Chapter 1 November 1819
“Jane-girl, you are going to have to pack,” said Caleb as he came in to the parlour on his return from London. He paused long enough to sweep his wife into his arms to kiss her before affording her an explanation. “I ran into the Duke of York.”
“As anyone might,” said Jane with irony.
Caleb laughed.
“Well, all right, he ran into me, and it was on purpose,” he said. “Had an equerry waylay me and bear me off to White’s where he asked me to do him a favour. It comes with pay, and considering the old boy gave me tacit permission to pretend to be his get in order to better solve crimes and gives us a handsome stipend I can’t really turn it down.”
Jane chuckled ruefully.
“There is that,” she said. “What does he want? I don’t relish seeking the lost dog of one of his mistresses.”
“Oh, it’s a lot more serious than that,” said Caleb, suddenly more sober in mien. “There’s a dead Major-General and he’s been murdered, and there’s a Treaty involved.”
“Goodness!” said Jane. “I apologise mentally to York for miscalling his use of your talents. Can you tell me more?”
“I told him there was no point interfering if you and any of our helpmates did not know about it, but I want to fill you in first. Seems there was a treaty being discussed, further to Russian ambitions in the Crimea, to the detriment of our Ottoman allies. The same business which caused Pitt so much trouble in the nineties. Now there’s an informal discussion in a country house in Lincolnshire, which isn’t too far away, thank goodness, which was briefly cut off by flooding. It’s in a low-lying part and the late rain storms in Scotland and Cumberland affected it as well, I know not how, and it doesn’t matter, but anyway, they were cut off for a few days. And during that few days the Major-General was murdered, and York wants to find out by whom, and why.” He hesitated, and added, “One of his adjutants is one of York’s naturals, and York told me to clear him if I could, and pursue the full rigour of the law if he was guilty, unless there was for a very good reason. Now it might be nothing to do with the treaty, but in case it is, it could be delicate, and apparently Count von Lieven sent a messenger and asked for us in particular, on the advice of his wife.”
“We were able to perform a signal service to Lady Lieven,” said Jane. “She does not forget.” [1]
“By Jove, yes, and I must wear the watch she sent me,” said Caleb. “I’m always afraid of a gold watch getting damaged which is why I had the old steel hunter replaced with another, but it should be on display.”
“How are they keeping them there?”
“Force of personality and Cossacks,” said Caleb.
“Well! I suppose we had better not disrupt Simon’s schooling further,” said Jane. “But I am minded to take Cecily and Toby; Lady Lieven was quite taken with the, er, Medleyan hound. And Lucy as company for Cecily.”
“Mongrel or no, he’s an engaging tyke, as is Nat, and York did suggest we take Cecily; another of the adjutants is her legitimate half-brother, a son of Strathbeckon. Thought it would do her no harm to know her kin.”
“Which might end in tears, but she’s a sensible child,” said Jane. “Why isn’t Castlereagh there?”
“He’s seeing to problems in Ireland, and if you ask me, hiding after his name came up in Shelley’s vicious condemnation of Peterloo in his poem ‘The Masque of Anarchy,” said Caleb.
Jane quoted,
“I met Murder on the way –
He had a mask like Castlereagh [2]–
Very smooth he looked, yet grim;
Seven bloodhounds followed him
All were fat; and well they might
Be in admirable plight,
For one by one, and two by two,
He tossed them human hearts to chew
Which from his wide cloak he drew.”
“Exactly,” said Caleb. “The treaty will go to him when some details have been finalised, but this General Ichabod Storm was trusted by him.”
Jane giggled.
“Ichabod Storm? What a name!”
“Yes, I confess I am glad to be named for a less awkward sounding fellow from the Old Testament, though I was a bit uneasy in my youth at being named for a spy. Still, I suppose in a way police work is similar, but Moses did not have a police force.”
“He would probably have had fewer troubles had he done so,” said Jane.
“Well, I have a temporary rank of ‘Brigadier’ and pay accordingly,” said Caleb. “And dress uniform to be supplied.”
“Goodness!” said Jane. “‘Who comes here? A brigadier. What does he want? A pot of beer.’” She misquoted the nursery rhyme.
Caleb laughed.
“Well, a pot of beer never came amiss, but I suspect I’ll be drinking some wild Russian spirit called Gerailka.[3]”
“I doubt it’s worse than brandy,” said Jane.
“No, probably not,” said Caleb. “And I’ve become used to that.”
He had, indeed, become fond of the finer things in life since falling in love with a one-time suspect for the killing of her husband. He was glad he had quickly managed to discount Jane’s involvement, and that miraculously she had fallen in love with him, too, despite his origins. How hard he had worked to support the situation of a gentleman, with the help of Jem Fowler, now his valet and friend. The spite of the vicar’s wife in Jane’s home village had prompted Fowler to drop hints that Caleb was the son of Someone; which rumours were fuelled by Henry Redmayne, tutor to Caleb’s adopted son, Simon, a street boy, tenaciously overcoming disability. And now Caleb was known as ‘The Gentleman Bow Street Runner’ and the Duke of York considered the rumours that he had sired Caleb to be a grand joke. Caleb had loved and respected his real father, but he liked the duke as well, and was glad to do him favours.
“Did you tell the duke that you are leaving Bow Street to go into private consultancy?” asked Jane.
“Yes; and he said it made sense,” said Caleb. “Especially as I am at the disposal of Bow Street. Indeed, that’s why I’m a brigadier; he had me resign right away, and I’m now an investigator by Royal Appointment, and a semi-official equerry directly to the duke. I’m having trade cards printed, with the name ‘AID’, or Armitage Investigative Detectors, as David Brockley suggested; and all the legalities of incorporation being sorted out with you, David, and Fowler as full partners.”
“Didn’t they make any complaints about putting me on?”
“Yes, but I pointed out that if Sally Jersey can head Child’s Bank, my wife can be my other senior partner,” said Caleb. “Fowler and David are junior partners, and I’ll bring in Simon when he’s out of University.”
“How very exciting it is, to be sure!” said Jane.
“Yes, but I’ll need an accountant,” said Caleb, pulling a face. “York said he’d find me a subaltern who could handle that sort of thing, who’d been invalided out.”
“He’s done us proud,” said Jane. “As much as if you were his son.”
Caleb chuckled.
“More than for many of his sons,” Caleb said. “He likes me. And he likes that I stood up for my own father to his face, and showed pride in him.”
“The royal princes are not as simple and straightforward as the newspapers and caricatures make out,” said Jane. “I found the Prince Regent to be a deeper and more charismatic man than I had expected.”
“Yes, and it is nice to respect our patrons, on the whole,” said Caleb.
“And I certainly respect Lady Lieven,” said Jane. “I must pass on some of the recipes I have been collecting for her.”
“Mama, would you mind very much if I stayed at home with the boys and with the little ones?” asked Lucy, when invited to join them. “It’s nice being settled again. I don’t really want to travel, and it’s so nice getting to know my cousins as well.”
“Of course, love,” said Jane. The coaching accident through which she had met Lucy still preyed on the little girl’s mind, and if truth were told, she got on better with her cousin Phoebe, oldest child of Caleb’s sister, Sukey, than with Cecily, who was a natural crony to Simon and Sylvain. Phoebe was some months younger than Lucy, and not as forceful as Cecily. Lucy was capable enough, but in the shocks which had happened in her young life, the death of her adoptive father, being thrown out by his cousin and legal heir as he had failed to make provision for her in his will, and then being rejected by her birth mother, who had been hanged for her heinous crimes, were all too much for a sensitive little girl who was gently reared.
“Mama, what do you know of this brother of mine?” asked Cecily, with big, scared eyes.
“He’s your sire’s second legitimate son, and he’s expressed an interest in meeting you,” said Jane. “Or so I am given to understand. But I know nothing about him, so I fear you will have to make up your own mind about him. At the moment, he’s a suspect like everyone there.”
“Am I to come, as your companion, Jane?” asked Ellie Smith. “I can play the part of nosy companion, you know. Cor, I ain’t never met a Cossack, are they really wild men?”
“If you would like to come, Ellie, I will be glad of your company,” said Jane, who found Ellie easier to cope with now Ellie had managed to switch almost permanently to her stage voice and away from Bermondsey. “But bear in mind, if this was some kind of treason, to disrupt or damage a treaty, the man who killed General Storm will be ruthless, desperate, and dangerous.”
“Garrahn, Jane, that’s no worser’n wot Mary Conway was,” said Ellie with a lapse back into her native vernacular.
“Well, there is that,” admitted Jane. “But as far as I am aware, Cossacks are no wilder than any cavalryman, which is to say you should be careful of your virtue around any of the same. But they do look exotic,” she added.
“I like their horses, I shall like to see them close to,” said Cecily. “They are not large, but they seem to have a gaiety to them and prance in parades.”
“Like the riders,” said Jane, dryly. She recalled the dark, moustachioed faces of Cossacks accompanying any Russian state event, eyes used to squinting but gleaming with a sense of what Jane could only describe as mischief. Those eyes were set almost incongruously in faces of predators, cruel perhaps, but in the same way as a raptor or big cat, feral and dangerous. They were... different, and unsettling, and they grinned like commoners, but usually with perfect teeth and it reminded her more of the time before Caleb had learned to hide his teeth to smile, a genuine expression of joie de vivre.
oOoOo
The Armitages were used to travelling, and set off without too much ado.
“Send for Sylvain and me if you need us,” said Simon, happy still to kiss Jane farewell. “Cissy, you keep a good eye on Ma and Pa.”
“I will, bro,” said Cecily, kissing him and Sylvain cheerfully.
Nat and Toby wuffed in enthusiasm at an adventure and jumped into the carriage. Both dogs wore jackets, for it was cold, and they planned to take advantage of hot bricks inside foot-cushions for the ladies. Caleb rode his horse, while Jane, Ellie, Cecily, and Ella rode inside. Fowler preferred to ride with Jackie, who was driving. He was more than capable of giving the old soldier a rest by taking the reins. Jane and Ella would both miss their respective infant offspring, but there was no telling what might happen when treason might be afoot. And Ella would not desert Jane.
Ellie sighed happily.
“Cuh, that is nice to travel in a decent carriage, even if it ain’t quite as well-sprung as Jenny’s friend’s,” she said.
The landau had had its springs upgraded, however, Caleb having decided it was well worth doing, and the wheels also ran on ball bearings, which made travelling a great deal easier.
“Yes, and isn’t it nice that Caleb knows enough to have been able to have the springs improved to be double elliptical ones,” said Jane.
“He is a clever man,” said Ellie.
“Papa is the best,” opined Cecily.
oOoOo
It took a long day’s travel to get into Lincolnshire, but Jane preferred one day of exhausting travel over two days of merely unpleasant travel. As sun set,they approached the large house for which they were making, named ‘Fourwinds’. The building rose out of the mist which was already settling onto the fenland like some floating fairy castle, able to sail from one region to another. It was set on a hill, and the four turrets at its corners soared upwards, the red brick of the domed columns painted a garish blood red in the setting sun, a long shadow cast in purple on the mist which licked up the sides of the hill like hungry waves of a sea of cloud, as if to pull the whole vision below its surface to vanish somewhere into the forgotten realm of faerie.
“Mama, we won’t come out in three days’ time to find that four hundred years has passed, shall we?” asked Cecily, half joking.
“I have no intention of emulating either Tam Lin nor Rip Van Winkle,” said Jane. They had been able to read a draft copy of Washington Irving’s story, courtesy of Walter Scott, who had passed it to the Duke of York, who had passed it to Caleb. The book which included the story had been published in America, and a British edition would be forthcoming, but in the meantime, Jane’s children had been much enamoured of the man who vanished for twenty years, and thought he had slept but a night.
Cecily giggled.
“These fens are awf’lly spooky,” she said.
“Yes, I am not fond of them at all,” said Jane. “But it’s a fine house and it belongs to a friend of the celebrated gardener, Mr. Louden, one William Wardell, who has written papers on garden design and on roses. He is very insistent on a good mulch and plenty of manure; and you cannot accuse anyone who has a mind capable of dealing with manure of being a fairy.”
“No, most certainly not,” agreed Cecily.
