram called from his hay bales. “Don’t expect me to be doin’ everything for you; I ain’t your manservant.”

  “No, I don’t want to ride,” Henry said, thinking he pretty much never wanted to ride Cantankerous if he could help it. “I was wondering if you have any old horse blankets I can have.”

  There was silence for a moment, then Bertram said, “I see. So you find yourself a bit chilly in the manor, do ya? I suppose it ain’t never occurred to you to wonder how a coachman is feeling. Is he cold at night? You wouldn’t know because you ain’t never asked.”

  Henry had come around to the stall that Bertram used as his daytime bedchamber. The coachman was lying on a bale of hay and chewing a stalk of it. “Are you cold at night in your cottage?” Henry asked.

  “I ain’t, but this is the first you know about it. As it happens, I’m as cozy as a bug in a rug in my little house. The point is, you didn’t know. I coulda frozen to death and you’d be none the wiser.”

  Henry sighed. Since it was early spring, he didn’t think it very likely that anyone would freeze, even if they were sleeping outside. “I don’t want the blankets for myself. I’ve got a puppy and I want to make her a bed.”

  Bertram sat up on his hay bale. “A puppy? Here? What kind?”

  “She’s a spaniel, only if you’re anything like Farmer Giles, you should know that she’s the runt and that I don’t care a bit about it. She’s the best dog in the world and I won’t have a word said against her.”

  “Who’s sayin’ anything against her?” Bertram rubbed his chin. “Well, if I’m to give up some horse blankets, it seems right that I should be introduced to them that’s takin’ ’em.”

  “Oh. You want to meet her?” Henry asked. He was surprised to hear that, but pleased. Bertram’s mood seemed to have brightened considerably at the news of a puppy in the house.

  “Seems to me that would be proper procedure,” Bertram said. “Where is she?”

  Bertram sat on the floor of the kitchen and held Matilda in his arms. “She’s a good-looking dog,” he said. “Don’t you mind that she’s on the small side now. Mrs. Splunket will fix that. I was on the small side myself before being exposed to her cookin’. No, this here dog reminds me of a dog I had in my youth. Juno, she was called. She was as loyal as they come and this one ain’t no different.”

  Henry glanced at Mrs. Splunket. She shrugged her shoulders. He would never have guessed that a puppy would be the way to cranky old Bertram’s heart. Maybe now the coachman would stop describing Henry as a common pirate to everybody he met.

  Bertram made Matilda a bed out of every horse blanket he could pull out of the barn, excepting only the ones that were actually on a horse, and put it next to the kitchen fire. Henry had explained to Bertram that he planned to keep Matilda in his own room at night so she wouldn’t feel lonely or afraid, but he also wanted her to have somewhere warm and comfortable to sleep during the day.

  “Exactly as it should be,” Bertram said, nodding in approval. “Now for myself, I’ll just stop by in the daytime to see how she’s getting on. You’ll want someone experienced with dogs to consult with over her progress.”

  The puppy, stuffed with food and her stomach round and firm, looked at her three admirers and then waddled over to the pile of horse blankets and fell asleep.

  A cry from the laboratory broke the friendly silence. “What the devil!” Sir Richard shouted.

  Mrs. Splunket snorted. “There he goes again, another experiment down the drain.”

  Henry raced down the corridor. Sir Richard jogged around the laboratory, chased by a housefly the size of a pigeon. The insect landed on his desk and used its large front legs to wash its face. Its mirror-like eyes shined green and blue.

  “Sir,” Henry whispered. “How?”

  “Edge toward the windows, Henry,” Sir Richard said. “Get them open.”

  Henry moved slowly so as not to startle the creature. It had a nervous, fidgety look. He slowly turned the latch on the first window and pushed it open. The fly had not moved from the desk. He opened the rest of the windows, one by one.

  “Come around by me,” Sir Richard said.

  Henry edged along the walls to the opposite
side of the laboratory.

  “Now, all we have to do is spook the creature toward an open window.” Sir Richard grabbed a sheaf of parchment and waved it at the fly. “Shoo!” he cried.

  The fly shuddered, then took flight off the desk and buzzed around the room. It knocked into a wall, then found an opening and flew out into the front garden.

  Henry and Sir Richard raced to the windows. The fly attempted to land on a leaf of an old oak tree, but the leaf collapsed under its weight. It fell to the ground and struggled to right itself.

  Sir Richard rapidly closed the windows.

  The fly got itself airborne again, flew over the tops of the trees of the Queen’s Forest and disappeared.

  Sir Richard sank down in a chair. “Well,” he said, “that’s done.”

  “But, sir, how did it happen?”

  “I wish I knew. As there is nothing to be done about Mary until we find a method of shrinking her size, I was looking about for some creature it might be safe to experiment on in hopes of discovering an antidote. All I could find was that Musca domestica, and I was lucky I did, as the sundew catches nearly everything that wanders in. A common housefly may not be very exotic, but serviceable all the same. As we can see, my antidote was not a success. Well, chin up I suppose. I could always—”

  “Sir,” Henry said, interrupting Sir Richard. “Who is that?” He pointed at a man striding up the drive.

  Sir Richard peered out the window. “Good grief. It’s Mr. Craven, Snidefellow’s assistant. Get rid of him. Tell him I died very suddenly from an infectious disease and he must go away immediately if he wants to avoid catching it. It would not do for that fly to circle back around and land on the man’s head.”

  Henry ran to the door and opened it. He decided he had better disregard Sir Richard’s instruction that the knight wasn’t available because he had unexpectedly died. “Good afternoon, Mr. Craven. Sir Richard is engaged at the moment. Would you care to leave your card?” Henry said.

  “No need,” he said. “No need at all.” Mr. Craven removed a parchment from his waistcoat and unrolled it with a flourish. He placed spectacles on his nose and read:

  Sir Richard Blackstone is hereby summoned to a meeting of the village council tomorrow at six o’clock in the evening to answer questions regarding the circumstances and events on the night of the Duchess of St. John’s annual dusk-to-dawn croquet party. Sir Richard is made to understand that this is not a request, it is an official summons.

  CHAPTER SIX

  After Snidefellow’s assistant left, Sir Richard took the summons from Henry and tossed it into the fire. “That rascal will get more than he bargained for by summoning me,” he muttered. “I have a mind to invent something that would sew a councilman’s lips together.”

  Henry and Sir Richard spent the rest of the day in the laboratory, attempting to determine which ingredient was the culprit that had caused both the tarantula and the fly to assume massive proportions.

  Late that afternoon, Sir Richard held his head in his hands. “The only common ingredient in both experiments is the dried powder from the leaves of the Amazonian lupuna tree, but that makes no sense. I’ve got the description of it right here.” Sir Richard held up John Fitzwilliam’s journal, filled with his friend’s close and neat writing. He read the entry aloud:

  The lupuna tree is feared by the natives, as they believe the tree can wreak vengeance on unlucky souls who offend it. For myself, I find it has profound medicinal qualities. I became quite ill with fever during a jungle sojourn some weeks ago. When I could walk no farther, I rested against one of these mighty trees. My native guide warned me against it. I tried to reason some sense into the man and then amused myself by quoting a bit of Garibaldi’s ode to nature: ‘Mother Earth and Brother Tree, I love thee well, watch over me.’ As the night progressed, I experienced a terrible thirst and gratefully drank the water collected on the tree’s leaves. I was cured by the following morning.

  I have harvested some leaves, dried them, and ground them to a powder. On my return to England I will deliver them to my old friend Blackstone to study. Whatever is at work here appears to counter weakness and restore strength and vigor. Of course, my native man is now convinced that I made some sort of magic and his people have been repeating the ode to nature ever since. It amuses me no end that the worst poet in England has now got devotees in South America.

  Sir Richard laid down the parchment. “You see, Henry, I used the powder on the Theraphosa nigrum lapis to extend her life, then I used it again on the Musca domestica while attempting an antidote. I would believe that somehow an unusual effect had been produced by an unwanted synergy with another ingredient, but there is no other ingredient used twice in these two experiments. It’s got to be the lupuna tree that is causing this mischief. There’s something about it that Fitzwilliam did not discover.”

  Henry pondered how the lupuna tree powder might have taken a wrong turn until he was called away from the laboratory to answer the door.

  He had not seen who had come up the drive, so he peered out the window first. It was Billy, looking as brash as ever.

  Henry swung the door open and said, “Does the duchess want to see Sir Richard again?”

  Billy shrugged and said, “I doubt it; she’s too busy feedin’ the best bits of meat to that dog. She sent this,” he said, handing over a sealed parchment. “It’s probably about that dog. Everything in the whole household is now about that dog. Speakin’ a dogs, I heard you got one too. Can I see it?”

  “Why?” Henry asked. He felt very protective of Matilda and would not want her to be insulted by anything Billy Brash might have to say about her size.

  “To play with her,” the footman said. “Nobody has got a chance to play with the duchess’s dog—he ain’t been out of her sight.”

  Henry considered this, then he said, “I’ll have you know that my dog is smaller than the duchess’s dog. On purpose. If you can swear not to comment on her size, then you can go around back and ask Mrs. Splunket to let you into the kitchen. I will warn you, though, Mrs. Splunket will throw you out on your ear if you say one word against Matilda.”

  “Not a word against her,” Billy said, crossing his heart.

  The footman made to punch his arm, but Henry saw it coming and dodged. He punched Billy instead and slammed the door shut.

  Henry ran back to the laboratory and delivered the note from the duchess to Sir Richard.

  Listen to this,” Sir Richard said.

  Sir Richard—

  I should be very cross with you right now. Of all the underhanded tricks, you send me a puppy with soulful brown eyes, and the temperament of an angel, and a particular penchant for sitting on my lap. Alas, you have weakened my defenses in the most devious way. I have named him Harold and we are already great friends.

  Fondly,

  Darla

  “Well!” Sir Richard said. “She seems very pleased. Excellent idea, Henry. Most excellent.”

  Henry took Matilda out on the front lawn before going to bed. She nosed around in the grass and made a run at a passing moth. Suddenly, her tiny body went rigid. A low growl erupted from her throat.

  A black shadow lumbered along the edge of the forest. Henry scooped Matilda into his arms, ran inside and bolted the door.

  The following evening, the carriage rumbled through Barton Commons’ only road to the church at the far end. Sir Richard had determined to take the carriage to the council meeting, even though the village of Barton Commons was within easy walking distance. He said that arriving in state, like the knight that he was, would put a pause in some of the council members’ minds. Then he said, “And of course, we wouldn’t want to meet Mary on the road.”

  The church was made of local stone and topped by a tall steeple. The village council meetings were always held there, as it was the only building large enough to hold more than ten people, aside from The Buck and Boar Tavern across the road, which was deemed a less appropriate place for serious council
business.

  Henry peered out the window. There were a few farmers’ carts, but Sir Richard’s was the only carriage in sight. The duchess had not come. He had half-hoped she would, as she was so happy with her puppy that Henry thought she would be kindly disposed toward Sir Richard. Henry did not think anybody else in Barton Commons had any influence over Mr. Snidefellow.

  Bertram opened the door. Sir Richard hopped down and said, “We shan’t be long.” He jogged up the stone steps of the church, threw the doors open, and strode inside.

  The council sat in a row of chairs set up on the altar. Mr. Snidefellow sat in the middle, with Mr. Craven on his right and the magistrate, Mr. Neville, on his left. The quiet and retiring curate, Mr. Small, stood next to Mr. Neville with an uncomfortable look on his face.

  Curious villagers and men who rented the duchess’s outlying farms filled the forward pews, except for the very first row, which was reserved for local gentry. Sir Richard nodded and smiled at the crowd, and even winked at a woman who had obviously worn her best Sunday cap for the proceedings. The matron blushed and the two young girls next to her giggled into their handkerchiefs.

  Sir Richard gave the council a slight bow. Henry slid into a pew.

  “Well?” Sir Richard asked in a booming voice. “Here I am. What is it you want?”

  Mr. Snidefellow cleared his throat and said, “Sir Richard, I attempted to gather information from you about the cause of the disturbance on the night of the duchess’s dusk-to-dawn croquet party. As you have shown yourself to be uncooperative, you have been called before the council to be questioned formally.”

  “What is your question?” Sir Richard asked tersely.

  Mr. Snidefellow waved to Mr. Small and said, “Proceed.”