by Griff Hosker
I was in august company. Lord Castlereagh said, “I understand, Major, that you are fluent in many languages. In fact, you speak French like a native.”
I was intrigued as to how the Secretary of War had come by such information. I wondered just how indiscreet Colonel Selkirk had been. “Yes, my lord, I appear to have been blessed with a gift for tongues.”
Colonel Hawker, the Light Dragoon, smiled. I could see that he was in his cups, “And I hear that you are a damned fine cavalryman!” He nodded to the Brigadier next to him. “Henry here knows a thing or two about cavalrymen.”
I saw the flicker of annoyance on Sir Arthur’s face. He did not like such informality. He was more comfortable with titles.
The Brigadier nodded, “I saw you in Spain. The retreat was a shambles, but you did fine work and Sir Edward spoke highly of you.” He referred to Sir Edward Paget who had held off the advancing French.
Lord Castlereagh had a commanding voice, “Let us hope that this time it is the French who do the retreating.” There were the appropriate nods all around. These officers were not defeated officers and they must, like me, have been chosen by Sir Arthur.
That led to a general conversation about the best way to defeat the French. I was forgotten. I sipped my wine and I listened. What I heard heartened me. These men had been specially selected by Sir Arthur. He was using this gathering to speak to them informally. That the Secretary of War was present guaranteed that we would be going to war.
I was on the periphery and I suddenly heard a voice in my ear. It was Lord Castlereagh. “A word, if you please, Major Matthews.”
You did not refuse such an invite, “Of course, my lord.”
He gestured towards the garden. There was no one there for it was a chilly evening, “I feel the need for fresh air. Do you need your cloak?”
“No, sir. The road to Corunna hardened me.”
“Quite.” He led me outside. “I spoke with Colonel Selkirk and I have asked the question of others. You have been less than truthful, Major.”
“Sir?”
“Do not be coy with me. Your real name is Macgregor and your father was Count of Breteuil. Do you deny it?”
“No, my lord.”
“What is more interesting is that you served with Bonaparte as one of his guards.” I nodded. There was little point in denying it. I wondered if I was about to lose my commission. “Tell me, what is his weakness?”
I was relieved. Lord Castlereagh was just seeking information to help Britain defeat the man the newspapers called, the Monster. “That he has no weakness or, at least, he believes he has no weakness. He sees enemies as a challenge and he is clever enough to see a way to defeat all those who come against him. More importantly the men he leads believe that too.”
“Enigmatic, Major; Colonel Selkirk was right. There is more to you than a horseman who can speak many languages. What you are saying is that he has such confidence in himself that it borders on the overconfident?”
I nodded, “Yes, my lord. He uses men as though they mean nothing to him. He is driven to winning at all costs. As he wins more than he loses his men see him as invincible. Men fight better for a leader they believe will win. That kept our army together on the road to Corunna for Sir John Moore was another such successful general. Of course, if Napoleon is not on the battlefield then his leaders are less successful.”
“You knew them?”
“Some of them. Bessières, Murat, Lannes.”
He looked reflective and then gestured with his head. The back of Sir Arthur was in the window. “And Sir Arthur? Is he the man to defeat him?”
“Sir, that is unfair.”
“Whatever is said here is private.”
He was a politician and I did not believe it for one moment but he was, technically, my superior. “Yes, my lord, he and Sir John Moore could both have defeated Bonaparte. Sir John’s untimely death was a sad loss.”
“Yet we have his equal. Thank you, Major. I appreciate your candour and your honesty. Britain is lucky to have you. I hope you stay alive for we need men like you.” I was about to go when he leaned in, “Be careful, Major. There are rumours that Fouché knows of you. He is a dangerous man even for someone like yourself.”
“Thank you for the warning, my lord.” That was the second such warning. I would heed it.
I held the door open for him and, nodding to Sir Arthur, passed through the library and headed back into the maelstrom that was the party. I knew now that I had specifically been invited to meet with Lord Castlereagh. That was patently obvious and now that I had met him, I could leave. As I stepped into the hallway, I drained my glass and placed it on one of the tables strategically sited along the corridor. Turning, I found myself face to face with the beauty who had been speaking with Colonel Selkirk. Now that I was closer, I could see that my first impressions had been wrong. She was not in her early twenties but her later twenties. That did not make her any less attractive. I saw, in her eyes, experience and she gauged me without any fear. She did not see me as a superior. This was a woman who knew her own mind.
She put her hand on mine, “Surely you are not leaving, Major? I was so looking forward to speaking with you. I have heard your name before and I do so admire a dashing officer. You are no man playing at war, you are a warrior!”
“I am sorry madam, you have the advantage of me. Have we met before?”
“You have good manners and I like that. No Major, I am Mrs Elizabeth Turner. I believe we both know Mr Hudson.”
Now I understood. This was the Pondicherry widow. What I did not understand was why she had been speaking with Colonel Selkirk. The old spymaster did not seem to me the type to flirt with widows, no matter how attractive. I suddenly realised that I was staring at her and her hand was still upon mine. I confess that I was aroused by her. I took her hand and kissed, “Apologies, Mrs Turner. I am a soldier and meeting beautiful ladies is not a normal occurrence, I am forgetting my manners. How are you finding England?”
She laughed, a tinkling laugh which sounded like water cascading over rocks, “You are a gentleman! England is cold. I spent the last few years in India. I grew used to the climate there. England is also expensive. In Pondicherry, I could have had ten servants for each one I employ here. However, it appears that there are compensations.” She leaned in, “One is meeting handsome and single officers!” I must have flushed for she laughed, “Oh, I have shocked you!” Lowering her voice, she confided, “My husband was twenty years my senior. I was a wife who could draw admiring glances. There was little love in the marriage. I endured his meetings and his boring friends and my reward is a pot of money for me to enjoy. Now I am the equal of any man and I act as a man does. If a man finds a woman attractive, he pursues her. You, Major, are the most handsome man in the room. Even the scar on your face adds to that. I fear that I have taken you by surprise.”
Just then Lady Ferrers appeared and took Mrs Turner’s hand, “Elizabeth, Lord Castlereagh is here and you said you wished to meet him.”
Mrs Turner flashed an angry look at her hostess and then quickly covered it. “Of course.” She had a purse around her wrist and she took from it a card. “Here is my card, Major. I would appreciate you calling upon me tomorrow if that is convenient. We have not had enough time to talk and this is not the place.” Lady Ferrers returned the look of anger at the insult. I bobbed my head and took the card. Her fingers squeezed mine as she handed it to me. “Shall we say eleven?”
“Eleven it is, Mrs Turner.”
“Elizabeth, please. Mrs Turner has too many unpleasant memories for me.”
As I left, I felt flattered but also a little worried. I had been taken unawares and I had had little opportunity to take charge. As a cavalryman I was used to making quick decisions but I felt as though I was out of my depth with the redoubtable widow. I had been ambushed. I think my worry saved my life for it made my mind work. Jenkins and Sharp had the night off. It was dark as I left the grand house but I did not have far
to travel. I was passing houses which belonged to the great and the good. There were doormen outside. Most were ex-soldiers and sailors. They saluted and greeted me as I passed them. The problem came when I turned off the main thoroughfare.
I headed up Swallow Street. The houses on that particular street were still the homes of the relatively well to do but they had no doormen and the road was quiet. Those who lived within would not venture forth at this hour. I was wary. Not because I feared an attack but because I could not explain Mrs Turner’s behaviour. It had been almost outrageous. I knew that she was a widow but widows did not act the way she had. My senses were tingling. The one glass of wine I had consumed had little effect on my reactions. I had been brought up French! I could drink a bottle and still not be unduly affected by it. I headed towards King Street and Carnaby market. In all honesty, I do not think it would have mattered which road I took for I was followed. I spotted the man behind me as I turned off Lower Swallow Street. I walked with my hand on my sword hilt but I also had a dagger tucked into the top of my boot.
Knowing that I was being followed, I looked ahead. I had to cross King Street to get to the open area which held, during the day, Carnaby Market. I would cross that. It was the largest open space until I reached Oxford Street. Argyll Street was narrow and there I would be trapped. Someone had counted on me becoming drunk. My early departure might just have put them off. The two men who rose from the shadows of the stalls of Carnaby Market must have raced ahead to cut me off. I wondered if there were others.
I drew my sword and shouted, “If you are footpads, I must warn you that I am an officer and I am armed. I know how to use my weapon!”
One of the men ahead of me held a club and a dagger. He leered, “It makes no never mind to us. We were told to slit your throat and we shall! You are worth a pretty penny to us!”
This was not an accidental meeting nor was it simple robbery. This was murder. There was a watch but that was in the city. Public buildings would be guarded but a man took his life in his hands when he ventured forth at night. I was alone and I knew that there were three of them; two ahead and at least one behind. There might be more. I had to act. I feigned a stumble and grabbed my dagger. When I rose, I ran like a greyhound from the traps. I took them by surprise.
The one with the dagger and the club reacted first and I ran towards him. I had the light cavalry sabre. It was intended for slashing. It was longer than both of their weapons. I was light on my feet. I was aware of feet pounding behind me and another thug with a short sword and what looked like a knuckle duster rushed at me from my right. As the club swung at me, I accelerated to be inside the head of the clumsy yet lethal weapon. Holding my sword to the right, ready to fend off the short sword, I ripped my dagger towards the club man’s throat. As I felt the club strike my shoulder I connected with his throat and blood spurted. I pushed his body away as I whirled to face the swordsman. I was just in time to block his sword with my own. I saw his knuckleduster come towards my face as my follower thundered towards me. I rammed my dagger at his hand and the blade went straight through his palm. He screamed and that would wake the neighbourhood. I smashed him in the face with the hilt of my sabre and turned.
The last man had halted. When he shouted, “Jem, Davy, where are you?” I knew that there were two other men! I took my chance and, leaping over the dead man and the unconscious one, I ran as fast as I could for Oxford Street. I gained ten paces on the one following me. Oxford Street, however, was a dangerous place at the best of times. When I reached it, I did not pause but ran straight across the busy thoroughfare. Had a horse or a carriage been coming down the street then I would have been a dead man. Fortune favours the brave or, perhaps, the foolhardy. I made it across and then sprinted across the open area that was Oxford Market. I did not turn. That invited disaster but I heard more feet pounding after me. There was a large open area off Titchfield Street and that was the saving of me. Without an obstacle to slow me I began to open a lead. The men who chased me smoked pipes, drank too much and were unfit. I was not. As luck would have it the door of the house next to my lodgings opened and our neighbour looked in horror as I pounded towards him pursued by three thugs. The man shouted loudly for help, “Thieves! Vagabonds!”
Sharp opened the door. He stood on the steps with a pistol in his hand and he raised it. I was not afraid for I knew he was a deadly shot but the ones chasing me feared the worst and they turned.
I was out of breath. I bent double trying to get my breath back. “What happened, sir?”
I waved a hand and I turned. The three men had fled. I stood and gasped. “I was attacked on the way back from the party. I think Boney has sent assassins here. It was a mistake to stop Jenkins following us.”
“Let’s get inside, sir.”
With the door locked and a brandy in my hand, I felt safer. Mary was mortified, “Oh sir, what is the world coming to when a gentleman cannot walk home without the fear of robbery.”
“Aye sir, there are bad uns around! London is not the place it was. Full of villains sir!”
I smiled, “I am safe now, George, and none the worse for wear. I am just grateful that there is no blood spattered on my uniform.”
After George and Mary had left us, I told Alan all that had occurred. Like me, he could not understand Mrs Turner and her actions.
He shrugged, “If she is a widow woman who was married to an older man, perhaps she is ready for something exciting, sir. You must admit that you are dashing and a Major.” He added, “And she was talking to Colonel Selkirk. Perhaps he rejected her. Unless she was a French spy, he wouldn’t give her the time of day!”
I laughed, “So, Sharp, I am to be compared to a shrivelled-up Scotsman?”
“No sir, it is just…” He saw I was teasing him and he smiled.
“We need to be careful from now on. Neither of us leaves alone and tomorrow we summon Jenkins. Perhaps we employ some of his pals.” I swallowed the brandy. “And I have a meeting with the widow at eleven. Perhaps the encounter may shed light on tonight.”
My uniform needed work for the attack and scuffle had resulted in some spoiling of my uniform. It would clean. I tossed and turned all night. The fact that the widow had upset my train of thought had undoubtedly saved my life. If it was not for the confusion she had caused me, my mind would not have been as alert. I would have strolled through the streets of London just grateful that I had escaped a dull party. My mind was also filled with the coming campaign. The General was placing a great deal upon my shoulders. I was just pleased that the 23rd would be there for they had served in Portugal before.
I rose and, while I breakfasted, Alan sought Jenkins. They joined me in the dining room. He was shocked that robbers had been brazen enough to attack me. As I forked a piece of bacon I pointed south, “Go to Carnaby Market. They will be setting up for the day. If these were just common robbers then the stall holders and the authorities will have had a body to move. If there was no body then these weren’t ordinary brigands.”
Jenkins stood, “I’ll go, sir, but I can tell you that these are not the usual footpads. I’ll wager there was no body and they probably cleaned the blood away too. From what you say these were professional killers. They sound like ex-soldiers. There are hundreds in the city and not all of them seek honest employment. When a man has learned to kill there is a great temptation to continue to do so.”
After he had gone Sharp said, “He is right, sir. What was it you told me one said? ‘We were told to slit your throat.’ That sounds like orders and payment. If Lord Castlereagh was right then this might be men hired by Fouché.”
That disturbing thought had kept me awake. Sharp was just confirming my fears.
When Jenkins returned it was to confirm that there was no sign of a struggle. “I will get a couple of lads to keep an eye on you, sir.”
It would have been arrogant foolishness to refuse. I took a handful of coins and pushed them towards Jenkins. “They will need payment and I will feel bet
ter if they are paid.”
Sharp came with me when I called upon Mrs Elizabeth Turner. We were expected. The doorman was Indian. He wore a turban and had a long, curved sword at his side. He looked like he could handle himself. When he admitted us, I noticed an accent. I had spoken to men from the Indian sub-continent before and it was not that. The accent was French. He asked me to wait and I said, “Merci.”
He replied, “D’accord.” I saw the flash of irritation upon his face. He had slipped up. I know not why but I took comfort from the fact I had tripped him up.
Mrs Turner was dressed beautifully. Her dress was cut to accentuate her figure and to give enough of a hint of her breasts to arouse. She smiled, “Major!” She held out her hand for me to kiss, “I cannot Major you all the time. What is your Christian name?”
I kissed the back of her hand, aware that she was, once more, squeezing my fingers, “Robert, but my friends call me Robbie.” It was as I said it that I realised how few friends I actually had!
“Robbie,” she seemed to roll the name around her mouth as though tasting it, “such a lovely name and it suits you. If you would leave your man here, we will go to the drawing room for refreshments.”
Nodding to Sharp, he would keep an ear out, the widow led me to the drawing room. There was a table and four chairs but she took my hand to lead me to a chaise-longue. She patted the cushion for me to sit. Another male servant, also Indian, entered with a trolley upon which were delicacies. There was also a pot of tea. She turned, “You like green tea? I grew addicted to it in the east. I do not like the milky brown tea which those on this island seem to drink by the gallon.”
“Of course.”
The servant poured and handed us our cups. Mrs Turner dismissed him. “Help yourself to these delicacies. My chef came with me from India. They may be a little too spicy for you.”