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  ‘Very well done Charles, now let’s see about that dinner’.

  ‘I am rather hungry father’.

  ‘Right let’s get to it’.

  I informed Charlotte that we would have dinner slightly earlier than normal today, and it would be ready in an hour, and a half. I wanted to show Charles that all men were born equal. So we would cook Carlton some dinner as well, The look on his face said it all, but I knew this simple act would go along way to break this deadlock I felt between us. Carlton had neatly placed the vegetables and meat from the night before on the table in the kitchen.

  ‘Right! Jankers first’.

  ‘What is that, father?’

  ‘It is a very old army term which meant peeling vegetables’, I replied.

  We sat down, and started this laborious task, until we had peeled enough potatoes and carrots for five. They were placed in the pot and placed upon the cooker, to boil, and simmer for we would have dinner in the kitchen tonight with the exception of Carlton whose dinner would be delivered by Charles. The meat which was pheasant would be served cold. The darkness of winter shrouded the day outside. The time was around five o’clock now. The vegetables had boiled and simmered and were almost cooked. I asked Charles to inform his mother of the fact. Charlotte and Emy joined us in the kitchen for this very simple affair of fresh vegetables and pheasant with gravy, something which I could not quite master, and always lumpy.

  ‘Papa this is not how you make gravy’, said Emy. ‘I will have to show you one day’.

  I could not contain the laughter, of being scolded by one so young

  ‘Very well will you teach me one day? Now Charles will you take Carlton his dinner, and then join us in the family room for some of Emy’s cake and a bedtime story’. The house was very quiet which was something I always craved for; the Crimea had left me with a persistent ringing in my left ear from the noise of cannon fire I think. We slowly made our way to the family room, and then shortly afterwards Charles joined us.

  ‘I see by the look on your face Carlton was surprised by his dinner’.

  ‘No father, Carlton was not in his quarters’.

  ‘Perhaps he decided to visit friends in the village for a few days’, I said to my wife, who looked just as surprised as I. After a few slices of Emy’s cake I began to read from Great expectations, by Charles Dickens, which was published the year before. I found all children’s books hard going, probably due to my lack of understanding, of any children’s books. Poetry was my forte, plain, simple for me to understand, and that’s how I liked it. I numbered amongst my favourites, William Blake along with, Shakespeare, but the piece which summed up what I truly wanted from life was a piece by Alexander Pope (1688-1744), this was entitled Ode on Solitude which I knew by heart, and I often thought about the words in quieter moments. Emy and I quickly washed the few plates and pieces of cutlery that were there, placing them on the wooden draining board to be cleared later.

  ‘Now children time for bed, and don’t forget, you will be fishing tomorrow with me at around eight Charles, so get some sleep tonight’. I could see the excitement growing on his face as I tucked them both in bed. Emy wanted the last hug of the day.

  ‘Goodnight papa’, she said, and snuggled under the heavy duck-down quilt my wife had made. I made my way to the other side of the room, and pulled the bed covers over the shoulders of Charles, and a surprising thing happened, he reached for a hug. This was what I had been waiting for. I held him for a short time, and he pulled away, having forgotten himself for a moment. This was a start. ‘Goodnight Charles’, I said with a smile. I closed the door, and made my way back to Charlotte in the family room, who was sitting in front of the fire doing needlework. I settled down to reading the latest news, in between conversing with my wife on estate matters. The time seemed to fly by and the clock in the hall chimed ten o’clock. ‘I think I will retire now, for the strain of needlework in this dim lighting has made my eyes feel heavy’.

  ‘Very well I will check the house, and join you shortly’. The heavy quilt was welcome that night, and shielded us from the cold of this large house, even the fire, that by now was embers had little effect on this room. I slept uneasily that night; the thoughts of Richard still plagued my mind, and I rose early, still tired, yet excited at the prospect of taking Charles fishing. In fact I was probably more excited than he was. I went downstairs stairs to find Charles already prepared, obviously not as excited as I.

  CHARLES’S FIRST KILL:

  ‘First things first. Would you like some warm milk’?

  ‘Very well father, for I am rather cold’, his reply, and we were soon warmed by the liquid. It was eight o’clock by this time and Charles had broken in to a run for the front door. I stopped and picked up a bucket on the way out, Charles promptly asked about its purpose.

  ‘You will see soon’. I said, as I picked up a team of cane rods married to two wooden reels. We made our way to the top lake, and down to the end, and far side, we needed to get as much help from the wind as possible. ‘What I want you to do is, pull some line off the reel and let it fall in to the bucket. This will keep it off the floor, and prevent you from standing on it. Also it will help prevent ‘Birds nests’ from forming. I placed the rod in his right hand just above the rings which held the reel, and told him to move it between the positions ten o’clock, and twelve o’clock, with the action coming from his wrist, and not arms. After some practice casts the line began to fly out in front of him to his sheer delight, getting further each time. I thought this was more natural to him than me. He pulled the line slowly towards him letting it fall back into the bucket. The next cast resulted in a birds nest, to his dismay; the next cast flew long and straight to the twenty yard mark. The line straightened and a trout was on. He pulled the line back through the rod rings, and soon it was on the bank. I pulled a wooden object, which he would not have seen before from my pocket, and placed it in his hand.

  ‘What is that father, and what is it for’?

  ‘It is called a priest, and is used for killing fish. Now quickly hit the fish behind its gills quite hard’.

  ‘I cannot do it father’. Maybe at ten years of age he was not quite ready, I thought, but that did not matter, for no sooner had I knelt to untangle the fish from the line, I heard a sound I had not heard since Sevastopol, the crack of a musket being fired. I dragged Charles close to me and looked toward the wood behind us. The tell tale smoke from the rifle gave its position away. I knew that this could be re-loaded three times in under a minute in capable hands, but was this the type that could fire a ball, one or two hundred yards, or was this an Enfield with a long range. I estimated that it was the smaller, and it came from around fifty yards behind us. I knew we had to put distance between us and the rifle, so with Charles in my arms I kept as low as I could, and bolted down the edge of the lake leaving the poor hapless fish and the rods behind, even my limp seemed to have left me. A second shot rang out but it hit the bank short of its mark. I knew it could not be a soldier or I would surely be dead. I did not slow in case I was wrong. I made the door at the side of the house just in time to see Carlton enter it.

  ‘What is wrong sir; you’ve turned a ghostly white’.

  ‘Take Charles, Emy, and Charlotte to the library, and keep them there till I return!’ I shouted, I ran through the house to the hall, and pulled my sabre from the wall, no time to load guns if I were to catch my wood be killer. I ran to the stables, and led my horse Sirius, from his stable. I grabbed the saddle and quickly put it on him. We galloped down the hill side, and jumped the fence that stood between us and the killer, but the wood was dense at this point, so I tied Sirius to the fence and proceeded on foot. No one would end my life without a fight I thought. ‘Come on out, and fight me I shouted, or are you a coward’. The would be killer had vanished, and the light was low in the denseness of the wood, so I had no choice but to abandon my search. I led Sirius back to a break in the fence, close to the spot where I had seen the rifle smoke. There
leaning on a tree was the rifle, it was a three ringed Enfield, either my attacker was a poor shot, or we were just lucky. I picked it up and led Sirius back to the stable. The word coward kept running through my mind, was this something to do with Richard. I thought. Thoughts raced through my head as I joined my family in the library. Who would want to do this, and why. All the Enfield rifles were handed in after the Crimea, the only one I had seen since was in David’s cottage. I dismissed the thought from my mind, David was amongst my closest friends, but a doubt still clawed at me, and there was only one way to be sure. My wife and children sat crying in front of the fire. Carlton was doing his best to console them, but he had little experience in these matters. I placed the rifle across the table and held my family, but my anger was clearly visible. I snapped at my wife, but what was I thinking, I immediately apologised.

  ‘Brandy please Carlton, and make it a large one’. The glass which was three quarters full soon arrived in my hands, and was downed in one.

  ‘I wish this not to be spoken of for now’, I said in a harsh tone, uncommon to me.

  ‘This was directed at me, not anyone else’.

  They all agreed, not to talk about it. We slept in the library that night, half asleep, half awake. Carlton woke us with welcoming cups of strong tea the next morning, and warm milk for the children. The servants had just started to arrive back at the house, and I knew my family would be safe.

  ‘Now remember, not a word, not to anyone’.

  I walked over to the cabinet where I kept my pistols and loaded them both. I placed them in my pockets, and picked up the sabre I had with me the day before. ‘I will be going to see David for a short while, and I will return within the hour. The clock chimed ten o’clock as I walked to the stables where I had left Sirius, still saddled from the night before. I led him out and was quickly in the saddle. The ride did not take long. As usual I found David at the forge working hard. I had to get in to his cottage somehow, for I knew this was where his Enfield was, and I had seen it many times before. I immediately decided that I would tell him what had happened, omitting the type of rifle used, and that I had it in my possession. ‘I wager you could do with a stiff drink after that. Is that the reason for the sabre, and the guns? ‘Yes I could do with a drink’. I knew that I had gained admission to his cottage, and there above the fireplace hung his Enfield. How could I have been so stupid to even think this of the man who had saved my life? We sat and talked for a while, and drank whiskey which never agreed with me, and very soon put my head in a spin.

  ‘That Enfield saved our lives, and I leave it cleaned and serviced as a reminder, of what it was like at Sevastopol. I never want to see that place ever again. This is a large estate with many places to hide, perhaps you should go to London for a while, for the estate will be looked after in your absence, but remember that someone can be invisible in plain view as well, especially in London.

  ‘I am going to be in London next Sunday, for Richard’s funeral on Monday, and I have some business to conclude whilst there as well’.

  ‘Be careful wont you James’.

  ‘I will be’, I said fearing the worst, yet hoping for the best. I then returned to the house uneasily, collecting the fishing rods that Charles and I left behind, rather hurriedly the day before. The fish that Charles had caught lay dead on the bank. I unhooked it, and let its body slide slowly back into the water, knowing that it would be a welcome meal for the few predators that lurked in the depths of the lake. I tried to make light of the rest of the week, but the strain must have been visible to everyone, I snapped continually, and still could find no reason for Richard’s death, or the attempt on my life. I quickly developed the laborious habit of checking doors at night, and looking over my shoulder. I was a soldier, and had seen death close up. I thought that I should be able to handle this, but when I spent a second in thought about Richard, and I, a tear came to my eye, maybe I was not the strong resilient soldier I thought I was. I knew that I had to get away to friends in London for a short while at least. That week could not have passed quicker for me. My wife single handily ran the house, and I spent most of the week reading in the library, hoping I could immerse myself totally in a story, and images created by the pages of a book, even talking to Paul Winter would have been most welcomed. Sunday soon arrived and we made our way by carriage to Leicester, to be greeted by the ‘Leopard’ steam engine, with its four first class and six second class coaches. We were almost immediately seated in the first class compartment, and were on our way to London.

  LONDON:

  It was a fairly quick journey, and we arrived early afternoon, and took a hansom cab to our house in Chelsea. The small contingent of servants we kept in London had already been informed by telegram of our arrival. A swift knock on the lion’s head knocker brought Ellen our youngest servant to the door which opened quietly. She was a red head of slight frame, barely sixteen years old, with freckles almost covering all of her face. I had chosen her, because she was to be a companion to Emy on our trips to London, which were quite frequent affairs. Ellen took our coats and hats, and placed them on the hat and coat stand, which stood either side of the walnut framed mirror in the hallway. I could see she was looking for Emy who was hiding behind me as best as she could. Ellen outstretched her arms, and Emy raced forward, forgetting her station for a split second, to the dismay of Charlotte, who coughed in disapproval, but when together, these two were like sisters, almost inseparable, as I wanted. Our house in Cheyne walk fronted the river Thames, and had been in the family for a long time. Many artists, poets, and engineers lived in the area, as well as it being home to the Chelsea barracks, and I felt quite at home, being an ex-soldier. I also thought of myself as a bit of a poet, although most of my scribbling was of a battlefield nature.

  ‘Will you take the children to the playroom, and make them some lemonade? I see by your apron that you have already been making biscuits. My wife and I will take tea in the study; put a few biscuits on a plate for us too’.

  ‘Very well sir’, Ellen replied with her elevated London accent.

  The warmth of the fire quickly negated the harshness of the cold outside, which was made worse by the howling wind coming off the Thames. I remembered my mother, years before standing looking out over the Thames and telling me of the “frost fair” of 1814, when the Thames froze over, and a market was held on the river itself. She told me the ice was so thick they actually rode an elephant across it at Southwalk Bridge, the very place where Richard met his fate. I miss my mother, and her comforting words, but I have my own family, and I must make certain their safety, even at the expenditure of mine. Tomorrow, I thought, after the funeral of Richard, which would be held early morning, I would speak with Sir Richard Mayne, police commissioner, and valued friend, about this matter, and other matters about the police force, with regard to the formation of two more needed divisions, something I knew that he desperately wanted, for clearly the amount of police officers was woefully inadequate, to cover such a large metropolis, and I wanted to hammer this out with him, and present his argument before parliament, although I already knew that Richard’s request would be granted, as there was nothing the nine of us that remained could not do, within reason. The rest of Sunday passed quickly, and we had a light supper before we retired. The large copper bed pan made light of the coldness of the bed. The clock in the hall soon reminded us of the day ahead. It was seven o’clock when we rose from our slumber, which was a little late for me, and rising late always gave me a headache which I knew I would be unable to rid myself of till later. We were quickly dressed; our black attire set the mood for the rest of the day. The cemetery was only a short distance from the house, and the carriage made light work of it, winding its way along the embankment, to ‘Fulham’ road, then along Church Street to the old Chelsea church. Many people arrived including all the remaining eight members of our band of brothers, including myself making nine in total. It was funny to think, that a life-times work and memories would be los
t in one moment, but that would come to us all in the end, I thought. A few hymns and prayers followed at the Anglican Church, and we were on our way home. Richard would not be interned at the church, but he would have a second, more private funeral on his estate in Cornwall. We took a slow carriage back to the house, and a few glasses of sherry later in front of a blazing fire with close friends, was all that was required, but this was never going to be enough. I really needed to let myself go, and I new the best place to do it. I had already arranged with Jason Crane, and Robert Rowan, to meet Charlotte, and I at approximately seven p.m at the ‘Cremorne Gardens’, where the band of brothers was first formed. This was the place where we did most of our business in the early days of our group, and held fond memories for me.

  CREMORNE GARDENS:

  The funeral clothes were quickly discarded and replaced, by clothes suited to the place we were going to. My top hat gleamed, my silver cane shone in the moonlight as we stepped down from the carriage at the entrance to the Cremorne gardens. Jason and Robert were already there. I could see them sitting in the pagoda. The entrance was two shillings for Charlotte and I, quickly paid, but unaffordable to some that lined the streets outside, but that didn’t matter, for tonight would be one of drunken revelry, and I did not care, tonight belonged to us. Even Charlotte’s stiff upper lip mind-set had dropped. My wife soon felt the effects of the alcohol, which freely ran at the Cremorne. Waiters almost ran, delivering alcohol and food to us, and the many that were there, some I knew, but most I did not. I tried to dance the Polka with Charlotte, but dancing was really not my forte, and the amount of brandy I had already consumed made it almost impossible to stand, let alone dance. The weather was cold, snow covered the pier that jutted out over the Thames but we still managed a stroll gazing at the ripples cast by the moonlight. I chanced to slip over, which was probably the alcohol, but my top hat remained firmly seated on my head, it must have had something to do with the fit. A hot air balloon tethered to the floor came next, after a quick ascent to the heavens; it was pulled safely back to earth. Nearing the end of the night, and every night fireworks lit the sky, which were an annoyance which kept us awake at Cheyne walk, but not so annoying tonight. We took no heed of the scandals that abounded at the Cremorne, for tonight was ours, and we needed it after the funeral of Richard and the attempt on my life. The time was a quarter after twelve by my silver pocket watch, which somehow could not find its pocket, hung on its chain, swinging in the cold wind.