madhouse Bride 10

 

Chapter 10

 

It may be said that Denver was vague about where Ravenscar’s seat might be, and left it to Sam to find, giving him the direction only of “Raven House, Raven’s Knebworth, somewhere between Welwyn and Stevenage.” Sam set out travelling in hopes of finding a signpost between Welwyn and Stevenage, and rolled out onto the Great North Road with the philosophical hope that there would be a heavy wet in the kitchen whilst his master argued with milord.

He did not hold out much hope of this pleasant experience. He considered that getting lost would be the best way of getting refreshment, in ‘asking directions’ in an inn. At least the day was fine, he thought. He could manufacture a stone in the shoe as an excuse to stop, maybe.

By such circuitous routes, which included some rapid plotting with Officer Peabody, who was willing to leap off the box to acquire the odd bottle of beer and bread-and-cheese, Sam Stubbins and his Bow Street companion reached Raven’s Knebworth with moderate equanimity, and Thomas Denver and Wilcox were tired, thirsty, and hungry.

The hall was easy enough to find, and Sam stopped the coach to get down and point it out to the passengers. It might be said that, with Sam’s shenanigans, the young couple and their attendants had already been gone a good hour.

“Well, drive there, and that runner can execute his duty and seize the girl,” said Denver, querulously.

“No, I can’t,” said Peabody. “I told you, sir, I need a warrant from the local magistrate to effect an arrest; the pursuance of my dooty is bound up in the permission of the local magistrate.”

“Then why haven’t we gone to the local magistrate first?” demanded Denver.

“You told me to discover Raven House, Raven’s Knebworth, sir,” said Sam.

“Well, drive to the home of the local magistrate, then!” demanded Denver.

“Yessir. Where would that be, sir?” asked Sam.

“Ask the runner,” said Denver.

“Lor’ bless you, sir! I have no idea,” said Peabody. “Mind, the vicar might know.” He pointed. “There’s a church over there.”

 

There was no answer to Denver’s peremptory knock at the vicarage door; and when it became apparent that nobody was at home, Denver strode, Wilcox and Peabody in tow, into the church.  Here the Reverend Cartwright-Jones was kneeling at the altar, praying. He was, in point of fact, praying for the young couple; that their precipitate flight not cause them problems, and that they would be married properly in Scotland, in the eyes of God.

He was untroubled by any irregularities in the eyes of the law; he answered to a higher authority.

He was most put out to have a rough hand on his shoulder shaking him, and a high, petulant voice declaiming, “Pay attention to me, my man!”

Cartwright-Jones was ageing, but he had boxed for his university in his time, and his reaction was instinctive.

Denver went down to an uppercut, and Cartwright-Jones came off his knees in a fighting stance.

“You assaulted me!” gobbled Denver, clutching his jaw.

“You worm!” cried Cartwright-Jones. “You assaulted me! You laid hands on a man of God at his prayers! Out of my church, Sirrah, unless you want to pray for forgiveness from God for assaulting his vicar on earth!”

“I did not assault you! You took no notice when I addressed you! What else was I supposed to do?” demanded Denver.

“How about showing the courtesy of waiting for me to finish my prayers?” demanded Cartwright-Jones. “You dress like a gentleman, but by George, sir, you act like a mountebank!” He advanced on Denver, who scuttled backwards on his bottom, until he felt he could safely rise and flee.

Peabody remained as Wilcox hurried after Denver.

“Excuse me, sir,” Peabody said, “I’m with Bow Street; and I need to enquire about who is the local magistrate.”

“Oh, you are, are you?” said Cartwright-Jones. “Show me your occurrence book.”

“Yes, sir,” said Peabody, doing so. Cartwright-Jones nodded.

“Well, you’re out of luck. The local Magistrate is Viscount Ravenscar, and he’s away from home.”

“Between you and me, I ain’t displeased,” said Peabody. “There’s something mighty havey-cavey going on here.”

“Yes, there is,” said Cartwright-Jones. “Though I doubt anything can be proven. Still, you have your duty to perform; I am sure God will show you where it best lies.”

“I understand, reverend,” said Peabody.

Well, if the church was behind a viscount, Mister Denver wasn’t, thought Peabody, going to get nowhere.

Peabody left the church.

“What the hell kept you?” demanded Denver.

“My dooty,” said Peabody.

“Ha! Gave him an official warning, did you?” said Denver. “Good! But we still need to find a magistrate so you can arrest him.”

“You assaulted the vicar first, so no official warning needed,” said Peabody. “But it was my dooty to find who the magistrate is, so I remained to do just that.”

“I did not assault him!”

“What, sir, you’d not be put out if someone came up to you in your home and shook you hard by the shoulder?” said Peabody. “I think you’ll find most people would consider that constitutes an assault.”

“It’s a public space and he should make time for people,” said Denver, sulkily. “Well, who is the magistrate?”

“Ravenscar,” said Peabody. There might have been a degree of satisfaction in his tone.

“Well, you go in to see him and tell him you’re searching a fugitive from justice, and get that warrant, and then you can serve it on him.”

“According to the vicar, he’s away from home,” said Peabody.

“Well, he won’t be gone long,” said Denver. “Nobody stirs far at this time of year.”

“If you say so,” said Peabody.

“Just get on the ruddy carriage and do what you’re supposed to do,” said Denver.

“You don’t suppose he’s heading for Gretna, do you?” asked Wilcox.

“In November? He’d have to be crazy,” scoffed Denver. “He’s probably gone to collect her from wherever he has her hidden; he’ll want to marry her at St. George’s in town, where all the toffs go, or if he wants to do it on the quiet, here in his seat’s church. And what we have to do if we can’t get her back today is to find out which, and establish just cause and impediment, and then, just as he’s on the verge of getting hold of her money without dispute, we can force him to negotiate, and I’ll say that I withdraw the just cause for a share of it. See?  I’m just as clever as you are, and I can save something from this mess. Half of her hundred thousand is still enough for him to do up that old-fashioned pile of his to look like a proper residence for a viscount; that’ll be why he wants her, no doubt, not because he wants the girl. And he’ll shuffle her off into a private asylum as soon as she’s provided him with a brat.”

Peabody exchanged a look with Sam, and they grimaced to each other, but said nothing.

“I’m not so sure,” said Wilcox. “He’s supposed to be pretty warm in the pocket himself.”

Denver scoffed.

“Did you see that house? Some old pile from the Tudor period. Why would anyone choose to live in a place like that if they could have it done up nicely with a decent stone frontage and portico, and grand marble steps?  Even if he couldn’t afford to pull the thing down and build a decent house from scratch, he could have put up a frontage if he had a feather to fly with.”

“Some toffs like old buildings,” said Wilcox. “Adds the suggestion of an ancient line.”

“Nonsense,” said Denver. “Them as say that are lying to put a brave face on being shot in the pocket.”

Wilcox did not bother to argue. He had served many gentlemen whilst fleecing them, and had walked out on one, in a fit of sentimentality, for an enthusiasm to do up an old house where his mark’s grandfather had grown up, and his grandfather, and where the young chub hoped his children would grow up. Wilcox sometimes regretted this unwonted sentimentality, but he felt it gave him more insights than Denver had, a man whose father had bought the house he lived in, but whose roots owed more to the financing of smuggling crimson Gobelin cloth for hunting pinks and officers’ uniforms over the past thirty years and making money selling the small family cottage, which had been the previous demesne of Denver père, to the Commission of Roads and Tollgates, to enable them to straighten a bad piece of road. It had set up the family to mix with at least the periphery of the ‘Upper Ten’ or the most prominent ten thousand families.

 Wilcox suspected that the old man’s demise after descent into senility might have owed something to Denver’s hand, even as he suspected that the death of Anne’s parents had been at Denver’s door.

 

Sam stopped the coach at the front door of the mellow old house. He spat into the parterres of the knot garden in front of the house.

“ʼOo’d replace a nice brick ʼouse with soulless stones,” he muttered to Peabody.

“A soulless man,” said Peabody.

Denver bounced out of the coach.

“Take the equipage round to the stables, my man,” he said to Sam. “You can see what you can find out about his lordship’s whereabouts while you are there.”

“Whilst,” murmured Wilcox, who had been educated somewhat better than his master. He was glared at for his pains.

Peabody got down, and trailed Denver to the front door. He wondered if they would all be sent round to the back door.

Denver ignored the bell-pull and beat a staccato rattle on the oak door with the silver head of his cane.

Nothing happed.

“I fancy the door is too thick for the sound to penetrate,” murmured Wilcox. “Try the bell-pull.”

Denver gave an impatient jerk to the bell-pull, and the subterranean-sounding tolling might almost be felt rather than heard.

Presently, the door was opened by a majestic figure whose bearing and manner had Wilcox surreptitiously straighten his own collar, and pull himself up straighter.

“The tradesman’s entrance is on the east side,” said the magnificent butler. Henry Cubitt might have some inkling as to who this was likely to be, having had his ear bent by Mrs. Watkins, but he gave nothing away.

“My man, I am a gentleman, and I’ve come to see your master!” declared Denver.

Cubitt peered at him.

“Do you have a card, sir?” he asked. “My master is from home.”

Denver heaved out his card-case and gave one to Cubitt, who held out a salver to receive it.

“Aren’t you at least going to invite me in to wait for him to come home?” demanded Denver.

“I could not possibly take it upon myself to provide accommodation to a gentleman I do not know for a couple of weeks.  If you were a friend of the family, it would be a different matter, sir.”

“Devil take it! A couple of weeks? Are you sure, man?”

“His lordship was not specific, but he said he would be gone nine days minimum, and more likely a couple of weeks,” said Cubitt, rigidly. “Was there anything else, sir? I will see my master gets your card when he returns.”

“Well, in that case, I would like to speak to Miss Bonnet,” said Denver, recklessly.

“I’m sorry, sir, there is no Miss Bonnet here,” said Cubitt.

“The hell there isn’t!” said Denver. “Look here, this here is a Bow Street Runner; he can come in and search this house, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Ho, well, that’s where you’re mistaken, sunshine,” said Cubitt. “Not without a warrant, he doesn’t, and he doesn’t get that without that his lordship signs it, so put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mister Nosyboots.  Good day to you!”

The door was shut inexorably on Denver and his cohorts.

“I told you I can’t make a search without a warrant,” said Peabody.

“I hoped he might not know that,” said Denver.

“More than my job’s worth, even if he didn’t know,” said Peabody. “Have you any idea how much trouble I’d be in, and you, for that matter, if I searched a house without a warrant? It’s breaking and entering, and if you tried to force me to do it, I wouldn’t be the only one transported for it.”

Denver had been about to castigate him for cowardice, but hastily shut the mouth he had opened. It would be like Ravenscar, by all accounts, to insist on the full rigor of the law.

 

Three disconsolate figures trudged round to the stables, to discover that Sam Stubbins had received more hospitality than his master, and he intimated with a wink and a nod that he had saved some for Peabody.

“Gone for two weeks!” said Denver, in disgust. “Where can he have gone?”

“It’s a week or so to the border, you know,” said Wilcox.

“Two coaches,” said Sam. “One for the servants.” 

“Gretna,” said Wilcox. “Depend upon it. And we haven’t a cat’s chance in hell of catching up.”

“Oh, yes, we have,” said Denver. “We’ll leave my coach as collateral, and take Ravenscar’s phaeton. It will give us a high point from which to see, and is a light, sporting vehicle so we can go faster.”

“I have to advise you that such a course could be construed as theft,” said Peabody.

“Oh, go to hell,” said Denver. “You’re no more use to me; you can go back to London for all I care. Sam, get the nags attached to that phaeton. If we leave the carriage in lieu, it ain’t theft, and I am not about to use his horses; I know horse-stealing is serious.”

“Are you seriously   intending to drive to Scotland in November?” demanded Wilcox.

“Why not? You don’t want a share in Anne’s fortune?” asked Denver.

Wilcox sighed. Put that way, he could scarcely pass up going along.

“I cannot recommend this as legal,” said Peabody.

Denver produced a pistol.

“You’ll do as you’re told,” he said. “And you grooms; get my team harnessed to the phaeton, and hurry!  I’m leaving my carriage as payment. Stubbins, up you get!”

“I ain’t never driven one o’ them contraptions and I ain’t about to start now, nohow,” said Sam. “It ain’t no good you shootin’ me, you’ll still be without a driver, and your pistol will be empty,” he added, as Denver pointed the gun at him.

The grooms unwillingly unhitched the team from the carriage, and hitched it to the phaeton. Denver and an unhappy Wilcox climbed up, and with a flourish of the whip, which included more bravado than skill, the equipage rolled out of the stableyard.

“Gawdelpus, what’s to be done?” demanded Peter Hymes, Joseph’s number two. “ʼIs lordship oughta be warned.”

“If that precious pair don’t overtip the contraption afore they’ve gone far, reckon they’ll run foul of the weather on the way,” opined Peabody. “Well, Mr. Stubbins, here’s a how-de-do; what are you and I supposed to do?”

“You’d better stay the night,” said Hymes. “I’ll drive you to Bow Street tomorrow to report the theft.”

“And I’ll be the laughing-stock of all the other officers there,” sighed Peabody.

“Well, Mr. Peabody, seemingly the servants here knows about Miss Anne Bonnet, so why don’t you write up a report, and see if his lordship won’t pay you for it?” suggested Sam.

“Reckon we can put up a couple of honest men for a couple of weeks,” said Hymes. “I’ll let Mrs. Watkins know. Maybe the officer can work with Mr. Blackman.”

“He’s a ruddy menace, but he is good,” admitted Peabody, who had heard of the investigator.

 

 

+*