by Dawn Harris
I told Luffe I was going into the workroom and did not wish to be disturbed. This was the room my father had used for his hobbies, part of the east wing and the extensive additions my father had made to Westfleet on his marriage. It was here I had helped him solve some of the puzzles he encountered in writing his history of the Island. Where, as I’d told Mr. Pitt, we had written the relevant facts on large sheets of paper, and fixed these to the walls, where they could be seen at a glance. As I planned to do with the facts concerning Mr Hamerton.
For it was vital that I missed nothing, but if I suddenly started to spend a good deal of time in the workroom, my aunt and uncle would guess I was trying to solve some new mystery, and demand to know what it was. I could see no answer to the problem, except to use the workroom when they were out, or had retired to bed.
I copied out the relevant passages of the journal for Mr. Pitt, making another for myself so that I could return the journal to Julia. The earlier entries, about normal life, would mean so much to her. Then I went to look for my uncle. I found him reading in the library, and explaining I needed to speak to Mr. Reevers on a private matter, I asked if he would be kind enough to escort me to Norton House.
He eyed me thoughtfully but agreed readily enough, and said, ‘I was hoping for a chance to browse through his library again.’
I laughed. ‘I wish everyone was as understanding as you, Uncle.’
‘If you speak to Mr Reevers out in the garden that would satisfy your aunt’s sense of propriety, I think.’ The library overlooked the garden. ‘I would be able to say, quite truthfully, that you never went out of my sight.’
On reaching Norton House we saw Mr Reevers sitting reading on the terrace in the sun. The house, built some eighty years previously, had a very long garden running down to the beach, and as my uncle was aware, it also sported an extensive library. Thus, while I talked to Mr. Reevers on the terrace my uncle went off to enjoy himself browsing through the books.
Mr. Reevers folded the papers he had been reading and told me, ‘Toby’s out checking on newcomers to the Island. As he says, it would be foolish to assume Hamerton is Mr. Brown when we have no actual evidence.’
‘Are there many gentlemen newly arrived here?’
‘Three that we know of.’ When I refused his offer of refreshments he sat back in his chair, his eyes searching my face and said, ‘I am delighted to see you at any time, but your expression suggests you have news for me.’
He was smiling at me in a manner that set my heart racing, and reminding myself severely why I was here, I lowered my eyes and tried to behave like the sensible woman I’d always believed myself to be. ‘Julia Tanfield believes her brother was murdered.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘Does she indeed?’
‘And I think she’s right.’
His lazy eyes were suddenly alert. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘The journal I found in a secret drawer of his desk.’ I handed him the copy I’d made, and he rifled through the pages to see how long it was, before putting the sheets on the table beside him. ‘I should like you to read it now,’ I urged. ‘If you would be so good.’
His lips began to twitch at my impatience. ‘My nurse taught me that reading in the presence of a lady was impolite.’
‘In this instance I beg you to forget such considerations.’
He heaved a sigh. ‘Must I?’ And murmured softly, ‘I would much rather look at you.’
The faintest of flushes coloured my cheeks. ‘Mr. Reevers, I’m sure I don’t need to point out there are any number of much prettier women than----’
‘Yes, but none with a tenth of your intelligence.’
‘In that case, oblige me by reading those pages.’
‘I fail to see what can be so urgent. Or even how it concerns me at all. Surely you should inform the local constable or ------’
‘This is why it concerns you,’ I broke in impatiently, handing him the token I’d found in Septimus’s desk. ‘Septimus belonged to the same corresponding society as those two assassins. And this journal,’ I said, handing him the sheets again, ‘says they mean to kill the King, his family, Mr. Pitt and important Government ministers all on the same day. And we have very little time in which to prevent it.’
Unable to sit still while he was reading, I got up and walked about the terrace. Even the sight of a thrush perched on a nearby wall, seemingly watching us, failed to distract me. The instant he finished reading I returned to my seat. He still held the pages in his hand and when he glanced up at me, something in his expression made me blurt out, ‘What is it?’
‘Yesterday I had a message from Mr Pitt informing me it is believed Mr. Brown was recruited very recently. Which would certainly fit with Hamerton. Pitt says the French are expecting something really big from him.’
‘Nothing is more important to the French than revolution,’ I said more calmly than I felt.
‘Indeed,’ he agreed absently, and sat staring into space.
Watching him, I wondered how he and Mr. East coped with the knowledge that Mr. Pitt relied on them to capture Mr. Brown and every member of the Fat Badger society on the Island. Relied on them, in fact, to prevent a revolution. Knowing that, if they failed, England would be changed for ever. Coming out of his reverie, he reached out and took my hands in his. ‘My dear girl, you must take the greatest care. If it is Hamerton, he’ll be more dangerous than any man you have ever met. If you offer the slightest hint that you so much as suspect him, he will kill you without a single qualm.’
I caught my breath, knowing he was right, yet whatever the cost, I had to discover whether Mr. Hamerton was guilty, or innocent. For if their plot succeeded, demagogues like Robespierre would strut about on English soil, dictating whose head would be next to roll from the guillotine into those grotesque baskets.
Thanks to Septimus’s journal we knew Mr Brown wanted everything ready by the end of July. When Mr. Pitt received the copy I’d made, he would take every possible measure to ensure the safety of the King and top government ministers. Measures Mr Brown would be unaware of, as he couldn’t know Septimus had kept a journal. Thoughts I clung to gratefully, for they gave me hope. It was, therefore, vital that Mr. Hamerton did not find out about the journal. I was never more thankful that Julia had promised not to tell a soul about it, not even Richard.
I was afraid I would find it difficult to conduct an amiable conversation with Mr. Hamerton so soon after reading the journal, but it was easier than I’d expected. ‘I spent the morning in Newport,’ he told us over dinner. ‘And this afternoon I bought a house.’
We all stared at him in astonishment. ‘A house?’ I echoed.
He nodded and told us, with great enthusiasm, ‘It’s exactly what I’m looking for. The owner, Mr. Bush, died recently but his widow kindly showed me round.’
My aunt looked up from her large portion of apple pie. ‘Where is this house exactly?’
'On the outskirts of Dittistone. Quite isolated, but on a hill overlooking the sea.’
‘Oh, yes I remember,’ I said. ‘Mr. and Mrs. Bush moved down from London a year ago.’
‘Well, Mrs. Bush is returning to London. The climate doesn’t agree with her, whereas I find the sea air and lovely countryside suits me very well, and the house couldn’t be better.’
That pleased my aunt, but my uncle said, ‘Are you sure it’s wise to make that kind of decision so quickly?’ We had got back to Westfleet late on Saturday, and today was only Tuesday.
‘I’m quite sure, Mr. Frère. I have only been on the Island for three days, but already I feel I could happily spend the rest of my life here.’ He hesitated as if uncertain how to continue. ‘The house won’t be available until the first of July. I thought of moving to an inn ----’
‘Nonsense,’ I insisted, my aunt and uncle quickly adding their protests to mine. ‘You are welcome to stay here as long as you want.’
A shy smile hovered on his lips. ‘You really are most kind. I should like to
stay, if you are quite sure----’
‘I am.’ I was astonished at the speed with which he was buying a house, for he seemed far from impulsive in all other ways. Yet, if he was a French agent, an isolated house on the Isle of Wight, where no-one would see who visited him, or what he did, was ideal for planning a revolution. It also meant that if he moved in on the first of July, I had precisely four weeks in which to find out if he was Mr. Brown. I prayed it would be enough.
In the morning I started my search for Septimus’s friend George, convinced it would be easy enough to find his grave. As a gentleman, he was bound to have a gravestone, and surely there couldn’t be many Georges of the right age who had died in early May. Remembering that Septimus had bumped into him in Newport, I hoped that was where George had lived, and where his grave would be. Once I learned his surname I could approach his wife, with every chance of discovering who else belonged to the Fat Badger society.
I explained the situation to Mudd on the way, relating what was in the journal, watching his growing horror as I told him what this society planned to do. ‘No-one I know wants to go the way of the French, my lady.’
‘Most people don’t, John, I agree. But if these men kill the King I fear that those who do want a revolution will ensure that it happens.’ Even so I rode into Newport full of hope. If we could find out who else was in this society, we still had time to stop them.
After a day spent searching cemeteries and church records, my optimism had disappeared, for those named George who had died in Newport at that time were old men or children. As we left for home Mudd, seeing my despair, suggested, ‘Perhaps the gentleman lived in a village near Newport, my lady.’
‘Let’s hope so, John. We’ll try again tomorrow.’
Riding back across the Downs we stopped to give the horses a rest, and I noticed two riders on a lower path, riding side by side, deep in conversation. They were going away from us and were not aware of our presence. We could not hear what they were talking about, but I recognised one as being Mr. Sims, the parson’s nephew. Watching them disappear into the distance I said to Mudd, ‘That older, larger gentlemen – isn’t that Mr. Young?’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘My father said he made his money from smuggling.’
‘That was on the mainland, my lady. It must be nearly thirty years since he came to the Island. He’s quite respectable now.’
This was true. His money had made him acceptable to many, including the impoverished but genteel family in Dittistone, into which he’d married. A widower now, he had a daughter of about eighteen, took a great interest in politics and was known to have a fondness for gambling. ‘What business could Mr. Sims possibly have with such a man?’
But Mudd did not know either, and I smiled to myself thinking of what the Uptons would say if they could see their nephew now. To them gambling was the worst of sins.
‘As we’re talking of smugglers, my lady-------..’
He hesitated and I encouraged, ‘What is it, John?’
‘It’s just that I saw Mr. Hamerton talking to smugglers at Blackgang.’ I turned to him in horror, for some of the Island’s most notorious smuggling gangs were to be found at Blackgang. ‘I thought I should mention it, my lady, what with Mr. Hamerton coming from Windsor and not knowing the ways of Island smugglers.’
‘When was this?’
‘Sunday morning, my lady. I was exercising his lordship’s horse, and came back by Blackgang.’ I should have sold my father’s horse but could not bring myself to part with him. ‘I was so pleased to be home I was up very early, eager for a good long ride. That not being so easy in Windsor,’ he added in his matter of fact manner. ‘No-one else was about when I left, so I think Mr. Hamerton must have saddled his horse himself.’
I’d told Mudd about Septimus, but he knew nothing of Mr. Hamerton, as Mr. Pitt had forbidden me to tell anyone. Yet if Mudd was to assist me, he needed to know it all. Besides, as a servant he could hear or see things that I might not. As he had at Blackgang. Unless I told him what to look out for, he couldn’t help. And I had absolute faith in Mudd’s discretion, aware that not one word of what I was about to tell him would ever pass his lips.
John Mudd had taught me to ride, and in doing so had passed on his love of horses to me. He had never been over protective, nor was he now, although I was conscious that, since my father’s death, he had, in his own quiet way, kept a more watchful eye on me. He would see that what I was doing was dangerous, but I did not believe he would fuss about it.
Up here there was no-one about, except a shepherd some distance ahead, looking after the flocks of sheep that roamed the Downs. Thus, I told him about John Hamerton and added, ‘Mr Reevers and Mr. East are the only other people who know.’ He nodded, as if that was what he’d expected, and I pointed out, ‘If you help me with this your life could be in danger too. If you would prefer to have nothing to do with it, I shall quite understand.’
He spluttered with indignation, ‘As if I would ever do such a thing, my lady.’
He remained so clearly affronted that I quickly explained, ‘I wanted you to have the choice, John. I didn’t mean to offend you. And it’s no good saying you’re not, because after twenty-four years it’s not something you can hide from me.’
His face broke into a reluctant grin. ‘The fact is, my lady, I thought you’d know I’d never let you down.’
‘I do. But there’s a difference between not letting me down, and putting your own life at risk.’
‘Not to me there isn’t, my lady,’ he chided respectfully. The very fact that he had fallen back into chastising me, much as he had when I was a child, told me how much I had upset him, and it took me a few minutes to rectify the situation. Which I did by reminding him of some of the scrapes he’d rescued me from when I was young.
He made no comment on my involvement in such matters, suggesting he did not disapprove. If he had, he would have said so, if only by remarking my father would not have liked it. As he did not do this, I knew I could count on him to assist me in every possible way.
I suspected too that he already had some idea of what was going on, as when Mr Reevers had escorted me to Downing Street to meet Mr. Pitt, Mudd had driven us there and back.
Afterwards, in the carriage, I had talked freely about what Mr. Pitt had wanted, and I felt sure he must have heard some of the conversation, despite the streets noises going on all around us. The lack of surprise when I explained I had to report back on Mr. Hamerton certainly suggested that he had. But all I said was, ‘It would be unwise to assume Mr. Hamerton is Mr. Brown. It may be some other gentleman who has recently arrived on the Island.’ He nodded and I went on, ‘The only other gentleman I’ve seen is Mr Sims. Do you know of anyone else?’
He thought for a few moments and then shook his head. ‘No, my lady, I don’t.’
I urged him to keep his eyes and ears open. ‘These Fat Badgers killed Jeffel. And pushed Mrs Tanfield’s brother over the cliff. I won’t rest, John, not until every one of those fiends is either dead, or awaiting the scaffold.’
That evening, after my aunt and uncle had gone to bed, Mr. Hamerton said he had a letter to write, and I was able to go into my workroom. Here I spent some time studying the journal again, in case I’d missed anything. I also checked the chart I’d made for Mr. Hamerton, and I was sitting in my chair thinking about him when I saw a light in the garden.
A glance at the clock showed me it was already well past midnight. The light was clearly coming from a lantern, and taking the pistol I kept in the drawer of my desk, I walked quietly towards the nearest side door and went outside.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was a still night, but the lantern was swinging at head height, and as it did so, the light shone on the face of the man holding it. I put the pistol back into my pocket and walked towards him. ‘Mr. Hamerton, whatever are you doing?’ I asked pleasantly.
He uttered a gasp of surprise. ‘Lady Drusilla. You startled me, ma’am.’ He p
ointed at the moths fluttering around the lantern. ‘Moths are such pretty things.’
I thought of his wife, and the fact that the aristocrat who’d knocked her down had been murdered. On the night of that murder, Mr. Hamerton explained his absence from home by saying he had been out watching moths. ‘Indeed they are,’ I agreed with a smile. ‘I’m afraid that when I saw the lantern bobbing about I thought you were a burglar.’
I heard his sharp intake of breath. ‘I do beg your pardon, ma’am. I shouldn’t have come out here without telling you, but I thought everyone had retired for the night. And I was eager to see if Island moths were different from those in Windsor.’
Standing by his side I watched the moths fluttering around the lantern, with Mr. Hamerton telling me the names of those we saw. ‘Such attractive colours, don’t you think?’
‘Indeed.’ Though, frankly, I thought them rather ugly. ‘Do you have a large collection?’
He arched his brows at me. ‘I don’t collect them, ma’am. I just observe and keep a record of those I see. I couldn’t bear to kill them. They don’t harm anyone, and they have a short enough life as it is. The same goes for butterflies.’
‘I enjoy watching butterflies myself. Unfortunately, so does the kitchen cat.’
‘Ah well, that’s nature. I like cats too, and thankfully enough butterflies survive to give us pleasure.’
‘Well, I shan’t worry in future when I see lanterns bobbing about in the garden.’
He drew his brows together into a deep frown. ‘Forgive me ma’am, but I do think you were unwise to come out here alone. What if I had been a burglar?’
I decided not to mention I had a pistol with me. ‘I’m not afraid of burglars, Mr. Hamerton.’