hatter

  HATTER

  BY MARK WELLS

  TEXT COPYRIGHT©

  MAY 2015

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  HATTER

  WINTERS MASKED BALL

  THE DEATH OF RICHARD FLEMINGTON:

  CHARLES’S FIRST KILL:

  LONDON:

  THE DEATH OF JASON CRANE:

  VISIT TO MARY JEFFRIES:

  HOME TO BRAEBOURNE:

  SECOND VISIT TO MARY JEFFRIES:

  THE OFFICE OF PAUL WINTER:

  FINDING GEORGE FAIRFAX:

  TO CATCH A HATTER:

  WINTERS MASKED BALL:

  The house was relatively silent, but for the sound of servants, making ready for the long day that lie ahead. The clock in the hall chimed six, and I rose to find my day attire, neatly laid out and pressed, for the transition between rested sleep in the large hand carved four poster bed, and breakfast of toast and tea. This was the best way to start the day, a touch of something light to eat. I washed in cold water poured from the large flower decorated jug, which quickly brought me to my senses. I gazed outwards, from one of the front bedroom windows, which I opened and breathed, that first breath of daylight, cold and crisp. A deep sense of fulfilment and gratitude washed over me, as I surveyed all that lay before me, from the lake and stone bridge to the left to the larger lake below. This was the view I liked the most. I felt like a ruler in his element knowing that every bit of this was mine, and more besides. I felt truly blessed, but knowing this was inherited, and not earned, also made me feel humble. I turned and moved quietly toward my wife Charlotte, stirring slowly from her slumber. She disliked rising early, so I sat next to her on the wicker chair, and waited a while for her eyes to open. To be greeted by a smile, that I always thought, would somehow brighten the day, even if it was cloudy and cold outside. This had grown to be a sort of habit of mine, which in one way, I supposed showed caring, and fondness for the one I loved. I stroked her soft yellow hair, and she woke slowly, and held my hand and held it softly, smiling in appreciation of the act.

  ‘Good morning James did you sleep well?’ her soft voice muttered half asleep.

  ‘Very well indeed’, the reply, cleared of the haziness of the night before, when fine cigars, and the company of family, playing charades, with children, and cards in the library, with the males of the family. Which is where we usually went to communicate on matters financial, and converse about matters political?

  ‘I will go and check to see if the children are awake’, knowing full well that they would be. They were both early risers, not prone to languishing in their beds. They shared a room, for they were not old enough to have a room of their own just yet. Emily greeted me the same as always.

  ‘Good morning papa’, she said, launching herself at me from her bed. She hugged me tight around my waist, for at the age of six, she only stood a little over four feet tall.

  ‘Good morning Emy’ I said in a soft tone, for depth of voice was meant for older children of the male gender.

  ‘Papa! I wish you would not call me Emy for I’m much too old for that.’ I smiled and replied.

  ‘After lessons today, you will be helping cook in the kitchen, do as she tells you, for I wish the cake, you will help her with, will be the talk of the ball’. Charles stood already dressed near the back of the room, with his hands folded behind his back trying to copy me I think. At ten years old quite tall for his age, which gave the impression of him being older, he stood with an appearance that surpassed his young years. They were both very different; He was more like his mother, a staunch advocate of the way of life befitting his station. My daughter was like me, down to earth with a high regard for people of a so called lower station.

  ‘Good morning Charles, no hug? You better take those clothes off, for your helping Tom in the garden today’. I knew that sooner or later, I would defeat the bourgeoisie attitude of his, but not now, maybe when he is grown-up; I thought. Funny, how children seem to take after one parent or another. The passageway outside the bedroom, leading to the great staircase was full of the trappings of wealth; suits of armour would flash silver, in the early hours of the morning light to come. They were positioned so that somehow the sunlight created moving shadows, bringing them to life. The light was then reflected in the oak panelling, which lined the walls of the long central corridor, giving a sort of harmony to the scene. I glided my finger over the rail at waist height, out of pure habit, searching for dust, but knew, I would not locate any, for I knew, that the people who worked for me, always kept the house ship-shape. I would not refer to them as servants, for that would turn me into a master, which I suppose by birth-right I was, but the whole idea of master and servant was abhorrent to me. I preferred to treat all people the same using first names, if possible, to the disappointment of my wife, so I tended not to use first names in my wife’s company, with the exception of close friends who numbered few. At the end of the corridor I came to the head of the staircase, and looked down this large facet, of Braebourne house; at the weighty English oak banister, with pineapple finial at the bottom. I wished I could slide down this banister as I did when I was a child. I patted it for it held fond recollections for me, sliding down it, until I got a thrashing from my father for doing so. I alighted from the bottom step on to the black and white tiled floor, laid out in the shape of a chess board, which gave way to the large front door where the umbrella stand, stood, and had done so for as long as I could remember. I turned, then gazed upward to the large picture of my father with a silver cane in his hands, and bowed my head in a sort of tribute to him as I had done every day. The face of the man in the picture always looked solemn, and sad, which my father never was, just a quiet pose I thought.

  ‘Your breakfast is in the conservatory sir, and I also took the liberty of preparing two boiled eggs. Your morning paper is waiting for you on the small table, as usual’.

  This was Carlton my butler who always spoke in a very slow and precise manner. I thought, how remarkable it was, that he could almost read my mind. He was also butler to my father. He must have educated himself well, to foresee our needs at any given moment, but how could he know that I was thinking about eggs a moment before. Was my life such an open book, or was some other force at work.

  ‘Don’t forget your meeting in the library with Paul Winter at ten a.m sharp!’

  ‘I have not forgotten Carlton, but thank you for the reminder.’

  ‘Will madam be joining you for breakfast sir’? He could never anticipate my wife’s needs, which baffled me, but who could anticipate a woman’s mind! Certainly not I. ‘I assume she will be down very soon, so look sharp, you know she hates to be kept waiting, for any length of time’. I believe that was the reason my wife and I, got on so well, totally dissimilar personalities, that seemed to compliment each other exceptionally well. The conservatory was long and wide, with large green leaved plants dotted here and there. The names of which I could never remember, without being prompted by my wife, but such things I rarely showed interest in, so why should I want to know their names anyway. The brass containers they stood in, always gleamed in the sunlight, polished swiftly every day, without fail. The conservatory was largely glass which was uncomfortably hot during the summer months, but this was winter and the scene outside was reminiscent of a painting by Constable. My wife arrived a few moments later, and I marvelled at how one could make oneself, look like they had just come from a ball, in such a short space of time. Her tea was slightly late and the look on her face said it all. She glared at Carlton, with a look that would turn hearts to stone.

  ‘This just wont do at all’, her swift rebuke, like telling off a child, who just knocked the heads off a favourite rose bush.

  ‘Now dear Charlotte do not be so harsh on the poor man’. She glared at me a
s though I had taken the side of a servant against her. I quickly changed the subject, to how radiant she looked; something I knew would soften her mood. I took my gold pocket watch out and compared the time to the striking of the grandfather clock in the hall, not fifteen seconds between them as always. I counted the chimes out of habit and the hour struck eight. ‘Time for me to do the rounds dearest. I will walk today, for I could do with a stiff walk to shake off some of that brandy I had last night’.

  ‘I hope you do not take too long, for you know you have a meeting at ten o’clock’.

  ‘I will not be late, I promise’. I knew my wife had a heavy day in front of her making preparations for the ball that we held every three months, with the sole purpose of a herald to the seasons, because this was winter everyone had to wear something white, with masks to suit. I knew it was best to leave Charlotte to her own devices, as I would only get under her feet, and that would not do, the house was mine by birthright, but she ran it wholly in her own way, with all the precision of battlefield formations that I knew only too well, having served England in the Crimean war. I quickly rose, and made haste to the front door, my slippers were quickly replaced by riding boots, a heavy coat, scarf, and flat cap. ‘Come Pep’, I shouted to one of my two Labradors, knowing that pip would follow soon after, inseparable since birth. The clearness of their eyes showed me that they were happy; their

  wagging tails about to topple the umbrella stand which stood next to the oak entrance to this house on the hill. I felt the silver lions head cane beneath my hand. I had no need to look for it, for it always occupied the same position in the hall, and was only ever touched by me. It had nine brothers who would assemble tonight in the drawing room at precisely nine o’clock to discuss various business matters, and affairs of state. We wielded power in high places, and were the captains of nearly all industry. Money was no object, in fact it had become the most foulest of words so was never mentioned, ever! The carrying of the cane was like right of entry to a club, and only carried by a select few. The giant oak door creaked open, and the bitterly cold air rushed in immediately causing a cough. The dogs bounded off, but with a swift call they came quickly to heal. An hour’s walk lay ahead of us, so the pace was brisk, almost like a forced march that I had done so many times before. The first port of call was to the farm manager’s cottage on the edge of the estate to the left. A good twenty minutes walk, but all downhill, so that made the trip far easier. A quick knock on the door, and the smiling face of Alice, the estate manager’s wife greeted me. ‘Good morning sir, it’s very nippy this morning. Would you like some tea to take away the cold?

  ‘No thank you’, I replied, and ‘Where is John?’ ‘Round the back of the cottage, chopping fire wood’.

  ‘There is no need to call him. Maybe I could swing a few axes for him, I could do with some exercise’. I made my way to the back of the cottage, and sure enough a large pile of logs greeted me, along with the clamour of wood being splintered.

  ‘Good morning John, are you well, on this grey October morning’?

  ‘Yes sir’, was the reply, in a broad West Country accent, that I had heard for countless years. The furrows engrained on his face, and the calluses on his hands, showed a man un-afraid of hard work, and it was that hard work that brought him to the position held on the estate. I admired him for that, and felt humility in his presence, for here was someone who had worked, and worked hard to get his rewards in life, unlike the many that I knew ‘Any chance I could split a few logs John?’ I asked in anticipation of the answer, I knew would come.

  ‘If you wish sir’. Off came the heavy coat and scarf. I did not need to ask twice. The axe felt heavy, yet splitting those few logs made me feel so full of life. Pep and Pip howled curtly, as the cold sweat trickled down the crevice in my back. I stopped after fifteen minutes, and replaced my heavy coat.

  ‘Has everything been delivered to the house in preparation for tonight?’

  ‘The inventory is complete, as of madam’s wishes sir’.

  ‘All that work has brought quite a thirst. I think I might have that cup of tea now Alice’. The kettle hung over the fireplace, whose smoke left the chimney like fingers reaching for the sky. Alice always gave me tea in her best china cup, which I believe she kept purposely for my visits. The strong tea made me shiver, yet the warmth from the cup was welcomed by my hands. ‘Well I have to continue my rounds now, thank you for the tea, most welcoming. Come on lads!’ I called to my Labradors who were chasing sheep nearby. They stopped, looked in my direction and were at my side in an instant. I closed the gate behind me and nodded in approval of a job well done. The next was my favourite element of the walk, to see the blacksmith, who had been a dear friend for many years, in fact, ever since our military days which we reminisced about continually. The warmth from the forge was grand indeed, and I felt the presence of my good friend David, the definition of his arms was something I was covetous of, he was strong, tall and very imposing, yet he was of a gentle character. He was the type of person who would as much as he could for anyone, and usually did, when he could find the time.

  ‘Good morning sir’. His voice boomed with all the timidity of the sergeant, which he once was.

  ‘I wish you would not call me sir, you are a friend, whose friendship I value above all. We stood side by side at our encounter with the Russians at Sevastopol. I remembered it like yesterday, the September mud clung to us, and the smell of muskets filled the air. We saw many friends fall that day, but our casualties were light, in contrast to the Russians, whose great numbers counted for nothing. I believe this was from severe lack of communication on the ground, for we could have easily died that first day, and you certainly saved my life, as I lay wounded from shrapnel. There are no masters here!’ I did not want to dwell on the subject, for it was painful in more ways than one.

  ‘Ay! We both lost a lot that day, but I believe we also gained a lot, by the way of friendship that has lasted, this many a year. You have still got that limp from the shrapnel in your left leg, and I with the shrapnel in my right. Well we made one good pair of legs between us, did we not’?

  ‘I suppose we did, and they got us home alright. I know what it is you would like James, without you asking. Trout have been rising on the upper lake, but it will be hard catching them in between the ice patches. One actually jumped out, and died on the ice, but I cannot do this today, as I’m far too busy. So can we try tomorrow, the weather may be better then’, he said staring at the grey skies overhead, and the hoarfrost that covered the ground, which coated the spider webs, that hung in the long grass.

  ‘Very well trout for supper tomorrow then. I will be here around eight a.m.’ I turned, and after a bone crushing hand shake, born of hard work, using heavy hammers and tongs I left, although I must say, that some of the work he produced in the forge showed artistry in his soul. I saluted as I began my hour long walk back to the house.

  ‘Come lads’ I shouted, and saluted again to David, as I commenced my journey home. They both joined me, and I patted them both. They came to heel like they always did, Pip on my left, and Pep on my right, like two faithful guardians ready to look after their master, at all costs. It took me longer to get home, for on this day was the once a month meeting, that I detested above all things, but was needed for the smooth running of my business affairs. I arrived back at the house at about nine thirty, enough time to position myself in the library suited and booted, with a cup of tea in my left hand. It was now ten o’clock precisely, and Paul Winter strode into the library, aptly named I thought, for this man I despised above all men, cold by nature. He was small yet broad with jet black hair and piercing eyes to suit, his beard completed this vision of severity, yet he was entrusted with the business affairs of the ten canes, a club which he would never be allowed to join. We were all ex-officers in the service of her majesty Queen Victoria, and all he had ever done in his life was counted money, our money! He knew its power and wielded this staff well. He was a necessary evil, a
nd one day I hoped, I could rid myself of this weasel of a man, but not for now, for we needed his dubious expertise. Which had never failed us, at all, ever, and for this he was well paid. The conversation that followed was concerned with copper, and tin, cotton, silk, tobacco, in fact all manner of tradable commodities that kept the ten canes and their families in the more than secure manner befitting their stations. After forty-five minutes of this conversation, I could stand no more, and tried to make the last fifteen minutes as jovial for me as possible. ‘I believe sir that you need a holiday, you have a pallor that says you have spent too much time indoors, and I can tell by your eyes that you have a problem with your liver, and I would also hope to see you smile somewhat, for when you walk your left arm is silent by your side, showing that your soul is unwell’. I did this every time purely out of spite, for I could usually tell certain things about people by the way they walked, carried their heads, their skin colour, liver spots in their eyes. I was generally very accurate, and used this for amusement purposes, only when asked. I also read peoples fortunes in the tarot cards when family members gathered at Braebourne house.

  ‘I have no need of a holiday; there is money to be

  earned, he snapped. ‘As for my liver that is no concern of yours, and as for my soul that is also my business’. I at once knew I was correct. Liver spots in eyes were more often than not caused by the over consumption of alcohol, maybe alcohol was the way I would liberate myself, of this wholly obnoxious person.

  ‘This meeting is now at an end, and the business matters are closed. You may now .go’ .I rang for Carlton.

  ‘Please show mister Winter out’.

  ‘Very good sir’. My wife arrived in the library soon afterwards.

  ‘Has that dreadful little man gone? I don’t know why his services are needed at all. You are more than capable’.

  ‘Yes dear I know, but then I would have so little time to spend with you, and the children. So at the moment he is a very necessary evil. How are the preparations for tonight going’?