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

  Suddenly I banged my fist on the desk, making the pens jump. The desk Septimus used was very similar and about as old, having been made for Richard’s grandfather, John Tanfield, who’d built Breighton House sixty years ago. Could that have a secret drawer too? Well I would soon find out. I rang for Luffe and told him to send a message to the stables for Orlando to be saddled at once and brought up to the house.

  When I arrived at Breighton House Julia was sitting on the terrace. ‘You’re early,’ she said, smiling. I did not ask how she was, for the bowl was still in its place. Instead I spoke of Mr. Hamerton and the incredible co-incidence of his having met Richard in London recently.

  ‘Yes, isn’t it amazing? But I’m so pleased he did, Drusilla. It has cheered Richard no end, and Mr. Hamerton seems a most amiable gentleman. I saw at once why Richard liked him. And no-one could have been kinder when I had to make a hasty exit from the dinner table yesterday.’ I commiserated with her and then, unable to contain myself another second, asked if I might take another look at Septimus’s desk. Surprised that I wanted to see it a third time, and observing the excited sparkle in my eyes, she demanded to be told what had happened.

  ‘It’s probably nothing-----’

  ‘But------?’

  ‘Does the desk have a secret drawer?’

  ‘Not that I know of. But by all means look. If you don’t mind my leaving you to it.’

  It took a long time, but I found it in the end. A small, cleverly concealed button released another drawer. Inside was a journal, with the name Septimus Ford inscribed on the front.

  Sitting down, I opened it and soon discovered why Septimus had hidden it, and why he hadn’t wanted Julia to read it. When I finally reached the end, I was trembling, for there was no doubt now that Septimus had been murdered. And if those who had committed that foul deed found out that I knew, they would kill me too.

  I read it through again, slowly, to be sure I hadn’t missed anything important. Written in a clear firm hand, it began, with much enthusiasm, on the Friday after we had left for Windsor.

  Bumped into George in Newport. He told me he’d joined a new society on the Island, whose aim is to see that every working man has the right to vote. To my mind this is the only way ahead if we are to improve matters for the poorer classes. He asked if I wished to go along, for he is as keen on reform as I am, this being our chance to do something about it. George says, if I join, there would be eight members.

  March18th.

  Went to the meeting at the Pig & Whistle in Luckton. We had the upstairs room to ourselves and we came away later feeling very elated. There are many corresponding societies around the country now, and most want to bring about change in a peaceful way, which is our aim too. Neither George nor I would consider any form of violence, and societies can achieve so much more than a mere individual. We’re to be called the Fat Badger Corresponding Society, after the original name of the Luckton inn. We were all given a small cardboard token, portraying a fat badger, so we can identify ourselves to other members when new groups are set up. It seems we are the first on the Island. George and I were the only gentlemen present, but the other men seem perfectly respectable.

  Mr. John Brown, who set up the Society, is a gentleman living on the mainland. George believes he’s involved with the London societies. Unfortunately Mr Brown was unable to attend our meeting, but insists we use pseudonyms so that we treat each other as equals in what is a common cause. These were decided by drawing names out of a hat, that seeming the fairest way.

  The person who told us about Mr Brown, is to be Mr Silver, which amused us, as he is rather swarthy in appearance, and a great bear-like individual. George is now Mr Jade, and I am Mr Gold. A rather nervous ginger-haired individual, a clerk by the look of him, is to be Mr Pearl. A bespectacled tradesman of about forty has become Mr Garnet, and his friend is Mr Emerald. One member, a Mr Ruby, could not be there tonight. Mr Silver emphasised that the society was deadly serious about changing the electoral system, and anyone who thought it an excuse for a convivial evening should leave now. I liked his enthusiasm and feel that when working men have the vote, something will be done at last to improve the lot of those less fortunate than ourselves.

  Entries for the next several Tuesdays recorded his attendance at the meetings, suggestions for achieving their aims, and what the other corresponding societies around the country were doing. Mr Brown, who still had not appeared, was in correspondence with these societies with the aim of holding a big convention in London in the summer. Septimus wrote that, with so many people wanting to change the system, the government could not go on ignoring them. Then, on the last Tuesday in April, everything turned into a horror that made me shudder.

  I didn’t go to last night’s meeting as I was dining out, but George went. He said it had gone well, with everyone very excited at the prospect of the summer convention in London. When it broke up around ten, his mind was so full of it all that it wasn’t until he reached the stables that he realised he’d forgotten something. Going back up the stairs to the meeting room, he saw the door was slightly ajar, and was about to push it open when he overheard Mr Silver telling Mr Ruby, a man neither of us liked, that Mr Brown wanted everything in place by the end of July. And that Mr Brown himself would be on the Island some weeks beforehand to organise things.

  George thought they were discussing the big London convention, but what they said next made it clear they were planning something quite different. Something so dreadful that George’s voice shook when he repeated what he’d heard. It has shaken me so badly I can barely write for the trembling of my hand. The truth is we have been thoroughly taken in, and our presence tolerated merely to give their meetings the appearance of respectability, for it is not electoral reform that Mr Brown and Mr Silver want, but revolution.

  George tried to creep back down the stairs, but in his haste he slipped and they heard him. He told them at once that neither he nor I would have anything to do with such an abomination as they planned to carry out. At which he was advised we were in too deeply to get out now, and if we informed on them, Julia and Edward, and George’s wife and four children, would be put up against a wall and shot one by one in front of us. George did not doubt they meant it. Then Mr Silver said, if he was caught, he would say the whole scheme was my idea, because everyone knew how keen I was to change parliament, and we would be arrested and hanged too, for no-one would believe we were not involved.

  Yet, it is our duty to prevent this terrible thing from happening. George was beginning to despair until I reminded him we had until the end of July, some three months, in which to find out the real names of these people, and Mr Brown too, if we could. As soon as we have them we will go and see Mr Pitt himself.

  On Tuesday, we mean to attend the meeting as usual, and let Mr Silver believe his threat has worked. This way the families will be safe. After the meeting we intend to follow Mr Silver home and discover his true identity. Mr Silver thinks he has frightened us off, yet the day will come, not too far away I pray, when he will find out how wrong he is. I can’t help but wish that next Tuesday wasn’t almost a week away.

  The next entry, for the following Sunday, was written in a decidedly shaky hand.

  George is dead. I heard of it at church this morning. He was walking by the river yesterday evening, a habit of his, when it is believed he tripped and fell in. George couldn’t swim. I am certain he was pushed. Murdered. But I intend to continue with the plan we devised. Alone.

  Monday’s entry read:-

  Julia knows there is something worrying me, but I dare not tell her the truth. This is one burden I must bear alone. I am determined to stop those fiends carrying out their dreadful plan; at the same time I must not put her life, Edward’s, and her unborn child, at risk.

  Wednesday

  I watched the inn last night and saw Mr Silver ride in on that poor horse of his. How it bears his weight I do not know. All the others arrived, and I waited two hours for them to leave ag
ain. Mr Silver was the last, and I followed him through Luckton and up onto the Downs. At which point it began to rain so heavily that, in the darkness, I lost sight of him.

  The following Tuesday.

  I must get this information to Mr Pitt, and risk it implicating me now, for there is no time to be lost. I do not doubt that I am to be next. I suppose George and I were needed at first to make the society look respectable. I see now why they asked me to deal with the innkeeper, for while he did not object to smugglers, he spat on the ground in disgust at the very mention of the French, Robespierre and his gang of revolutionary cut-throats. Having served our purpose, we are expendable. Tonight I will follow Mr Silver home.

  This was the last entry and I closed the journal with a sigh. For I did not believe George’s wife and children, or Julia and Edward, and her unborn child, had ever been in danger. Such an outrage would have had the whole Island snapping at the heels of the Fat Badgers, destroying both the society and Mr Brown’s plans for revolution. The threat was simply a means of stopping Septimus and George talking, until suitable ‘accidents’ could be arranged.

  At that moment Julia came into the room, and she spotted the journal at once. ‘I haven’t seen that before. Where did you find it?’ Looking up at me, she quickly realised the answer. ‘So there was a secret drawer after all.’

  ‘There was.’ And I showed her how it worked.

  Her astonishment quickly gave way to fear, realising why he had hidden it. ‘Septimus didn’t want me to see it,’ she whispered.

  I agreed he had not, wishing with all my heart that I could avoid adding to her troubles, but I’d given her my word I would tell her if I discovered how Septimus had died, and I couldn’t go back on it now. ‘He did join a corresponding society.’

  She clutched at the desk for support, hurriedly sat down, and groaned, ‘Oh no---’

  ‘His intentions were of the highest,’ I told her, for many honourable men wanted to change the way Members of Parliament were chosen. Mr. Pitt himself had tried in ‘85 but failed. If he’d succeeded, we might have avoided fanatics screaming about sticking the heads of the King, Mr. Pitt and other ministers on Temple Bar. ‘Septimus believed he would be campaigning for working men to be given the vote. When he found out the society planned to start a French-style revolution in England, he refused to go along with them and they ---’

  ‘Murdered him,’ she said, her voice trembling.

  I nodded, for it was better that she knew before reading the journal. I handed it to her, and as she read what her brother had written, her face turned even paler. When she’d finished she gripped the journal tightly with both hands and said, ‘This Mr Brown – he was the one who had Septimus murdered.’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Septimus said they’re planning to assassinate the King later in the summer. He didn’t know there was to be an earlier attempt at Windsor.’

  ‘No, I’m sure he didn’t.’ This puzzled me too. If this assassination had been carefully planned for late summer, why send two incompetent men to kill the King in May? And why only two? It didn’t make sense. Still, as I suggested to Julia, there could be other reasons.

  ‘Perhaps Mr. Brown didn’t send them. They may have wanted to steal the glory, as they saw it, of starting the revolution.’ This did seem the most likely explanation. ‘On the other hand the society might have several plans for assassinating the King. If one fails, they try the next.’ That was also a possibility, and one I found rather more worrying.

  ‘They won’t give up then?’ When I shook my head, she sighed, ‘Poor Septimus. All he ever wanted was to do some good in this world.’ She stood up and walked to the window, saying in a muffled voice, ‘I see now why he couldn’t tell me. It wasn’t only my life and Edward’s he had to consider, there was his friend George’s family as well. Those fiends murdered George too.’

  ‘Almost certainly. Did Septimus ever speak about him?’

  ‘No. Never. I’ve no idea who he is. Or rather was,’ she ended sadly.

  In his journal, Septimus had written that the Fat Badgers meant to murder the King, his family, Mr. Pitt and important government ministers. The very thing Mr Pitt most feared; not out of concern for himself, but for England.

  Yet I saw one glimmer of hope. Mr Brown wanted his barbarous scheme in place by the end of July. And in August, as everyone knew, the King usually took his family to Weymouth for several weeks. They stayed at Gloucester Lodge, a pleasant residence on the sea front, where they enjoyed sea bathing, using the new bathing machines. Mr Pitt and top ministers visited the King here, offering the perfect opportunity to assassinate the most important men in England.

  Julia said, ‘The journal does help, doesn’t it, Drusilla? Septimus described the other members of the society. And told us Mr Brown is a gentleman.’

  ‘Who will arrive on the Island this summer.’

  ‘It’s almost June now,’ she pointed out in alarm. ‘He could be here already.’

  ‘I think that’s quite likely.’ Unable to warn her Mr. Hamerton might be involved, I impressed upon her the importance of not telling anyone else about the journal.

  ‘What – not even Richard?’

  If he became well acquainted with Mr. Hamerton, as he showed every sign of doing, I dare not take such a chance. ‘The fewer people who know about it the better. If only you and I know, then it can’t get out.’ She was still a little uncertain and I pointed out reasonably, ‘It only takes one careless word, and if the Fat Badgers found out how much we knew, all our lives would be in danger. Yours, Edward’s, the baby’s, Richard’s----’

  Her eyes grew round with fear. ‘I won’t say a word, I promise.’ I wished there was something I could say that would help her cope with the horror of it all, but there were no such words. In truth there was only one way I could help her. I had to find Septimus’s killer. I prayed I would not let her down.

  It wasn’t difficult to see why Septimus and George had been encouraged to join the society. Septimus, serious-minded and mature, had been chosen to deal with the innkeeper to give the appearance that this was simply a convivial meeting of gentlemen. To ensure that no constable or magistrate would go poking into their affairs.

  Julia was quite happy for me to take the journal home to make a copy of the appropriate entries for myself, and I intended to do another to send to Mr Pitt, by the special messenger Mr Reevers used. Before I left she reminded me of my promise to speak to Richard, which I did at once, although I was not hopeful of finding out what was troubling him.

  He was walking in the garden, deep in thought. When I caught up with him he forced a smile. ‘Oh, it’s you, Drusilla.’

  ‘You might sound a little more enthusiastic,’ I teased.

  ‘I’m always pleased to see you,’ he responded mechanically, instead of making a joke of it, as he would have done normally.

  I left it at that, and as his facial injuries had almost faded, commented that things seemed to be improving for him now. ‘Improving?’ he repeated in scathing tones. ‘I think not.’

  Puzzled, I pointed out, ‘But your face is virtually free of bruises.’

  ‘Oh I see. My bruises. Yes, they are disappearing at last.’ And before I could ask what he thought I’d meant, he hurried on, ‘I only wish Julia could get rid of this awful sickness. She’s still suffering badly, I fear. Although she makes very little of it.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  He half grinned. ‘Unlike me. Go on, say it.’

  ‘As if I would be so cruel,’ I smiled. Then went on more seriously, ‘But you are not your usual self, Richard. Julia believes you’re in some kind of trouble. And, frankly, so do I.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ he retorted abruptly. ‘It’s just that I should be at sea, and I’m not.’ Reaching a garden seat he suggested we sat down, and muttered, ‘Although, I may never go back – who knows.’

  I was so stunned I could barely speak. ‘But – you love the sea. You’ve told me so often.’

 
He gave a shrug. ‘Life changes.’ I’d never heard him sound so despondent.

  ‘How has it changed, Richard?’

  He gazed at a red admiral resting on a nearby wall, and I guessed he’d let slip more than he’d meant to. Then he said what he thought would satisfy me. ‘I see now how Julia suffers when I’m at sea. Never knowing from one minute to the next whether I’m alive or dead.’

  ‘Has she complained?’

  His lips curled into a wry grimace. ‘Julia? Not her. Not one word of reproach for the agony I put her through.’

  ‘Have you told her?’

  He looked across at me in sudden alarm. ‘Told her what?’

  ‘That you might never return to sea, of course.’

  Any doubts I’d had about whether he had something to hide were swept away by the relief I saw in his eyes. ‘No, I haven’t. You won’t say anything to her, will you Drusilla? Nothing is - er – well -- settled.’

  ‘I won’t say a word,’ I promised, and rose to my feet. ‘I must go. Oh I almost forgot, Richard do you know any of the people Septimus used to meet on a Tuesday evening?’

  ‘Me? No. He didn’t mention them to me.’ The old Richard would have asked why I wanted to know, but instead he changed the subject, inquiring after my aunt and uncle.

  I told Julia I’d failed to learn a thing, and rode home trying to fathom out what trouble Richard could be in, and why he thought he might never return to sea. Julia said he was acting like her brother had done before his death. But if Richard had been involved with the Fat Badger Corresponding Society, Septimus would have noted it in his journal. To my mind, Richard wasn’t just deeply troubled, he was also bitter, angry, and possibly a little scared.

  CHAPTER TEN

  When I reached Westfleet, Luffe told me Mr. Hamerton had gone to Newport. This was only his third day on the Island and I had not seen much of him yet. But, once he’d settled in and relaxed, I would have a better chance of assessing what kind of a man he was. Other agents on the Island, organised by Mr. Reevers and Mr. East, watched his movements whenever he left Westfleet, although I had not seen anyone hanging about near the house. Still, agents had to be unobtrusive, and I prayed Mr. Hamerton wouldn’t realise he was being followed.