The Fat Badger Society (Drusilla Davanish Mysteries Book 2) Read online

  THE FAT BADGER SOCIETY

  by

  DAWN HARRIS

  Cover image: Anne & Paul Cameron

  Text Copyright© 2014 Dawn Harris

  To my husband, Geoff, for his unstinting support and encouragement, and to my author daughter, Anne Cameron, for her expert advice and help

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTYONE

  CHAPTER TWENTYTWO

  CHAPTER TWENTYTHREE

  CHAPTER TWENTYFOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTYFIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTYSIX

  CHAPTER TWENTYSEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTYEIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTYNINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTYONE

  HISTORICAL NOTE

  Other books by Dawn Harris

  CHAPTER ONE

  May 1794

  I was in the garden, talking to the King, when two men came out of the trees and began to cross the lawn. One pushed a wheelbarrow, the other carried a hoe. I was staying at Ashton Grange with my aunt and uncle while the friends who owned the house were away, but these two men were not on the gardening staff, and I had never seen either of them before.

  They were some thirty yards away, walking very slowly, their eyes fixed on the King. But far from gazing at him in wonder, as many people did, these two seemed surprisingly tense.

  No-one else gave them more than a glance. The King had turned his attention to my aunt, while my uncle and our other guests, Mr Reevers and Mr East, both tall and athletic, were enjoying a joke with Jeffel, my butler, as he set out light refreshments on the garden table. A third guest, the usually reliable Mr Hamerton, had unaccountably failed to arrive.

  I heard the King say to my aunt, ‘Frankly Mrs Frère, I detest London. The Queen and I prefer to be here in Windsor. Tell me ma’am, is our town to your liking?’

  I never did catch what Aunt Thirza said, for the man with the hoe suddenly threw it aside and stared at me. ‘What the devil---‘ I muttered under my breath.

  At which point Mr Reevers inquired, ‘Is anything wrong, Lady Drusilla?’

  ‘Those men —’ I began, and instinctively taking a step in their direction, I demanded, ‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’

  The large gathering of sparrows in the trees stopped chattering, a dark cloud blotted out the sun, and just as a gust of cool air rippled through the garden, the two men turned their backs on us, reached into the wheelbarrow, and swung round again with pistols in their hands.

  I gaped at them open-mouthed, and when they began to run towards us, Aunt Thirza gave an odd little groan and fainted. At the exact moment I yelled out to the King to get down on the ground, they fired the first shot, and someone bowled me over with such force my head struck the lawn with a resounding thump. A second later Mr. Reevers raced past and threw His Majesty King George 111 unceremoniously flat on his face, ignoring his voluble protests.

  All I saw of the man shielding me was an arm in front of my face, but that was enough to tell me who it was, and removing a blade of grass from my mouth, I burst out, ‘Don’t be foolish, Jeffel. You’ll get hurt.’ He didn’t answer, or move, but before I could protest further, two more shots were fired, and I wished fervently that we had stayed at home on the Isle of Wight. Or gone anywhere but Windsor. Or even that I had not met the King so often when out riding before breakfast. Then he would not have been here today, where he was an easy target for assassination.

  Nor was I under any illusions as to the fate in store for the rest of us. These men would not leave live witnesses behind. And I hadn’t made a Will.

  Foolishly I’d thought that, at twenty-seven, I had plenty of time to decide who would inherit Westfleet Manor and the large fortune my father had left me.

  I was shaking like a blancmange, but I forced myself to think sensibly. They meant to kill the King and had brought two pistols each. Three shots had been fired, which meant they had one left, and then they would have to re-load. My well-meaning butler having pinned me to the ground, I could do nothing, except grit my teeth and pray. But, instead of the single shot I’d expected, two were fired in quick succession, and so close to me I flinched.

  Then Mr. East gave a shout of triumph. ‘Got the b--- beggars.’ He dashed past me towards the intruders and a moment later assured us, ‘It’s all right. They’re both dead.’

  It was our good fortune that, as Government agents, Mr. Reevers and Mr. East were accustomed to carrying pistols. The one I had brought in case of highwaymen on the road to Windsor, was locked in a drawer in the study.

  I heard the King say to my uncle in a remarkably calm voice, ‘Mr. Frère, allow me to help you to assist your wife indoors. This has been a nasty shock for her.’

  Closing my eyes in relief that they were all unharmed, I urged my butler, ‘Do budge, Jeffel. It’s quite safe now.’

  Only then did I notice blood on the grass beside my head. I hadn’t been hit, which meant it was Jeffel’s blood. So that was why he’d ignored my orders. Fear set my heart pounding again, and instinctively I called out to Mr Reevers, who hurried over at once.

  He gently moved Jeffel and I got up onto my knees. My butler’s eyes were shut, and only then did I see how unnaturally still he was.

  ‘Oh no,’ I whispered, catching my breath. Jeffel had been at Westfleet since before I was born, and looking up at Mr Reevers through a haze of tears, I mutely beseeched him to tell me that this kindly, cheerful man wasn’t dead.

  Mr Reevers reached out, took my hands and assisted me to my feet. I tried to speak, but couldn’t swallow the lump in my throat. ‘I’m so sorry, Lady Drusilla,’ Mr. Reevers murmured, his expressive dark eyes full of compassion. ‘He was a good and honourable man.’

  Toby East offered hurried words of sympathy, and begged me to go indoors for my own safety. ‘Those men may not have been alone. I’ve told the servants to stay inside until we’ve searched the grounds.’ And he handed me a loaded pistol. ‘In case you need it,’ he said.

  As I watched the two gentlemen rush off, I realised that if I hadn’t invited them today, the King would now be dead. As I would be. And my aunt and uncle.

  I watched until I lost sight of them in the small copse of trees bordering the garden. The grounds were not extensive, and the two gentleman were accustomed to dangerous situations, but that didn’t stop me worrying about them. And one of them in particular.

  It would have been sensible to go indoors, but I could not bring myself to leave Jeffel. It was then I heard someone running, and my heart began to race again. Giving my fair curls a firm shake, I lifted the pistol ready to fire, and was surprised at the steadiness of my hand. But it was only Mr. Hamerton, who should have arrived much earlier.

  The unaccustomed exercise had turned his face bright red and left him gasping for breath, as he explained, ‘I -- heard ---- shots.’ A trifle on the plump side for thirty, his kind brown eyes widened in horror on seeing Jeffel, and they stood out on stalks when he looked past me to the two dead men on the lawn.


  ‘The King?’ he blurted out aghast.

  ‘He’s quite safe,’ I assured him.

  ‘Thank heaven. But your poor butler, Lady Drusilla.’ He shook his head in disbelief and asked, ‘How did it happen, ma’am? Who are those men?’

  I explained briefly, and decided to take a closer look at the villains. He protested that it wasn’t a proper sight for a lady, but followed when that failed to stop me. The fact was, I wanted to remember the faces of the men who had taken Jeffel’s life.

  They were both young, probably no more than twenty; muscular, with rough hands and filthy torn nails. Not farm labourers though; they didn’t have the skin of people who spent their lives out of doors. Their clothes suggested they pursued a trade of some sort.

  When I saw the gentlemen returning from their search, I closed my eyes in relief. No other intruders having been found, I returned the pistol Mr East had given me, and pointed out to Mr. Reevers that his right ear was bleeding. ‘A bullet clipped it,’ he said, dabbing at it with his handkerchief. ‘I was lucky.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed, more thankful than I cared to admit. And looking at Jeffel again, wished with all my heart I had left him back at Westfleet.

  Mr. East asked Mr. Hamerton why he’d arrived so late. ‘You should have been here an hour ago.’

  ‘I- I- I was unavoidably delayed.’

  ‘How did that happen?’

  ‘Well -- I –’ he hesitated, glanced at me and fidgeted with the buttons on his dark brown coat, his face turning rather pink, contrasting vividly with his ginger hair. ‘This is not the time or the place, I believe.’

  Shrugging, Mr East began searching the bodies, finding nothing but a few coins. When he turned one man over I saw something on the ground, and picked it up. It was a small piece of stiff cardboard, triangular in shape, on which someone had painted a rather fat badger. Mr Reevers asked to look at it, and without a word, passed it to Mr East.

  Observing the King coming out of the house, I walked up the garden to meet him. ‘I came to tell you ma’am, that your aunt has gone to lie down upon her bed. I urged her to take some tea to steady her nerves.’ I thanked him, and His Majesty, who suffered from poor eyesight, peered in the direction of the gentlemen, and asked who the third one was. ‘I can’t quite make him out.’

  ‘It’s Mr Hamerton, sir.’

  ‘Ah, yes. The poor fellow who lost his wife in that dreadful accident.’

  As we stood talking, two gardeners carried Jeffel’s body indoors. Mr. Hamerton accompanied them, as I learnt later, to ensure Jeffel rested in a suitable place and with due respect. I was grateful for his thoughtfulness.

  The King expressed his sorrow at my butler’s death and when the other two gentlemen joined us, he said, ‘Nasty business, this. I----’

  ‘I beg your pardon sir,’ Mr. East interrupted with barely suppressed urgency, ‘but we should get you home at once. Those two men may not have been working alone.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ retorted the King, frowning.

  Stretching out his open palm, Mr. East showed him the small piece of cardboard I’d picked up. ‘That’s why, sir.’

  Having carefully studied the painting of the fat badger, the King looked Mr East straight in the eye. ‘Isn’t that the kind of thing the French royalists use to identify themselves to each other?’

  ‘Yes they do, sir. But other societies may use them too. Corresponding societies for----’

  I broke in, ‘The people demanding the vote for all working men?’

  He turned to me, more serious than I had ever seen him. ‘That’s what they say they stand for, Lady Drusilla, but we have evidence that some are secretly planning to overthrow the monarchy and the government.’ Addressing the King he said, ‘Both men carried these tokens, sir. This wasn’t a random attack by two madmen. They were attempting to start a French-style revolution.’

  The French, having guillotined their King and Queen, along with much of the hated nobility and clergy, were now gripped in a reign of terror, where no-one’s head was safe. Not aristocrats, lowly peasants, or even revolutionary leaders, for Danton himself had perished only last month.

  Silently I cursed France for their revolution. And for declaring war on us last year. If they won that war, we would see tumbrils rumbling through English streets, guillotines set up in our market places, and innocent heads rolling into those gruesome baskets.

  ‘The grounds are clear,’ Mr. East went on, ‘but if there are others watching the house, and they see you leave unharmed, they might try again before you reach home.’ He ran a hand worriedly through his thick blond hair. ‘I’ll send for an escort-----’

  ‘Soldiers? To protect me from the people of Windsor. Never. What would they think of me? What? What?’ The King often ended his sentences in this way. ‘You forget they are accustomed to me walking about the town.’

  He and the Queen liked to talk to people in the streets, and enjoyed visiting the shops. I had seen the King myself, sitting in a book shop studying the latest publications. Pleasures they could not easily enjoy in London. The gentlemen protested vigorously, pointing out the dangers, but he only shook his head. ‘No, I won’t hide behind soldiers. I’ll ride back as usual. And that’s my final word.’

  Mr Reevers tried another tack.’ No-one would think it odd sir, if Toby and I rode with you.’

  Still the King refused to budge, but admitted, ‘I accept it would be better if no-one knew I had been here today. There will be an inquest and----.’

  ‘With your permission sir,’ Mr Reevers said, ‘we will suggest the men were London thieves who, hearing the owners of Ashton Grange were away, thought the house was empty. They brought the wheelbarrow to carry off the goods, but panicked when they saw us and started shooting.’

  The King gave this his careful consideration. ‘That sounds an excellent idea. Keep me out of it if you can. What?’ Looking at Mr Reevers’ ear, which was bleeding again, he told him to go indoors and get it seen to. ‘Or the blood will ruin your coat,’ he pointed out with a faint smile.

  He did as he was bid, Mr East went to organise the removal of the two bodies, leaving me alone with the King. ‘They are fine fellows, Lady Drusilla, only I do hate fuss,’ he confided. ‘I had enough of that after that poor mad woman tried to attack me with a knife a few years ago.’ And he gave a weary sigh. ‘Still, it would be sensible to take a pistol with me. What?’

  ‘Indeed it would, sir. I have one in the house.’

  Going back inside, I took the King into the study to collect the pistol. Leaving the door open, I was loading the firearm when I heard footsteps, and a moment later, Mr East said, ‘Oh, there you are, Radleigh. I’ve been thinking. When the King leaves, if we follow at a discreet distance, we’ll be on hand if anything goes wrong.’

  ‘There’ll be the devil to pay if he finds out.’

  ‘Better that than a dead King. He’s a brave man, Radleigh, but foolhardy.’

  The King put a finger to his lips, warning me not to speak, an understanding twinkle in his eyes. As their voices faded into the distance, he said, ‘They mean well, Lady Drusilla, but I believe those two men were alone.’

  ‘Perhaps. Only you can’t be sure, can you, sir?’ He eyed me thoughtfully, but said nothing, and I went on, ‘You would be dead now but for the quick thinking of Mr Reevers and Mr East.’ He nodded slowly, knowing it to be true. ‘If there are other assassins out there, and you are killed, the country will descend into chaos, and those who want a French-style revolution could seize power.’

  Frowning, he stood gazing out the window for a minute or two, before admitting I was right. ‘Tell Reevers and East they may accompany me. Hamerton too, if he wishes. Not that I think he’d be much use in a fight. Incidentally, why was he so late?’

  ‘He said he was delayed, sir. I don’t know why.’

  ‘A gentleman shouldn’t make an engagement if he cannot keep it.’

  ‘I expect he had a good reason.’

&nbs
p; ‘Make sure he has, ma’am. He tells me he’s to be your guest when you return to the Isle of Wight, and you can’t be expected to tolerate that sort of behaviour.’ He picked up the loaded pistol and put it carefully into his coat pocket. 'I gather he’s thinking of moving to the Island. Personally I cannot understand why anyone would want to leave Windsor.’

  ‘Too many memories of his wife, I imagine, sir.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Of course. I should have thought of that. What?’

  Ten minutes later the King rode off, closely guarded by his three escorts. I went out to watch them go, and stayed outside listening long after they were out of sight, fearing I might hear the sound of gunfire.

  My uncle came out to join me, and seeing me shiver, murmured, ‘You’re cold, Drusilla. Come inside.’

  ‘It’s not the cold, Uncle. If you must know, I’m frightened.’

  ‘Frightened? That’s not like you.’

  ‘Isn’t it? I shook like a blancmange waiting for that fourth shot. I regret to say more in fear of my own life than the King’s.’

  He took my hand and patted it. ‘Self-preservation is a natural instinct. I wouldn’t let it trouble you. Tell me what frightens you now, my dear.’

  Wishing I had his calmness, I said, ‘If Mr. East is right and those two men were part of a conspiracy to start a revolution, the others won’t rest until the King is dead. What I fear, Uncle, is that today may only be the beginning.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  Within the hour Mr. Hamerton kindly came back to tell us the King had reached the Queen’s Lodge without incident. But it was four days before I saw Mr. Reevers again.

  The newspapers were full of the arrests of leading reformers, including Hardy, the founder of the London Corresponding society, whose manners and dress were described, rather alarmingly, as resembling that of a French sans-culotte. But there was nothing about the assassination attempt and I was relieved to see it had not got out.