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

  I was walking in the garden on that fourth day, roundly cursing Mr. Reevers for not sparing me half an hour to tell me what was really going on, when I suddenly saw him striding across the lawn in my direction. He was smartly turned out in a pale blue coat and fawn riding breeches, his jet black wavy hair neatly tied back, and I found myself wishing I had put on one of my new gowns instead of my old dark green one, which owed more to comfort than fashion.

  Radleigh Reevers and I had met once as children, and not seen each other again until last summer, at the height of the Saxborough murders. (See “Letter From A Dead Man.”)

  Shortly after that he was sent back to France, not returning until last week when, quite by chance, I’d bumped into him in Windsor. On reaching me he bowed and held out his hand. As I took it his dark eyes searched mine in a manner that left me unaccountably breathless.

  ‘I can’t stay long,’ he murmured softly, still holding my hand. I should have removed it, but for some reason I found that difficult. ‘We still haven’t identified those two would-be assassins, or found any other members of this Fat Badger Society.’ The strain of the past few days so clear in his voice that I felt guilty at cursing him earlier.

  I finally removed my hand from his and we strolled along a path between some flower beds. Being a mere shade under six feet in height, I met few men taller than me, but he was, by some three or four inches. Raising my eyes to his, I asked if escorting the King home after the assassination attempt had been as easy as Mr. Hamerton had suggested.

  ‘It would have been if the King hadn’t insisted on stopping to talk to people in the street.’ Smiling, I shook my head at his foolish disregard for personal safety, yet at the same time I couldn’t help admiring his courage. ‘Toby was practically tearing his hair out.’

  I agreed the King could be very stubborn, and went on, ‘I read the newspaper reports about the arrest of those corresponding society leaders. Were they involved in the assassination plot?’

  ‘We don’t know yet. Still, the suspension of Habeas Corpus will allow plenty of time to interrogate them. Meanwhile, Mr. Pitt insists on the King being closely guarded.’

  ‘The King won’t like that.’

  ‘He refused point blank,’ he admitted with a reminiscent grin. ‘Until Mr. Pitt reminded him that if he was assassinated the Prince of Wales would become King. Even he knows that would be disastrous.’

  Thinking of the prince’s expensive tastes and unfortunate choice of female companions, I sighed. ‘It’s a pity the prince is not like his father.’ For no-one could ever accuse King George 111 of neglecting his duties.

  Remembering Mr. Hamerton’s odd behaviour on the day of the assassination, I asked if he knew why that gentleman had arrived late that afternoon.

  ‘He said he mistook the time.’

  ‘But you don’t believe that?’

  ‘No. He was far too uncomfortable for it to have been that simple.’ And he inquired, ‘Tell me, what is your opinion of Hamerton?’

  That was easily answered. ‘I find him most amiable. He’s pleasant, good-natured, sensible, and very much the gentleman.’

  He nodded slowly, considering what I’d said. ‘Is he still to accompany you to Westfleet when you return?’

  ‘Of course.’ Aunt Thirza had invited him in my presence, and that of Mr. Reevers and other friends, leaving me no choice but to urge him to accept. It was as well, I thought, that I liked him.

  ‘Forgive me, but when Mrs. Frère made the invitation you did not seem overly pleased.’

  ‘Do not mince your words, Mr Reevers,’ I said, trying not to laugh. ‘The plain fact is, whenever my aunt behaves as if Westfleet belongs to her, which she frequently does, I find myself overwhelmed by an intense longing to boil her in oil.’

  His eyes danced merrily, but he made no comment, merely asking, ‘Are you still going to London next week?’

  ‘We are. My aunt and uncle are looking forward to it.’ We were to attend a ball in honour of their god-daughter. I ran a hand across a lavender bush, enjoying the delicious scent drifting into the air. ‘My aunt’s only fear is of being held up by highwaymen on Hounslow Heath.’

  ‘You should be safe enough in daylight,’ he said in some amusement. ‘Is Hamerton going to the ball?’

  ‘No, he’s not joining us until the day after. He has some business to attend to.’

  ‘Well, Toby and I may see you there. We have orders to return to London at once.’

  I looked up at him. ‘So you came to take your leave of us.’

  ‘That’s one of the reasons. I also have a message for you from Mr Pitt.’

  ‘Mr. Pitt?’ I repeated, turning to him in astonishment.

  ‘Indeed. He would be much obliged if you would do him the honour of calling at Downing Street on Tuesday.’

  I stared at him in disbelief. ‘Mr Pitt wishes to meet me? But why?’

  ‘He will explain on Tuesday,’ he said with a faint smile.

  ‘Do you know why?’

  He inclined his head. ‘But I have been forbidden to tell you. May I inform him you accept his invitation?’

  Naturally I agreed. I could hardly ignore the commands of the first Lord of the Treasury, the highest and most important minister in the land. Even so, having never met Mr. Pitt I simply could not understand why he wanted to see me. It certainly did not occur to me that he was about to change my life.

  Mr. Reevers must have known it, but did not warn me, nor did he refer to it again. Instead he inquired, ‘When are you returning to the Island?’

  ‘Next Friday.’

  ‘Then Toby and I will be there before you.’

  Again I reacted with surprise. ‘You’re going to Norton House?’ This residence, some five or six miles from Westfleet, had been his home for the past year, ever since he had been forced to sell his family estate on the mainland to settle his deceased father’s debts. He nodded and I looked at him, puzzled. ‘Are you going on leave?’

  ‘Well, we have been in France since early November. And England does have other agents.’

  That was true, and they deserved a rest, yet I had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t being entirely truthful. And I wondered why they were really going. But suspecting he would not, or could not, tell me, I asked instead if Mr. East had been with him in France.

  ‘He was. I couldn’t have wished for anyone better. But he didn’t find it easy living there.’

  ‘Oh?’ I murmured suspiciously, observing his innocent look. ‘Why was that?’

  ‘He absolutely loathes garlic.’

  I burst into laughter. ‘Poor Mr. East.’

  Reaching a garden seat he suggested we sat down, and immediately asked me about Jeffel’s funeral. ‘I should like to attend if I-----’

  ‘That is good of you Mr. Reevers, but Jeffel told me that when his time came he wished to be laid to rest in Westfleet churchyard. It is all in hand. My uncle made the – the- arrangements,’ I ended, suddenly choking up.

  His eyes softened. ‘You still blame yourself, don’t you.’

  ‘If I hadn’t met the King, Jeffel would still be alive.’ On the several occasions the King had called at Ashton Grange he’d invariably exchanged a few words with Jeffel. My butler, overawed at first, had soon learned to relax and enjoy these encounters.

  ‘You couldn’t have foreseen it would end in tragedy.’

  ‘No, and I realise it is utterly pointless to regret what cannot be changed, but the fact is I do regret it.’ Jeffel had saved my life without a thought for his own. And the guilt I felt was beyond bearing. Yet, I had no choice except to bear it. I would never forget it, I thought, no matter how long I lived. Jeffel had always been part of my life and I simply could not imagine Westfleet Manor without him.

  After Mr. Reevers had gone I wandered round the garden thinking of my happy childhood, when Jeffel had given me piggyback rides round the hall on wet days, laughed at my silly jokes, and listened patiently to my childish chatter. And when my father died
eighteen months ago his quiet good sense helped me through those dreadful dark days.

  When I eventually went indoors I found Aunt Thirza writing to the friends who owned Ashton Grange, telling them of the supposed robbery and assuring them nothing had been stolen. She also enclosed the newspaper report of the inquest, in which the coroner praised Jeffel for his bravery in attempting to prevent a robbery, and commended Mr. Reevers and Mr. East for dealing speedily with the villains, thus avoiding further bloodshed.

  Earlier that morning I had written a similar letter to my friend, Julia Tanfield, on the Island, asking her to read it out to the servants at Westfleet.

  No highwayman accosted us on the journey to the capital early the following week, much to my aunt’s relief. Mudd drove us skilfully through the busy streets to our hotel, and after an excellent meal we spent the afternoon resting, conserving our energies for the ball that evening and enjoying the letters we found awaiting us. My aunt and uncle’s was from Lucie, their only child, now married to Giles Saxborough of Ledstone Place, which was situated some four miles from Westfleet. Mine was from Giles’s mother, Marguerite, who was my godmother, now visiting Yorkshire with Lucie and Giles.

  I sat chuckling as I read mine, for Marguerite wrote as she spoke and her letters were always a delight. Unashamedly indolent, she said and did precisely what she wanted, but there wasn’t an ounce of malice in her, and I adored her.

  Having read it twice, I put it in a drawer. Then I sat looking out the window of my bedchamber watching the activities in the bustling street below, and puzzling over why Mr. Pitt wished to see me at a time when he must be incredibly busy, what with the arrests of the reformers, the suspension of Habeas Corpus, and the war. What could he possibly want of me when we had never met? Mr. Reevers knew, but did not have permission to tell me, which meant it was not a social occasion.

  I was to have met him last autumn, to hand over the French invasion plan that came to light at the time of the Saxboroughs murders. My aunt and uncle were to have escorted me and I’d also hoped to see something of Mr. Reevers in London, but an untimely bout of influenza made it impossible for me to go. Mr. Reevers had taken the plan himself, and had been sent back to France immediately afterwards. Fortunately the French had not carried out the invasion, so that wasn’t what Mr. Pitt wanted to see me about.

  Well, I told myself firmly, when I saw him tomorrow he would explain. But that did not help one iota; I wanted to know now. And I smiled to myself thinking of how my father used to tease me about my lack of patience. How right he was, I thought; I never could abide waiting.

  It was only when I began to dress for the ball that I finally managed to put Mr. Pitt from my mind. I loved dancing and was eagerly looking forward to the evening. I wore a new gown in a shade of blue that brought a gleam of pleasure to my aunt’s eyes when I joined her and my uncle in the drawing room.

  ‘Did I not tell you that colour and style of gown would become your height and figure?’

  I gave a carefree laugh. ‘Indeed you did, Aunt. And I am most grateful.’ I wore the simple pearl necklace I’d inherited from my mother, and my maid had piled my fair hair high on my head, allowing one or two curls to hang becomingly around my face. In many ways Gray was just as silly as most girls of twenty, but she had a natural ability with styling hair and an eye for what suited me. Skills I would lose when she married, as she undoubtedly would, for she was a pretty girl with large appealing brown eyes.

  My uncle took my hands and holding me at arm’s length, said affectionately, ‘You remind me of your dear Mama.’

  I knew from the portrait on my bedchamber wall that I resembled my mother, who died giving birth to my stillborn brother, when I was three. I had her hazel eyes and good complexion, but although my countenance was pleasing enough, not even my doting father ever suggested I had her beauty. And Aunt Thirza, my mother’s only sister, was rather plain, but what she lacked in looks she made up for with sheer elegance.

  Mudd drove us to the ball and with so many carriages arriving together, it was a few minutes before we could alight on that windy, rainy night. But it was well worth the wait. The ballroom itself was a picture of stylishness and good taste, the light from the magnificent chandeliers and hundreds of candles set off the elegant gowns and priceless jewellery to perfection.

  The instant we walked in, some old friends of my aunt and uncle engaged them in conversation, and as I wandered off admiring the room, I caught sight of Mr Reevers and Mr. East.

  Mr. East had his back to me, but Mr. Reevers saw me at once and drew his friend in the opposite direction, introducing him to a young lady I could not see clearly. Leaving them talking, he came straight over to me. He was immaculately turned out, his black wavy hair neatly in place for once, with no sign of a stray lock curling round an ear, as it often did.

  ‘Lady Drusilla,’ he murmured softly, taking in my ball gown at a glance. ‘You look utterly charming. May I have the honour of taking you in to supper later?’

  ‘I should be delighted,’ I said formally, and asked in some amusement why he had quite deliberately got rid of Mr. East.

  ‘Well, Toby was determined you would be his partner at supper, so it was necessary to distract him so that I could ask you first,’ he explained with a wide grin. ‘Fortunately there was a rather stout young lady with buck teeth I felt I ought to introduce him to.’

  I stifled a chuckle. ‘I thought he was your friend.’

  ‘Yes, but in this situation I am at a distinct disadvantage. He’s far too good looking.’

  I laughed. ‘That’s true. When he called at Ashton Grange I swear every female servant in the house found an excuse to walk across the hall in order to gaze at him.’ Mr. East was my own height, possessed laughing blue eyes, thick blond hair and immense charm. ‘But he doesn’t appear to favour any young lady in particular.’

  ‘Not now, although there was someone.’ Watching Mr. East leading out the stout young lady to dance, Mr. Reevers suggested we follow their example. ‘But perhaps it would be wiser to join a different set.’

  A little later, when Mr East learnt how he had been tricked, he threatened, ‘I’ve a good mind to call you out for that, Radleigh.’

  Mr. Reevers shook with laughter. ‘Don’t waste your time, Toby. I should choose swords.’ As he was explaining to me that Mr. East was an excellent shot but hopeless at fencing, an acquaintance interrupted, wanting to introduce him to his wife.

  He excused himself with a bow and Mr East, observing sets were forming for the next dance, had just asked me if I cared to join them, when a gentleman accidentally bumped into me, the room having become very crowded.

  I turned to find myself gazing into the steely eyes of the Earl of Rotherton. ‘Lady Drusilla,’ he said, bowing formally. ‘My apologies.’ He was about to move away when he became aware of my companion, and sneered, ‘So you’re here, are you, East?’

  Mr East did not reply. He looked right through Lord Rotherton as if he wasn’t there, and to my astonishment, for he had impeccable manners, he abruptly turned and marched off.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Rotherton, quickly losing sight of Mr. East in the crowded room, turned to me his cold eyes blazing with anger. ‘I advise you to avoid that mongrel whippersnapper, ma’am. Can’t have his sort marrying into the aristocracy. You know, he actually thought his money would make him acceptable to me as my son-in-law. He soon learned his mistake.’

  I looked him up and down, not bothering to hide my dislike. ‘Your daughter married Lord Troughton, I believe.’ I’d met his daughter, his only child, once. A pretty girl, but shy and timid. Troughton was three times her age, his way of life left much to be desired, but his lineage was unimpeachable, his ancestors, like the Rothertons, having come over with William the Conqueror. And Troughton desperately needed an heir. The match had outraged London society.

  ‘Yes. She saw sense in the end.’

  ‘And died in childbirth.’

  ‘Indeed, ma’am. But she
did not disgrace the family name.’

  I looked him straight in the eye. ‘No,’ I said slowly. ‘She did not, certainly.’

  He did not mistake my meaning and I thought for a brief moment he meant to strike me. When his face reached a satisfying shade of puce, I turned on my heel and went off in search of Mr. East. He was standing in a corridor, apparently looking out at the torrential rain, and I persuaded him to come back into the ballroom, where I suggested we sat down.

  After a moment or two he said hesitantly, ‘You must be wondering at my rudeness, Lady Drusilla.’

  ‘It is none of my concern, Mr East.’

  ‘Even so, I should not have left you with that man.’ The venom in those last two words sent a chill down my spine.

  ‘I am perfectly capable of dealing with Rotherton.’

  ‘I thought I could deal with him too, but when I began to take an interest in his daughter, he informed me he would never allow her to marry a man whose grandfather had been born in the gutter. Being fully conscious of his staggering debts, I reminded him that I possessed a considerable fortune, which I inherited from my grandfather,’ he said in his self-deprecating manner. ‘When I politely pointed out that breeding did not pay the bills, he chose to see that as an insult and sent me packing.’

  The anguish in his eyes brought such a lump into my throat I hurriedly asked how his grandfather had made his fortune. He didn’t answer at once and afraid he thought I was merely prying, I said, ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked, and you are too polite to tell me to mind my own business.’

  That brought a broad smile to his face. ‘It’s not a secret, ma’am. As a boy he ran errands for a lady who took a liking to him and taught him how to read and write. That enabled him to obtain a position as a clerk in a shipping firm. And eventually he ended up owning it. I’m not ashamed of him, Lady Drusilla. In fact I’m proud of what he achieved.’

  ‘As you should be. He must have been a remarkable man. But Rotherton will always think he was right, even though by all accounts, his ancestor who came over with the Conqueror was a particularly nasty piece of work.’