“’Tis a new bottle, My Lord,” said the boy, fear etched on his face. “Was the bottle Earl Blakemore brought as a present. I must call the nurse, My Lord! I must!” The boy ran off.
The Lord fell off his chair, unable to hold his weight any longer. “Poison?” he thought. “You chose poison, my son? You chose poison to end my wretched life. Poison be a woman’s weapon, my lad. If only you had learnt to overcome cowardice than to disguise it.” With that fleeting thought, Lord Stokeworth passed into the void, looking towards the sun setting on the city of London. His city, the city he had served his whole life. Minutes later, the nurse ran into the room, clutching bottles of tonic and medicine. But she was too late. She pronounced the good Lord dead to young Will Turner, sorrow and surprise etched on both their faces.
Chapter 8
Night had fallen by the time Tobias Harding reached the gates of Northumberland. The moon was creeping up the horizon, basking everything around him in a white glow. A wolf howled in the distance as Tobias approached the huge gates. The castle looked splendid in the cold glow of the moon, the windows glinting brightly. Tobias patiently waited for the old gatekeeper, Mont. He didn’t have to wait long before the old man addressed him.
“Who goes there?” he called out.
“Tobias Harding, Mont,” he called back, “open up, eh?”
“Ah, Tobias. The Lord Duke has been expecting ye,” said the man. “What took ye so long? Some city wench catch your eye, eh boy?” The man chuckled to himself and proceeded to open the huge gates.
Tobias didn’t reply and smiled to himself in silence. The old man loved to crack jokes about Tobias’s rather uneventful romantic life. In fact, it had been his long recurring dream that Tobias would fall for his own daughter, but he had shown no interest. The man soon abandoned the dream that was doomed to remain unfulfilled till the end of time. Tobias had no interest in romance or love. The concept was as incomprehensible to him as it was formidable. He was a man who believed in efficiency; for him, love was simply inefficient. The doors creaked open slowly, and Tobias urged his horse to squeeze through the somewhat narrow opening.
“Couldn’t have opened the gates a bit wider, old man,” grumbled Tobias, “me horse could barely fit.”
“But it did, eh?” chuckled the man. “I got meself a wife and daughter, they complain plenty. No need for you to shake me bones over a ruddy gate, lad. Hurry now; Duke be waiting for ye.”
With that, the man walked away. Tobias was again left smiling in his wake. He didn’t smile for long. He carried grave news; the Duke was to go to the channel, leaving Abigail behind. The news would be gravely unpleasant to him, more so because his dear Duchess Abigail was with child. But Tobias carried a Royal order, something that the Duke could not possible ignore. He had conveniently set aside the workings of the countryside to cater to his wife’s needs; the civil unrest between Aldrich and Northumberland had gone unnoticed and unreported. It was Tobias who had dealt with all the issues.
This was another reason why love seemed inefficient to Tobias. He could not possibly understand the concept. To set aside one’s responsibilities was to Tobias a sin that could not be excused under any circumstances. The lack of responsibility in his father had left him, a nine-year-old boy to fend for himself on the streets after the death of his mother. To him, responsibility and work were everything.
Approaching the doors leading into the castle, Tobias ran into the Duchess’s chambermaid. She looked flustered as she hustled about, looking for something in the grass by the doors. “What has ye running around like a headless chicken, lass?” he inquired.
“Mr Tobias!” she exclaimed, surprised, “’Tis nothing. Just looking for a set of keys I had in me hands. Don’t know where I dropped them.”
“Where have you been, lass?” asked Tobias.
“I was just coming from the back entrance, Mr Tobias,” exclaimed the flustered maid, “the one that leads to the kitchens from the pasture outside the castle. And I had the keys in me hands; I swear it. Now, where could they have gone?”
“I know of the passage, lass. As I happen to remember that the doors leading into the kitchen are somewhat jammed. A man be needing two hands to get that old thing to open. Now if a man were to be carrying something, he might have to put it down to get them open, eh?”
“Aye, Mr Tobias,” said the maid, confusion etched on her face, “He would but—”
Realization suddenly rolled across her face. She slapped her forehead and laughed. “Aye,” she repeated, “he would. Thank you, Mr Tobias. You be smarter than those bald old men at the society of science, I reckon.” She laughed and marched away towards the kitchens.
Tobias entered the castle and took the main staircase up to the gallery. Walking towards the Duke’s chambers, he saw Pip, sitting in the corridor, examining the ceiling. The boy looked mesmerised, staring at the patterned ceiling with wonderment in his eyes. Tobias was fond of the boy. He was efficient, like him, but he was also a romantic. He was naught but around twelve years of age, but he was smart and loyal. He would grow into a fine man, he thought.
“Oye, Pip,” he called at the boy, “what be so interesting about the ceiling, my boy, that you be looking at it with such amazement?”
The boy looked around at Tobias and broke into a wide grin. “Mr Tobias!” he exclaimed. “Back from the city?”
The boy got up to greet him as Tobias walked to the chair on which he sat. “Aye, I be back,” said Tobias, looking down at the boy grinning up at him, “and I have brought you something, lad. A bottle of fresh marmalade.”
The boy’s eyes gleamed with delight, “Truly, Mr Tobias?”
“Aye, the jar be in my saddlebags. Remember to take it, eh?” he said, ruffling Pip’s hair, “Where be the Duke?”
“In his study, Mr Tobias,” said the boy, “I have been told to wait outside the master chambers in case ma’am Abigail be needing something.”
“The study, eh?” asked Tobias, surprised. The Duke had not left his lady’s side ever since he had found out about the child. Why the sudden change in demeanour?
Almost as if he had read his thoughts, Pip piped up, “The lady herself urged the Lord to cater to his responsibilities, Mr Tobias. He was not very pleased if I may say.”
Tobias paused, surprised. The Duchess surely deserved a bit more credit, he mused. “Very well, Pip,” he said, “I shall find him. You stay here and watch out for the Duchess, eh?”
“Yes, sir!” exclaimed Pip, saluting.
Tobias smiled and walked on towards the study, just down the corridor. He paused outside the doors. Tobias utterly loathed and resented being the bearer of bad news, but alas, he had been made to fulfil the role on countless occasions. With a hesitant hand, he knocked on the doors softly. After a moment, a dignified voice that Tobias knew well answered: “Enter!” it said. Tobias sighed and gently pushed open the doors.
Chapter 9
Samuel Cooper had not lain in a soft, comfortable bed for three months, but when he arrived at Aldrich, he was very courteously escorted to a small but comfortable chamber in the main castle. One of the chambers that were mostly reserved for the Earl’s honorable guests. With Earl Horace, he was put in with all the other low-class people in the servant quarters. But this was the kind of respect that he deserved.
When he had arrived at Aldrich, a guard had escorted Samuel to the main doors after which he had been led to the room by a chambermaid. He had fought off his weariness just long enough to shave and bathe. He had been filthy. What was the prisoner’s hygiene to the jailers? The only water he got was to drink, never even getting enough to scrub his face. After rubbing off three months of accumulated grime from his body and hair, Samuel had immediately curled into bed, which had been warmed for him. Feeling more comfortable than he had ever been in his entire miserable life, he had slept like a toddler, resting his weary bones.
Now, approximately nine hours later, he lay in the same bed, looking up at the lace underside of the f
our-poster. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pang of hunger. After all, he had not eaten for over twelve hours. Rather, he had not had himself a proper meal for three whole months. Looking around, he spotted a small tin bell lying at the side of the bed. Hungrily reaching out for it, he shook it gruffly. A few moments later, there was a knock on the door, and a small messenger girl entered the room.
“Are you be needing something?” she asked.
“Aye,” said Samuel, annoyed at her way of speaking, “but before that, lass, I be needing me some respect, eh? I be a guest of the Earl.”
“I was commanded to cater to your needs, sir,” said the girl, “Not give you respect. Now, what is it that you be needing?”
Biting back a retort, Samuel sighed, “I be hungry. Get me some food from the kitchens. And some ale, eh?”
“Very well,” said the girl and exited.
Samuel grumbled to himself. He would show them. All of them. They despised him; he knew they did, but only because he was better than them. They were jealous of him. Samuel laughed to himself. Just then a chambermaid entered, carrying a tray laden with food. She laid the tray down on a table in one corner of the room. Samuel watched her as she poured a cup of tea from a kettle and proceeded to leave. She looked rather familiar to him. A moment later, recognition dawned on his face.
“Wait!” he said, sitting up. The girl abruptly stopped in her tracks.
“Is there something else you be needing?” she asked without turning around.
“Aye,” said Samuel. “I be needing for you to turn around, eh?”
Slowly and hesitantly, the girl turned around to face him. She kept her head down, but Samuel had already recognized her. It was the same chambermaid who had dismissed him rather unpleasantly the last time he had arrived at Aldrich to report on Abigail’s presence in London. He smiled to himself, walked over slowly to the table laden with food and examined it. He had been served some bread, crumpets, a wedge of butter, grapes, a kettle of tea and a pitcher of ale. He sat down at the table.
“How about ye butter my crumpets for me, eh?” he asked with a sneer.
“Certainly,” said the girl curtly and reached out for the butter and the crumpets.
“Ye surely know me, wench?” said Samuel. “Out of all the pig brained fools working in the castle, I despise ye the most. Now look where we are wench … you be buttering my crumpets for me. It shall only get worse from here. For you, of course. Because for me, ’tis only gets better.”
The chambermaid kept quiet, staring adamantly at the crumpet in her hand. Having done her job, she got up and made to leave. “I shall be keeping an eye out for ye, wench,” called out Samuel to her retreating back as she exited his chambers. He then smiled to himself, slowly chewing on what might just have been the whole Kingdom’s finest crumpet.
Chapter 10
“I cannot possibly leave, Tobias,” raged the Duke, holding the Royal decree firmly in his clenched hands. “Surely, there must be an alternative.”
Tobias sat in the Duke’s study and sighed. It had been an entire, unfortunate hour since he had brought the news to the Duke, and yet the Duke had not accepted the decree, insisting on challenging it at least once in every passing minute. For the past hour, Tobias had heard his liege Lord and his friend rage and question and argue. But how could Lord Stokeworth have agreed to this? How shall Abigail fare in his absence? Were all the other Dukes of the country dead that no one could possible take Lord Wellington’s place except for him?
“My Lord Duke,” said Tobias, “this may be an unfair ruling on the hands of the court, but ’tis a ruling nevertheless. We cannot turn it down. I am well aware of your concerns, but would it not be better, My Lord, to address the concerns rather than debate on what is fair or unfair?”
The Duke’s face softened. “Aye, Tobias,” he said in a calm tone, “you be right. What do you think should be our primary concern, old friend?”
“The involvement of House Blakemore, My Lord,” said Tobias solemnly. “Aldrich poses a great threat.”
“Aye, Tobias, that it does,” said the Duke, staring at a flickering candle on his table, “And it is known all around the kingdom how dangerous of a man Harold Blakemore is. His brother was a passing concern compared to him. Harold Blakemore will stop at nothing to get what he desires, Tobias. But what is it that he truly desires?”
“Is it not obvious, My Lord?” asked Tobias. “What has Lord Harold always desired?”
“Aldrich,” said the Duke immediately, “I was in London when he brought his case forward to the House of the Lords. He insisted that he had better claim over the castle than his elder brother due to the latter’s invalidity. He was enraged when the house ruled in his brother’s favour. But he has Aldrich now, Tobias. What more does he want?”
“He has the castle, My Lord,” said Tobias, “but he does not have control over all the lands surrounding Aldrich, now does he?”
“But I do,” muttered the Duke. “It was a flawed ruling, Tobias, to have some of House Blakemore’s estates be signed off to me as compensation for Horace’s treachery.”
“Might be, Lord Duke,” said Tobias, “either way, Lord Harold did not take well with his father’s prized estate being divided up as it was. He will do certainly something to acquire the estates in our absence.”
“Our absence? What do you mean our absence?” asked the Duke.
“Our absence, My Lord,” said Tobias, confused, “We are to go to the channel.”
“I am to go to the channel, Tobias,” said the Duke, “you are to stay behind and run the castle’s affairs.”
“No,” burst out Tobias. Then regaining his temperament, he continued, “What I mean to say, My Lord, is that it is highly important for me to accompany you to the channel.”
“And why is that?” asked the Duke, slightly amused.
Tobias stared at his liege Lord, at a complete loss for words. He could not possibly think of an important enough reason to accompany the Duke to the battlefield. Even though he hated to admit it, him staying back to manage the affairs of Northumberland and the surrounding estates was the best course of action.
“Very well,” he sighed, “I shall stay back, My Lord.”
“Excellent, that settles it,” the Duke said, grinning. “I knew you were a reasonable man, Tobias Harding.”
Tobias felt a strong feeling of annoyance towards the Duke. “No time for jokes, My Lord. You still have to tell your dear wife, the Duchess, of the situation.” Immediately, the grin fell away from the Duke’s face.
“Aye, that I do,” he said, staring again into the flame of the burning candle. “You look after her for me, Tobias.”
“Of course, My Lord,” he said, as his eyes followed a single teardrop rolling down the Duke’s face. Tobias knew exactly what that meant coming from a man going to war.
Chapter 11
The Earl sat in his chambers, reading a book by candlelight. He was expecting good news. By now, the Lord Stokeworth would have already died from the poison. Harold had nothing personal with the old Lord, but he was happy to see him go. Lord Stokeworth was a bit too self-righteous for his taste, always spewing garbage about justice and rightfulness. Such men with such morals were dangerous, especially given the Lord’s interest in the countryside of Northumberland and Aldrich. He would have been no more than an unnecessary bother.
Lord Stokeworth and his own father, Lance Blakemore, had been raised in the same castle as wards to the Duke of Windsor, a title held by the Wellingtons for generations. The two were inseparable as children and had grown up to be closer than brothers. But their interests differed. His father was ambitious, strong-willed and tough; Stokeworth, on the other hand, was mellow, righteous, and weak. Lord Lance was a progressive man; he was always ready to go to any means if it meant something better for himself or his people. That meant he had often clashed with his childhood friend because of their differences. But that had not stopped his father from making the fool of a Lord his children’s godfathe
r. Lord Harold was convinced that it was merely a symbolic gesture for he could not have himself believe that his father would resort to such folly. Suddenly he heard a knocking at his door.
“Enter!” he called, looking up from his book.
The messenger girl entered. “You have a letter, My Lord,” she said, holding up a tiny piece of parchment rolled and sealed with a wax seal lacking a sigil. “Straight from the city of London, the rider said.”
The Earl smiled; he knew who the letter was from. “Well, bring it here, girl,” he said, sticking out an open palm. The girl darted forward and handed over the delicate looking parchment. “And fetch Samuel Cooper for me,” he added as the girl was made to leave.
Lord Harold quickly broke the seal and unrolled the letter. Written in a slightly slanting handwriting was just one sentence, “The deed is done.” A wide grin broke across the Earl’s face, from ear to ear. The old man was dead he thought as he chuckled. Now he could carry out his plan without any sort of hindrance from London. He leaned back and tossed the parchment into the dying flames in the fireplace as another knock echoed through his chambers. A moment later, Samuel Cooper slid into the room.
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