by David O'Neil
This proof of his cowardice caused a moment of shocked disbelief as the men in the crowd watched their leader grovelling on the floor. Then the door opened and big Swede Hanson came in with a group of Roisters and all hell broke loose.
***
There was a subdued air in the Half Moon inn as Sam and Abel ate carefully next morning. Lizzie and Jessie were pleased that the young Adam had been saved, but neither felt that their men needed to be involved in the brawl that followed. The regulars at the Fleet inn were basically smugglers. Creedy aside, most were hard drinking, hard living men. Disgusted with the shaming of Creedy, they had been determined to demonstrate that they would not be pushed around, especially by Preventive men. The role of HMS Roister being now known, the town divided in their attitude to the men who manned her. To the men of the Fleet Inn they were the enemy and the bloody conflict that resulted was a vicious attempt on both sides to pay off scores.
Both men winced when they moved in response to the bruises they had received during the melee. Despite the contrition both had expressed to their wives, secretly they had enjoyed the fight and were happy that they had demonstrated to the other crew members that they could still hold their own in a fight.
What they were not aware of was that their wives were also secretly proud of the fact that they had stood by their crew and despite the bruises they had demonstrated their manliness in an appropriate way. For the moment they would be made to suffer. After all they were mature men not boys and they needed to be reminded of their responsibilities.
On board ship, Adam Tamar and Alan Dawson, already friends were drawn even closer by their survival of the sticky situation on shore. The younger Dawson, though junior by nearly eight years, had been educated to a level that placed him in a position of equality in many ways with the older Adam Tamar. Adam had hardly had a youth. He had been expected to do a man’s work from an early age and in Alan he had found a friend willing to help him with the schoolwork needed for his navigation study and an undemanding companion who didn’t pass judgement on his past, which by now was known throughout the ship. Added to this was the fact that Alan was tall for his age and Adam was not, in fact they were both five-feet six inches tall, though the younger lad was destined to become taller.
Alan tended to lead the way into and out of mischief, but he was quick witted and looked after both of them. He was wiry and agile without an ounce of fat, but he was muscular and though not in full growth he was getting there.
Adam on the other hand was content to follow, not as quick to act as his friend, tended to think things through before he acted. He was fit and in the full strength of manhood. He had taken to the life on board ship to the manner born. Both could only see their future in the navy.
The meeting with Lord Mills was short and the substance was that Robert would be kept in London and HMS Roister would be commanded in the interim by Captain Willet. The task for Robert in London was to find and capture the network of agents that were being operated as a support group for Lord Charles. They had all dispersed as soon as word of the capture during the raid at Quiberon was sent through their secret channels.
Using a house in Park Lane, Robert was to operate in plain clothes with the assistance of Sergeant Walter Smith, a man of experience in the game of espionage.
When Robert arrived at the Park Lane house he found it was not on the lane at all. In fac,t it was in the Mews behind one of the houses halfway down. An apartment above a carriage house, currently unoccupied, and it was an extremely comfortable dwelling. Sergeant Smith had made himself at home in the accommodation and was prepared to use the premises as combination office and quarters for the duration of the enquiry at least. He was a widower and found no hardship changing his abode from the cottage in Deptford owned by his wife, and now given over to his daughter and her husband.
He was near six feet tall with friendly-looking brown eyes and a rather battered face. Robert discovered that his appearance was a result of his earlier career as a successful bare knuckles fighter. Having joined the army when his wife died he had found a place with the then Major Mills who recognised that the man he used as a bodyguard had a natural talent for espionage and was an astute investigator.
When Mills left the army he took the sergeant with him. They had worked together for the past five years.
“Welcome to this humble abode Captain Graham, my name is Walter Smith at your service.
“Since we are supposed to work together I think we should forget the titles.” Robert was, not surprisingly, wary, though he liked the look of his partner.
“If I may suggest, Sir, I appreciate the gesture but our differences in status make it impossible for us to appear in public as equals. May I suggest I take the posture of bodyguard/assistant in public and call you sir and in turn you call me Smith? In private I am happy to be informal, I am known as Walter.” He held his hand out and Robert took it with firm grip.
“My name is Robert, as you please, and I am pleased to meet you, sir.”
The two men sat down and went over the information already gathered by Lord Mills’ organisation. Broadly it was divided into two sections: known haunts of the agents and, where known, the areas where they operated. The main problem was actually identifying the people themselves.
Walter briefed Robert on what had been done so far. “I have enrolled you in the Academy of Arms in Vauxhall; you are brushing up your swordsmanship in the expectation of returning to the colours at some time in the future. If questioned on the subject be vague, undecided. You will also be able to brush up you pistol shooting, as they have a target range on the premises. The Academy is run by a French Master named the Compte D’Valle.”
Robert stopped him at that point “I have met the Comte D’Valle. I rescued his niece off the coast of France in ’94. I met him just after he acquired the title.”
“That’s odd, the man calling himself the Compte D’Valle came here last year. Je said he had only just managed to escape, the man who died in “’94 had been an imposter.” He tapped his teeth reflectively.
Robert said “We can easily check, Mariette D’Valle can identify him for us!”
“I’m afraid not, she apparently went off to visit friends in Ireland with her husband shortly before D’Valle arrived and has not returned since. We do not know where she is.”
“I see. Tell me, am I entered into the Academy under my own name?”
“Good lord no, sir... Bob we had linked the two names to start with. We could not allow that to happen. You are listed as Sir Robert Lindsey, from Dunnire, in Scotland. Educated here at Oxford, living in the Albany.” He passed over an address, “You will be recognised and received by your sister who shares the apartment.”
Robert raised his eyebrow in enquiry. Walter answered the unasked question; “Mistress Amelie Parker, your widowed sister.” He said this with an absolutely straight face, though he was obviously aware that the two were known to each other.
“When do I report for training, and do I take my own weapons?”
“Tomorrow I would suggest, and take your sword in the first place so that the master may assess your requirements for training. Meanwhile, may I suggest a little supper and then sleep; there is much to do tomorrow” He indicated the table already laid with a cold collation and wine and the room beyond with a bed made up already.
The following day was busy as Walter suggested it might be. Robert reported to the Salle d’ Armes with the sword given him by his father when he began fencing as a young man. It was unpretentious as swords go at the time but a sound practical weapon. He was greeted by the assistant Master as his employer was absent at the time. The man introduced himself as William Bain, late of his Majesty’s Dragoon Guards. He was regarded as an expert in the art of duelling, having written a text book on the subject. Whilst waiting to be received, Robert had been able to read the details of the Masters in notices displayed in the foyer of the Salle.
While he understood that Robert wished to brush
up on his swordplay in general, he would be happy to advise him on any matter of the art that he could assist with.
Dressed for fencing he took care measuring Robert and his sword in hand, before pronouncing himself satisfied that the two would work well together. Then, with foils provided, he proceeded to work Robert almost to exhaustion, fencing relentlessly for nearly one hour.
“You are very competent, sir,” he commented. “You are certainly in much better condition than I expected you to be. Few people could have survived nearly one hour of combat as you have done. May I ask have you been serving his Majesty over the past few years?”
Having detected the trace of Scotland in the man’s accent, Robert had an answer ready. “Every day for years my father made me train with a Broadsword, fencing with the local strongman, who had fought in the rising of ’45. He was fifty-five years old and he beat me until he was sixty; from then on I beat him.” I also served for a short period in the Yeomanry.” He said no more, and Bain was convinced.
Later that night when he discussed his day with Walter he explained. “Made the mistake of answering his challenge. I’m sure it was deliberate, testing me out.”
“He is a duellist, it would be second nature.”
“I realised that I had been able to hold him far too long for an amateur, and then I recalled that I was supposed to be Scots, I can still hear my father talking of the wild Highlanders that came through England in the ’45 wielding their broadswords. Heavy weapons to play with, I suggested that I had been forced to train with the broadsword as a young man, and he found it believable. At least I think he did?”
Walter walked over to the cabinet by the wall and flung open the door, exposing a selection of swords in a row, above which were a rack of a variety of pistols. From the selection of swords he found a double-edged broadsword—similar—though not the same as the famous Highlanders sword. He threw it to Robert and said “Downstairs with you.”
Robert went downstairs into the carriage room below followed by Sergeant Smith who had selected another sword of similar weight to Robert’s.
The carriage room was a surprise to Robert, he had not been shown it when he came to the Mews. In the centre was a square rope ring, and hanging from the joist above was a large punch bag.
“I like to keep fit!” was Walters’s muttered explanation. “Now help me clear the floor.”
Between them they took the ropes away and made space.
“You need to prove you know what to do with a heavy blade. Have you used one before?”
“I’ve used a cutlass and a hanger, both heavy….” He was interrupted by Smith who threw the scabbard of his sword into the corner.
“Both of those swords are single-edged; to use a broadsword effectively you must remember that there is a wounding strike on the backhand, using the length of the sword from the hilt to the point.” He retrieved the scabbard and demonstrated on the punch bag.
By the time Robert fell in bed that night, he was exhausted. The sergeant was relentless, “You may not attend the Salle tomorrow, but the next time you do, you must be able to prove your skill with the broadsword or be proved a liar; and that would defeat out purpose!”
The following morning Robert called on his sister to establish his presence physically and to ensure he knew where the house was.
Amelie was pleased to see him and they discussed their past adventures over a polite and proper tea taken in the drawing room. The little house was just the sort of place that suited the attractive widow; and the handsome bachelor brother who would be expected to only use the house when he was not involved in amorous pursuits elsewhere.
He confirmed that he would stay at the Mews with the sergeant as it was more central and allowed him to be within a short walk from the Salle where the action seemed to be centred.
For three days Robert practiced with the sword and at his suggestion, Walter Smith took the opportunity to show Robert some of the techniques of the fine art of wrestling, as he pointed out the streets of London could be a hazard to the unprepared.
It was with some trepidation that Robert returned to the Salle d’ Armes, making the excuse of a visit from his parents for his absence.
He was introduced to the Master, Comte D’Valle, who had returned during Robert’s absence.
“I understand, Sir Robert, that you have some acquaintance with this weapon?” He produced a broadsword used by the army. Robert smiled, “I am afraid not, sir; this weapon had a single edge. I was accustomed to a double edge in my youth, though the weight seems right.
At the request of the Master, Robert demonstrated the various cuts and thrusts associated with the broadsword before being given his practice in the art of gentlemen’s fencing for the morning.
He noticed during the morning several people seemed to come and go. Some merely seemed to bring a message; others stayed and drank coffee with the Comte. Among these was at least one lady, whose presence was a surprise in this place so exclusively male.
He reported the events of the morning when he met Walter later at the Mews. The main things he had noticed was that the Comte had a room that was kept locked, and that some of the visitors had spent time in the room with D’Valle who opened the door with a key each time.
Robert concluded “Two things occur to me; one is that I agree with you the Comte is not genuine and I would like to know what happened to Mariette and her husband, and her uncle Armand. The other is there seem to be very few émigré members of the Salle. I find that strange in view of the number of other clubs in London with many émigré members. Can we find out if they are encouraged to join?”
With the funds provided by Lord Mills, the sergeant had built up a team of watchers and informants throughout the area surrounding the Salle d’Armes, and because the visitors to the Salle had been assiduously followed by these watchers, the pattern of interest spread from Bayswater to Wapping.
South of the river there was one suspect, in the Chatham area, who worked in the dockyard, though his place in the scheme was not apparent. The northern area of Highgate appeared to be the home of the lady visitor, the house being set back from the road and surrounded by several acres of parkland. All this information was gradually forming a pattern that the two investigators were finding increasingly suspect.
It was during the next week that they realised they were being watched. The first inkling Walter had was when watching Robert returning to the Mews one day, he observed someone ducking behind the pillar at the gateway to the area. Robert looked round before approaching the door, but the watcher was out of sight by then. When Robert came up stairs, Walter pointed out the watcher who was now leaning against the wall, puffing on a clay pipe.
Chapter eighteen
“Let’s have a word with him, shall we. If you would like to wait at the door for him, I’ll send him round.” The sergeant was quite jocular as he jogged down the stairs, to disappear to the back of the carriage room.
Robert stood behind the carefully opened door waiting. On hearing running feet, he flung open the door and stepped out into the path of the running man, who had abandoned his pipe to run. He saw Robert and tried to avoid him. As he passed, Robert’s fist shot out and hit him in his side below the ribs. He folded and tumbled to the ground, ending up on his back with his legs up against the side of the house wall opposite the mews apartment. The sergeant cantered up and, between them, they carried the man inside and closed the door. Robert looked out to see if there was any sign of trouble, but it seemed that nobody had noticed the scuffle.
Tied up to the punch bag, the watcher was a sorry sight. His face was grazed where he had hit the cobblestones; he was conscious but stubbornly silent.
“What’s your name and what were you doing following me?” The first innocent question was from Robert.
As he spoke Walter appeared, Robert’s eyes opened wide. The man was stripped to the waist and wearing thin leather gloves, the muscles rippled over the broad shoulders and torso of a true athlete.
He towered over the trussed figure who looked positively terrified.
“I’ll ask you again your name, and what were you doing following me?”
After licking his lips and glancing nervously at Walter, who was now tapping the other side of the punch bag, he spoke. “I’m Nolly Ward, I was asked by this geezer to keep you in view, said you was her fancy-man and she reckoned you could be visiting.”
Walter translated for the puzzled-looking Robert. “A lady asked him to follow you, since you are her man friend and she suspected that you might have another lady friend tucked away somewhere.”
“Who was the lady, what does she look like?” Robert tried to look menacing but with Walter there he didn’t need bother.
“She didn’t give her name, she was tall as me and had black hair, dressed lady-like and went off in a carriage with some badge on the side.” He was still looking at Walter as Walter began hitting the bag causing it to jolt and throwing him off balance.