The Queen's Colonial

by Peter Watt

  ‘Ah, Samuel,’ he said with a broad smile. ‘I am honoured that you would visit me at my humble abode.’

  ‘How does a colonial get membership to such a fine establishment?’ Ian asked as they walked along a wide corridor of columns.

  ‘Well, one has to be friends with the founder, Edward Ellice, who made his fortune with the Hudson Bay Company, and who is a close family friend. The other way is to be a member of the House of Lords or Commons and have a substantial private income. I think you will like the coffee room, as we call it. It is in fact one of the finest eating places in London. I hope you are hungry.’

  Peter led Ian into the dining room, where a few patrons sat at tables. Ian could see that no women were present in the gentleman’s club, and guessed that he was looking at English politicians discussing matters of state over a fine piece of fish – or haunch of beef in rich gravies.

  Peter signalled that he would like a table and the two were escorted to one in the corner of the restaurant. Next to them sat a man in his thirties, sporting mutton chop sideburns.

  ‘I thought you might like to know that is the Duke of Marlborough,’ Peter said quietly, leaning towards Ian. ‘John Spencer-Churchill. From what Alice has told me about your interest in reading military history, I thought that you would like to know that we are in august company this afternoon. Besides being a duke, he is also a very conservative member of parliament.’

  ‘I am impressed,’ Ian said, carefully observing the layout of the cutlery on the table, remembering all the etiquette he had been taught by Sir George months earlier in New South Wales.

  ‘I am about to upset our chef,’ Peter said with a wry smile. ‘I find the food here is not conducive to one’s digestion, being too rich. If it would please you, I will order a clear gravy soup, followed by a roast haunch of mutton, sea kale and baked boiled potatoes. For the finishing course, rhubarb tart washed down by a fine claret.’

  ‘That sounds fine to me,’ Ian said. ‘Why would that upset the chef?’

  ‘Our chef considers my choice as too plain – the kind of menu the lower-class bank clerks and civil servants would eat at home with their families.’

  ‘It’s our stomachs – our choice,’ Ian said as a waiter approached to take their order.

  The order placed, both men settled back with the bottle of claret that had been brought to them by the waiter.

  ‘Do you know that I have been invited to dine with your family this weekend,’ Peter said across his crystal wine glass.

  ‘Considering what happened at the country house, I am surprised to hear that,’ Ian said. ‘I have also been invited. If you ask me, it is rather peculiar as we are both persona non grata with Charles and my father.’

  ‘I thought so too.’ Peter frowned. ‘But if it is my chance to see Alice, I will accept.’

  ‘Then I should also accept,’ Ian said. ‘Who knows what Charles is scheming?’

  Both men continued their meal, and eventually it was time for Ian to return to his regiment. Not that he had much to do with the training of his company or administration. That was in the hands of capable non-commissioned officers. Ian had been annoyed that he had little to do with his troops, but also consoled himself that also meant he had no real contact with Private Conan Curry. At least Curry had not exposed him, and the stalemate between them would continue until the opportunity presented itself for Ian to wreak revenge for the murder of his mother. The talk of war continued in the officers’ mess with an eagerness to come to grips with the Russian Tsar’s army. The whole Empire was affected. He had read that in his home colony of New South Wales – Sydney Harbour was being fortified with coastal gun batteries because of the threat of Russian invasion.

  Ian considered the introduction of the new Enfield rifle could make the difference against the smooth bore Russian muskets, and this made him determined to have his company trained to a high level of marksmanship, to be able to decimate their foe at a greater range.

  As the hansom cab conveyed him to the regimental barracks, he made a mental note to become involved in this aspect of training. Maybe he would identify his best riflemen and utilise them on the battlefield.

  *

  Charles Forbes had no contacts in the underworld of London, but he knew a man who might be able to assist him. One of the servants in the London house was known to have a shady past, and Charles summoned him to the library and closed the door.

  ‘Andrews, I am aware that you have relatives who work on the Thames docks,’ Charles said, pouring himself a glass of port wine. ‘I believe they have reputations as persons of less than desirable character.’

  The servant was a skinny man in his thirties with a pockmarked face but had proven to be a reliable worker around the London house.

  ‘Sir, I have little to do with them,’ Andrews protested, fearing for his job. Charles raised his hand to still the servant.

  ‘It is because of their reputation that I have summoned you here,’ he said. ‘Your family’s reputation for violence is what I desire for a very delicate task.’

  A look of confusion clouded Andrews’ face. ‘As I said, sir, I have little to do with them.’

  Charles reached into a desk drawer and produced a leather bag containing a substantial amount of silver coins. He spilled it on the desk in a dramatic display he knew would attract the attention of the man standing before him. The demonstration worked as the man’s eyes almost popped out of his head as he viewed the money it would have taken him five years to earn.

  ‘This could all be yours if you are able to satisfy a request I have. I should warn you that should you ever open your mouth to anyone about what I am going to propose, it would mean your neck stretched on the gallows.’

  Charles could see Andrews licking his lips, staring at the pile of coins on the desk. He was like a man in a trance.

  ‘What do I have to do, sir?’ Andrews asked.

  ‘First, you have to swear to me that this conversation between us never occurred. Do you understand me?’

  Andrews, still staring at the small fortune, nodded his head.

  ‘Say it,’ Charles demanded angrily.

  ‘Yes, sir, I understand,’ he replied.

  ‘Good,’ Charles said, sipping his port. ‘I need you to contact your relatives and give them the task of making two men disappear.’

  ‘You mean . . . slay them?’ Andrews questioned in a shocked voice.

  ‘I did not say that. I will leave up to you how they disappear,’ Charles said. ‘You realise that I do not wish to know how that task will be carried out. The amount will be split with whoever takes on the act of making the men disappear. I can arrange to have these men placed in a situation where you can do the rest.’

  ‘I can do as you wish, sir.’

  ‘You will get half of the payment now, and the rest when the task is carried out to my satisfaction,’ Charles said, slipping half the pile into the bag. The servant stepped forward and pocketed the remaining coins. Charles knew that Andrews would be able to prove that the mission was real when his unsavoury relatives saw his good fortune.

  A day later, the man reported to Charles that he had arranged for the gang operating on the docks to conduct the task, causing the two men to disappear in the murky waters of the great river. It was then that Charles revealed who he wished eliminated and how the scheme would be initiated. Charles was able to identify the approximate time it would happen, and Andrews knew the seamy back streets of the docks. London could be a very dangerous place; Charles was relying on it.

  *

  Both Peter and Ian arrived at the Forbes house early in the evening.

  The butler opened the door to them and they were ushered inside. Ian was wearing a civilian suit and Peter was met by an elated Alice, who sparkled with joy and jewellery. Herbert stood behind his sister, wearing his officer’s uniform, and looked the part of
a dashing young man.

  As spacious as the London house was, it was packed with guests wearing their best suits, and the ladies, their most valuable jewellery.

  Charles cast a stiff smile that Ian could see was forced.

  ‘Ah, Dr Campbell, Samuel. It is good that you could be with us tonight,’ he said when they were in the dining room with the table set for a banquet. ‘I thought it only fitting that we have all the family gather tonight.’

  ‘It is good that you considered us,’ Ian replied, but Peter remained silent. He was still puzzled as to why he should be included, when it had been made clear he was not to visit Alice ever again.

  A servant mingled with the guests with flutes of champagne. He was joined by Herbert, who babbled on about affairs in the regiment. Ian hardly listened as he watched Charles amongst his well-dressed guests. It was obvious that he was not being introduced to Sir Archibald’s friends, and had the feeling his invitation was not a gesture of reconciliation. So, why were he and his friend, Dr Campbell at this function?

  Dinner was called, and the gentlemen escorted the ladies into the dining room. Peter had Alice’s arm, whilst Ian and Herbert made their own way in. They found the places they were allocated at the table, and Ian found himself facing Peter and Alice across the table with Herbert at his side. Sir Archibald naturally sat at the top of the table, whilst Charles took up the opposite end.

  The meal had hardly been served when Ian noticed a thin, pockmarked man slip behind Charles and whisper in his ear. Charles rose from the table and made his way down to Peter.

  ‘My manservant has begged me for my help,’ Charles said. ‘He knows that you are a doctor, and has requested that I ask if you could help a member of his family, who is in need of urgent medical attention.’

  ‘What sort of medical attention?’ Peter asked.

  ‘He has informed me that his cousin has been run over by a cart at the docks.’

  ‘Damn!’ Peter swore. ‘Cannot he find someone else?’

  ‘I am afraid the poor man is desperate,’ Charles said. ‘Otherwise, he would not have come to me at this time.’

  Peter turned to Alice. ‘My dear, would you mind if I accepted the poor wretch’s plea for assistance?’

  ‘I understand your need to help others,’ Alice replied. ‘Go, if you must, but hurry back.’

  Charles looked across the table at Ian who was halfway through taking a spoonful of soup. ‘It might be an idea if you escort Dr Campbell to his patient,’ he said. ‘He may require your assistance.’

  ‘That is not necessary,’ Peter protested.

  ‘No, I will come with you,’ Ian said, rising from his chair. ‘I am sure we will not be too long away.’

  Peter nodded and rose from his chair, taking Alice’s hand and kissing it.

  ‘I should also go,’ Herbert said.

  ‘No, that will not be necessary,’ Charles hurried to say. ‘Your bright uniform on the street might attract the wrong types.’

  Herbert frowned.

  ‘Charles is right,’ Ian said. ‘Mr Forbes, as your commanding officer, I am ordering you to remain here tonight as the representative of our regiment.’ The order was given lightly, receiving a wry smile from Herbert.

  Ian and Peter exited the dining room, and Peter went to the foyer, where his medical bag was located.

  The bag retrieved, they were joined by the servant Peter knew from previous visits as Andrews. A Forbes carriage was waiting for them at the front entrance, and in the dimly lit streets of the fashionable suburb, it clattered away for its destination in the slum-like suburbs of the London docks of the East End.

  Ian had a bad feeling as the better class of buildings were replaced with the dank streets leading to the River Thames. Somehow, he felt that it was connected to the unusual request for medical assistance. But it all made no sense, unless . . . it was an ambush. Was Charles capable of murder? Ian shook his head. The carriage clattered on and the echoes of the horse’s hooves were the only sounds Ian could hear as they were conveyed deeper into the dark, dangerous streets of the docks.

  Thirteen

  Ian grew more uneasy as the coach took them into the narrow streets leading to the docks. On either side were darkened buildings, like stone valleys. He glanced at the servant, Andrews, and, in the dim light of the coach’s lanterns, could see he also appeared extremely nervous. The only one who seemed calm was Peter, clutching his bag of medical equipment.

  Ian reached into the pocket of his coat, reassuring himself the revolver was easily retrievable. It was not that he always carried it but his instincts had told him the invitation for dinner at the Forbes London house required protection.

  ‘We are here,’ Andrews said to the coachman when the carriage had reached a multi-storeyed warehouse overlooking the Thames River. Ian could see dim lights in some of the windows, and the noise of men at heavy manual work drifted to them.

  All three men alighted from the carriage, and Andrews led the way in the half-light cast by a few fires burning in braziers, surrounded by men in rough garb huddled around them.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ Ian said quietly to Peter. ‘Something tells me we could be in danger.’

  ‘I have grown familiar with such places in my work amongst the wretched poor of the slums,’ Peter replied. ‘This place is not unlike others I have visited.’

  Ian was not convinced, slipping his hand back into his coat pocket to grip the pistol.

  Andrews led them through a small door that opened up into a large storage room of goods awaiting shipment to the four corners of the globe, bales and boxes piled to the ceiling. Although there was lighting, the place was still dim, and the rows of stores cast long shadows.

  ‘Where is your injured cousin?’ Peter asked Andrews, who appeared to be on the verge of fleeing.

  Before Andrews could reply, Ian noticed six men wearing handkerchiefs over the lower part of their faces step from between the mountains of stores. What Ian most noticed was the array of weapons they carried, ranging from axes to long knives.

  ‘It’s a trap!’ Ian yelled to Peter. ‘We have been lured into an ambush.’

  Ian thought he could hear a noise behind him, swinging around to face three similarly dressed armed men approaching. The Colt revolver was in his hand, and the first assailant was only three paces away with an axe raised above his head when Ian fired. The lead ball took the man between the eyes. He crumpled, falling dead with the clatter of the axe ringing on the stone floor.

  Ian was surprised to hear a shot behind him, and the yelp of a man hit by a ball. He was back to back with the Canadian surgeon, and when he glanced over his shoulder, he could see the outstretched arm of his friend, and in his hands a revolver, smoke curling from the barrel. Dr Campbell was also armed and had fired a shot. One of the men fell with a ball to his groin.

  The sudden appearance of the firearms had thrown the would-be assailants off-guard, and they retreated into the shadows, dragging their wounded comrade with them.

  ‘We have to get out of here,’ Ian said as a musket discharged from the dark, and a lead ball slammed into a bale of imported cotton beside them.

  Both men eased themselves towards the entrance, ensuring their pistols covered their retreat.

  Outside, they saw the coachman holding a blunderbuss, but not pointed at them.

  ‘Sirs, have you been harmed?’ he yelled from the seat of the carriage.

  Ian swung his pistol on the driver, now certain that his original concern had been confirmed. Andrews had disappeared.

  ‘Lower the gun,’ Ian called to the driver and he obeyed. It did not appear that he was privy to the mission to have them killed in the ambush.

  Ian and Peter clattered aboard, ordering the driver to convey them back to the Forbes house.

  ‘It appears that we killed one and wounded another,’ Peter said, still ho
lding his revolver in his lap. ‘It will mean a police investigation.’

  ‘Not if we don’t report what has happened, as I am sure those responsible for attempting to kill us are not about to complain to the police. I suspect the man I killed is currently swimming in the river,’ Ian replied.

  ‘Charles and Sir Archibald had to be behind this ruse,’ Peter said bitterly as the coach trundled through the mean streets of London. ‘The bastards want me dead.’

  ‘If I am right, they wanted both of us dead,’ Ian said. ‘By the way, I would never have suspected that a medical doctor would carry a gun.’

  ‘I grew up on the Canadian frontier,’ Peter said. ‘And after being robbed a few months ago, I reverted to my colonial past, and decided a pistol packed well in my medical bag. Maybe I should shove it in Charles’ face when we return.’

  ‘I understand your sentiments, but I have a better idea,’ Ian said quietly. ‘Just leave the discussion with Charles to me.’

  By the time they returned to the house, the guests had departed. Alice met them at the door.

  ‘I was worried for you both,’ she said by way of greeting. ‘After you left, Charles admitted to me that the place you were going to see your patient has a rather bad reputation for violent men. If I had known, I would never have let you go. Were you able to help Andrews’ cousin?’

  ‘I gave him a lead pill,’ Peter answered with a twisted smile, glancing at Ian to see his grin.

  ‘Is it a new medicine?’ Alice asked naively, and Peter nodded as they entered the foyer.

  ‘Has Charles retired for the evening?’ Ian asked.