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

  ‘I don’t wish to frighten you, ma’am, but villains set on robbery tend to carry firearms and cudgels. It makes no difference to them who they hurt, when robbery will see them hang anyway. No-one likes to lose their silver, ma’am, but it is not worth dying for. I beg you not to take such a risk again.’

  Assuring him I would not, I said I would go in now. ‘It’s becoming a little chilly.’

  He bowed. ‘Of course, ma’am. Don’t worry, I will lock the door when I come in.’

  Back in the workroom, I snuffed out the candles as if retiring for the night. Then I went out of the house by a rear door, taking the key with me. Mr. Hamerton had been less than twenty yards from the road, and might easily meet someone under the pretext of watching moths.

  I walked up the hill at the side of the house, and on this moonlit night, I was able to watch him for some time, but no-one else appeared. I was about to go in when I heard a horseman coming down the lane on the far side of the hill, and I ran to a good vantage point. In the moonlight I recognised the slight figure of Mr. Sims, riding a horse belonging to Mr. Upton. I smiled to myself, for the Uptons believed he came home at about eleven, and it was well after one now. As I wondered what they would say about him coming back at such a time, I saw Mr. Hamerton walk into the house. And after a few minutes I followed.

  In the morning, I was seated at my desk in the workroom, thinking about Mr. Hamerton, when my aunt stormed in. ‘There you are, Drusilla,’ she pronounced, as if I had been deliberately hiding from her. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’

  The moment the door opened I had picked up a quill pen as if I was writing a letter. Annoyed at being interrupted, I answered somewhat testily, ‘What is it, Aunt?’

  ‘Luffe has still not attended to the music room door.’ I stifled a groan, remembering she had complained about it yesterday. ‘I told you Luffe wasn’t a suitable---’

  ‘I haven’t spoken to Luffe yet,’ I broke in.

  ‘Well, really-----’ she muttered huffily, having been deprived of a scapegoat. ‘I should be obliged if you would speak to him immediately.’

  ‘Yes, I will do so presently,’ I promised. ‘I’m rather busy at the moment.’

  Having opened her mouth twice and shut it again without finding suitable words to express her disgust, she took herself off grumbling that writing a letter was clearly of more importance to me than her comfort.

  I tried concentrating on my notes on Mr. Hamerton, but it was no good. Knowing I would never have any peace until I had dealt with my aunt’s complaint, I rang for Luffe. When he came in, I directed him to look at the music room door, adding with a weary smile, ‘Mrs. Frère is of the opinion that it has developed a squeak.’

  Luffe had been at Westfleet long enough to know my aunt’s constant complaints irritated me intensely. Now it was his job to deal with them, I couldn’t help comparing him with Jeffel who, aware I detested living in an atmosphere of discontent, had always done everything possible to keep the peace. Luffe simply did not have Jeffel’s experience, but he did his best, and in all fairness, I could not expect more than that. 'Very good, my lady,’ he said. ‘It probably needs a drop of oil. I’ll see to it at once.’

  I thanked him, and decided I would go for a ride instead, where no-one would interrupt my thoughts. I went on my own, which I did on occasion; at twenty-seven I couldn’t see the need for a groom to accompany me every time. It was still quite early, and I loved to ride at this time of the day, for it blew the cobwebs away and I felt much better for it.

  Riding into Manor Lane, I turned right, heading for the Downs, as I did most mornings. On reaching the top, I set off at a gallop, but soon had to slow down when I ran into the mist that often developed in this part of the Island. I rode on, eventually turning towards the coast, as I frequently did, meaning to go home by way of the cliff top that ran from Dittistone, at one end of the bay, to Hokewell village at the other, a distance of some four or five miles.

  Dittistone relied a good deal on fishing, and while it was not the size of some of the larger towns on the Island, it was certainly the largest place in the west, boasting a constable, a doctor, and two members of Parliament.

  Here the tangy scent of the sea drifted in on a faint breeze. Gulls screamed overhead, but Orlando being used to their noise, ignored them. On the way back, having clarified my thoughts on Mr. Hamerton as far as was possible, I decided to visit one of my tenants who lived about a mile this side of Hokewell. My estate was small enough for me to look after myself, and I enjoyed doing so. I knew every child by name and recorded the details of each tenant, his family and birth dates of his children in a special book, which I kept in the library.

  By the time I left that particular farm, the mist had begun to lift a little, giving occasional glimpses of the sea as I headed for the cliff top again. A few dense patches remained, however, one of which I saw just ahead of me when I turned in the direction of Hokewell. It was as I approached it that I heard someone shouting for help.

  My father’s warning that I tended to leap straight into a situation without thinking, did fleetingly cross my mind, but I quickly dismissed it, for it sounded to me as if someone was in desperate trouble. I rode Orlando quietly into the gloom of the mist, and was immediately confronted by two men, standing no more than ten yards away, pointing heavy flintlock pistols at me. One man was rather thin and weedy, the other, a decidedly burly individual, yelled at me to dismount.

  Ignoring their threats, I instantly urged Orlando into a canter, riding straight at them, wishing I’d had the sense to bring my own pistols with me. The thin one threw himself out of Orlando’s path, but the burlier man failed to move quickly enough and I bowled him over. His firearm went off as he hit the ground, and seeing him sprawled out flat, groaning in agony, I turned Orlando to face the weedy individual, who was already getting to his feet. I raised my riding whip ready to lash out at him, but before I could do so he fired a shot into the air so close to Orlando’s ear it startled him. Orlando rose onto his hind legs, and my efforts to get at this man having left me somewhat unbalanced in the saddle, I was instantly unseated, hitting the ground with an impact that took my breath away.

  Winded, I saw to my horror that I was very close to the edge of the cliff. As I scrambled to my feet, the thin man put the empty pistol into his pocket and started to run towards me, his face twisted with evil intent. Rapidly gathering speed, he suddenly thrust out his arms in a manner that made his intentions all too clear. He meant to push me over the cliff.

  The drop was some forty feet here, the crumbling clay and sandstone sloping down to a sandy beach. At high tide, waves smashed against the cliff, and anything, or anyone in the water along with it. Fortunately the tide was out, but I doubted I would survive a fall from that height straight down onto the sand, and even if my fall was broken by hitting the outward slope of the cliff, it was likely to result in some nasty injuries. A fate I intended to avoid. I stood quite still, held my nerve, and at the very last second, threw myself sideways out of his reach. As I’d hoped, sheer momentum carried him straight over the cliff top.

  He yelled something I didn’t understand, and I watched him strike the edge of a ledge, before plummeting onto the firm sand. I waited a moment to see if he got up, but he didn’t move. The burly villain, however, was struggling onto his feet, and I had just started to push myself up from the grass cliff top when a man appeared by my side. All I saw of him at first was a pair of highly polished brown riding boots. Boots I recognised. Hurriedly rising to my knees I found myself looking down the barrel of a gun.

  ‘M-Mr. Hamerton?’ I whispered shakily.

  I tried to get to my feet but he ordered abruptly, ‘Stay where you are.’ This was no longer the jovial inoffensive gentleman I knew, this was a different man altogether.

  Before I could utter another word, I heard someone running and Mr. Hamerton took in his breath sharply. ‘Keep quite still, ma’am,’ he muttered, his closeness making me aware of how tense
he was.

  The slight figure of Mr. Sims emerged from the mist. He stopped when he saw us and demanded, ‘What’s going on here?’

  Mr. Hamerton gave a deep sigh. ‘You are beset by rescuers, ma’am,’ he murmured. And putting the pistol in his pocket he reached down to assist me to my feet, once more the smiling, cheerful man I knew. ‘It’s quite safe now. When that burly ruffian saw I was carrying a pistol, he rode off in a great hurry. What he couldn’t know, ma’am, was that it wasn’t loaded.’ He took a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. ‘Brought me out in a sweat, I don’t mind admitting. I mean, if it had come to a fight he would have made mincemeat of me. And when I saw someone running out of the mist, I feared it was another of those scoundrels.’ And he turned to Mr. Sims. ‘I was exceedingly thankful when I saw it was you, sir, I can tell you.’

  I expressed my gratitude to them, and learnt they had both been alerted by the shots. Mr. Hamerton had left his horse some way back, not wanting to charge into the mist, he said. Mr. Sims, who carried a book, had been looking for a spot out of the mist in which to read. ‘There is very little peace to be had at the parsonage,’ he explained.

  I sympathised with him, and Mr. Hamerton, who was looking over the cliff at the weedy man stretched out on the sand, said, 'At least we’ll catch one of those devils.’

  But the man on the beach was dead. He was about my own age, with the weatherbeaten face of a sailor. He’d struck his head on a large rock at the bottom of the cliff, and as we all stood on the firm sand looking down at him, I confessed, 'Well, I cannot say I am sorry.’

  'No, indeed,’ Mr. Sims agreed.

  Mr. Hamerton gave a shudder. ‘It could so easily have been you lying there, Lady Drusilla.’

  ‘That had occurred to me,’ I murmured.

  With a sudden exclamation he pointed at something on a ledge near the bottom of the cliff, some twenty yards away. ‘Look, ma’am. Isn’t that a pistol?’

  ‘It must have come out of his pocket when he fell,’ I said, going across to pick it up.

  When I turned back Mr. Hamerton was kneeling beside the man’s body, going through his pockets. He looked up at me and said, ‘I hoped there might be something to identify him, but there’s nothing here except some powder and shot.’ These he laid beside the body.

  ‘Isn’t there any money?’ I asked in surprise, expecting he would have a few coins on him.

  ‘Nothing at all.’ He stood up and brushed the sand off his riding breeches. ‘No doubt that was why they decided to rob you.’

  Mr. Sims agreed and advised, ‘The local constable ought to be informed, ma’am.’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, I’ll attend to that.’

  Mr. Sims offered to stay by the body until the constable came, but I assured him that wasn’t necessary. ‘I’ll send a groom,’ I said, aware that Mr. Reevers and Mr. East would want to see the body before the constable had it taken away.

  Mr. Hamerton insisted on seeing me safely home and hurried off to collect his horse. Mr. Sims went on his way, and I walked back up the path to the cliff top, where Orlando was quietly grazing. As I went towards him I saw something on the ground. Picking it up I was not surprised to see it was a Fat Badger token. Guessing it had fallen from the weedy man’s clothes when he threw himself out of Orlando’s path, I put it in my pocket and took a careful look around, but there was nothing else.

  Mr. Hamerton escorted me home, showing the kind of concern for my welfare that I had come to expect of him during our short acquaintance. By now the mist had completely disappeared, revealing dull grey skies. On arriving back at Westfleet I hurriedly dismounted, handed Orlando over to a servant and directed him to send Mudd to me at once. I went into the library and wrote a note to Mr. Reevers, giving the bare details of the attack, explaining where the body was, and that I had not yet informed the constable.

  When Mudd appeared I sealed the note with a wafer and gave it to him to deliver. ‘If Mr. Reevers is not there, Mr. East will do.’

  ‘Very good, my lady.’ I told him briefly what had happened. Watching the horror growing on his face I was not surprised when he reproved, ‘You shouldn’t have gone out alone, my lady.’

  ‘No, I shouldn’t. I shan’t do so again, John.’ His look of unqualified relief made me smile. He never fussed normally, but he was right, I had been very foolish.

  Learning from Luffe that my aunt and uncle had gone out ten minutes earlier for a walk on the Downs, I took the opportunity to go into the workroom and note down the details of the attack. It was already difficult to find time to do what I needed here, aware that if I stayed too long, and too often, my aunt and uncle would guess I was trying to solve some new mystery and demand to know what it was. Mr. Pitt had forbidden me to tell them about Mr. Hamerton, and so far I had used the workroom when they were out, or had retired to bed. This being far from a desirable solution, the problem nagged at the back of my mind.

  I took the Fat Badger token from my pocket and compared it with the one I’d found in Septimus’s desk drawer. They were the same, except that Septimus’s was much cleaner. The card was good, strong stuff, and of the highest quality. Not the sort of thing the two villains on the cliff top seemed likely to be able to afford. Which, again, pointed to a highly organised society.

  From the window I could see the pond, and I stood watching the kitchen cat pawing at the water. Amused at her efforts to catch one of the goldfish, I decided that if she succeeded she deserved her prize. My father couldn’t have chosen a better situation for his workroom, for apart from the antics around the pond, I loved to watch the blackbirds rushing in and out the shrubs. In summer the wonderful scent of lavender wafted in through the open windows on the slightest breeze, and every time I had entered the room in these past few weeks, the sheer peace to be found here seeped into my bones. But it hadn’t always been like that.

  After my father’s death I’d avoided the room for months, for everything in it reminded me of him in a way that didn’t happen in other rooms. This being where he was at his happiest, working on the hobbies that fired his enthusiasm. Even now, I often had a sense of his presence, which I realised was not helped by the fact that I had changed nothing. But I could not see a better arrangement of the room than the one we had so carefully chosen. A long working table ran down the middle of the room, and our two desks still faced each other by the middle window to gain the best of the light. I had meant to have one taken out, but found it useful to have a choice of where to sit when the sun got into my eyes.

  All my life I’d loved the smell of the old books in here, and the faint tang of the sea emanating from the cabinets displaying father’s collection of fossils. In the mornings, with the sun streaming into the east facing room, to me it was the perfect place for deep thought.

  The cat, having failed to catch anything, wandered off to a quiet spot in the bushes, curled up and went to sleep. Smiling, I turned away from the window, and taking a fresh sheet of paper from a drawer, settled to the task of writing down what had happened during the attack on the cliff top.

  I was so engrossed I failed to notice it had come on to rain, consequently I was rather taken aback when the workroom door opened and my uncle walked in. Foolishly, I tried to cover up what I was writing, and his eyebrows arched in surprise. I blushed and made things very much worse by muttering fatuously, 'I thought you were out.’

  He indicated the rain pattering against the window and walked over to me. 'You look like a schoolgirl caught out in some misdemeanour. I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed you.’

  'It’s all right, Uncle.’

  Sitting down opposite me, he studied my face and then quietly inquired, 'May I know what you are doing?’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I hesitated, but only for a moment, for I suddenly realised my uncle could help me solve the problem of working in here without anyone asking questions. 'If you wish. I’m trying to find out what happened to Septimus.’ Uncle Charles was a man I could confide in, and the simp
lest solution was to let him deal with my aunt when she demanded to know why I spent so much time in the workroom. As she undoubtedly would. ‘Julia thinks he was murdered. Although I would rather you did not repeat that to anyone.’

  He eyed me thoughtfully for a moment or two. 'And you do too, don’t you, or you wouldn’t go to all this trouble.’

  I felt my lips twitching. 'Uncle, you know me far too well. It’s a good thing I can trust you.’

  'Ye-e-e-s,’ he said slowly, and casting a glance at the locked shutter on the other section of the wall, which covered all that I knew of Mr. Hamerton, he inquired, 'May I be permitted to know what you are hiding there?’

  Meeting his eyes, I said at once, 'I’m sorry, but I’m not at liberty to tell you.’

  'I see,’ he said slowly. ‘Is it to do with Septimus?’ When I shook my head he said casually, 'So there was more to your visit to Mr. Pitt than you told us. It doesn’t surprise me; I thought you were holding something back at the time.’

  I sought for an answer that would satisfy him, and failed. ‘Did you,’ I mumbled awkwardly.

  The alarm in my voice amused him. 'I thought it odd that Mr. Pitt had time to speak to you about your father’s book when he was dealing with the suspension of Habeas Corpus and the arrests of leading reformers in the corresponding societies. Don’t worry, I haven’t mentioned it to your aunt, but if you ever need help I will do all I can.’ In some relief, I thanked him, and he urged, 'You will be careful, won’t you, Drusilla?’

  ‘Of course I will,’ I promised, thankful he could not possibly guess the truth. 'Uncle, I need an excuse to work in here without my aunt asking awkward questions.’

  He considered for a minute or two. ‘I’ll tell her you are working on a book, but don’t want to speak about it until you know whether you can do it properly. Will that do? Does it give you enough time?’

  ‘Yes, it does,’ I said thankfully. ‘How clever you are, Uncle.’