the village vicar 14

 

Chapter 14 The greatest of these is Love

 

Chaz was having tea with Sergeant Pete Noakes and Constable Timothy Cotton.

“So, how is it working out with Vivienne?” asked Chaz.

“We’re engaged,” said Pete, grinning broadly. “And she loves the idea of getting married in a country church with a nice peal.”

“It’s certainly decent, now,” said Chaz.

“You look tired, Vicar,” said Timothy.

“I am. Rachel had me in and out of bed half the night,” said Chaz.

Timothy raised an eyebrow.

“New girlfriend?”

“Well-established cat,” corrected Chaz. “Normally, she rides on my shoulder to bed, comes down the duvet and settles.  Zebulon goes ratting with my shoelaces for a while, and then settles on the end of the bed. But last night, Madam got restless, and demanded out, and then sang outside the window until I let her in, and then repeated the performance an hour later.”

“And you’re a sucker?” said Pete.

“Last time I refused to let her out when she asked, she crapped in my socks,” said Chaz.  “I wasn’t about to let her make a smell of all smells if she had an upset tummy.”

“I see the dilemma,” said Pete.

“So, any news on the policing front?” asked Chaz.

“Depends what you call news,” said Pete.  “You know that the big hardware store was losing money and couldn’t figure out where the thefts were being committed?”

“Yes, and I’m glad they kept the name Sanders & Michaels, and didn’t go for initials like so many of them seem to these days,” said Chaz.

“Well, I figured it out,” said Pete. “It helped my promotion to Sergeant on strength of figuring it out.  Well, we set up a presence to watch, and there were still losses.  I searched the wheelbarrow of the staff member who has permission to take away odd broken slabs for his own use; and he doesn’t seem to be breaking stuff deliberately, and there was nothing underneath it. Can you guess, though?”

“Nicking wheelbarrows by filling them with what he’s allowed and wheeling them out,” said Chaz.

“You ought to be a ruddy detective sergeant,” said Pete. “We managed to get a lot of the wheelbarrows back that he’d nicked, but there he was, wheeling them out under the eye of whichever constable was watching him, and the bugger was laughing up his sleeve at us.”

“You do appreciate sin when you’re in my job,” said Chaz.  “Did he come quietly?”

“Did he, hell!” said Pete. “He tries the ‘I identify as a wheelbarrow, officer, and I was looking for a lover.’”

“What did you do, nick him for running a wheelbarrow brothel?” asked Chaz?

“Not quite, though if he makes a fuss, I’ll keep it in reserve,” said Pete. “I said, ‘I identify as a police officer, and I’m nicking you for public lewdness with your girlfriend.’”

“He caved, then,” put in Timothy. “He called us the sort of names The Captain wouldn’t tell The Reverend.”

“How shocking for those poor, innocent wheelbarrows,” said Chaz.

“So, when are you marrying your Lucy?” asked Timothy. “Here’s Pete and me, about to embark on matrimony, and you’re still hanging her about.”

“When Matrimonial duty’s to be done, to be done, a policeman’s life is quite a hectic one,” sang Chaz. “I... uh, haven’t asked her yet.”

“Well,  whyever not?” demanded Pete.

“Inertia,” said Chaz.

“Get over it,” said Pete. “You sorted us out; we’re sorting you out. Now! Go on – we’ll take care of your house.”

“And your iced lemon biscuits,” said Timothy.

“The other batch are hidden, so no detecting,” said Chaz.

He took the dog, Adam, with him, for moral courage. And a small box which had been burning a hole in his pocket for a while.

He went round the back, as usual, and found Summer doing somersaults on the lawn.

“Hello, Rev Chaz! Hello, Adam!” said Summer.

“What are you doing out of school?” asked Chaz.

“I developed a rash and they sent me home,” said Summer. “I told them it was only a grass rash from cutting the grass but they made like I was a leper and the deputy head had forty kinds of fit about Mummy sending me in with a rash, and I said I hadn’t had a rash until I got to school because they’re cutting the field for its last haircut of the term, and when there’s cut grass, it’s too tempting not to have a grass fight. Only it makes me come out in spots. It doesn’t itch much,” she added.

“You want to watch out for ticks,” said Chaz, absently. “They can give you Lyme disease which is seriously nasty. Though on a frequently trimmed school field you should be safe enough. Even if not treated to a number two skinhead like Sir Tarleton’s cricket ground.”

“And that goes bald round the stumps,” said Summer. “I play cricket at school; can we have a church team, and knock the spots off Sir Tarleton?”

“You know how to poke a Reverend to let out the Captain, don’t you?” said Chaz, ruefully.

“Of course; I’m practising for when you marry Mummy because girls are supposed to wind their daddy round their little fingers,” said Summer.

“Well, then, the question I was going to ask you is superfluous as you seem keen on the idea,” said Chaz. “Well, in that case, perhaps you will keep Adam company?

“Of course; we’ll go and visit Sergeant Blake next door, and see if he wants to join the cricket team.”

“He’s a handy bat, but you’d have to run for him.”

“Oh! I can do that.” Summer skipped off through the hole in the hedge with Adam. Chaz went in the back door.  Lucy was in the breakfast room which she used as her studio for the north light, drawing a black labrador dog diving down a hole.[1]

“Tea’s in the pot, Chaz, pour me one while you’re at it, I made one and then got an idea. There are some of your biscuits left, but please keep them away from my end of the table, I don’t want to smear chocolate chip on Harvey here.”

Chaz made tea and helped himself to a biscuit, and moved fast to stop Lucy from washing her paintbrush in her tea whilst picking up the chipped cup with water in to drink.

“Oh! Thank you, Chaz,” said Lucy, blushing. “I’ve got that sorted now; a bit of a rush job.”

“How would you like the chance to make art a hobby?” asked Chaz.

“Depends what the catch is,” said Lucy. “I’d love to make art a hobby, but it does cover the bills.”

“The catch is being a vicar’s wife and letting him do most of the cooking,” said Chaz.

Lucy’s mouth fell open.

“Chaz! Was that a proposal?”

“It was a piss-poor one for a man who is accustomed to Corinthians chapter 13, wasn’t it?” said Chaz. “Lucy, will you do me the honour of being my wife? And moreover will you be afraid to keep the Church cricket team in order?”

“Oh! Yes, Chaz!  I... I thought you wouldn’t ask me because of my irregular past.”

“You’re a widow in my book; and even Mrs. Hadley thinks it’s about time I married you.”

“She’s not a bad old trout when she stops being judgemental,” said Lucy. “Do you think she’d like to be the matron of honour?”

“She’d love it,” said Chaz. “I’ll have to get bellringers in, though as two of our team will be tied up getting tied up, as you might say.”

Lucy laughed and blushed; she had been an enthusiastic volunteer in learning change-ringing now the church had a peal of five decent bells.

“And what’s all this about the church cricket team? I didn’t know we had one.”

“We have you, me, and Summer, and I am relying on her to persuade Ross Blake if she will run for him.  I heard Wendel is accounted a useful bat and tolerable wicket keeper; any man who can field cats who didn’t want to go to the vet has to be a born wicket keeper.”

“Five, almost half a team.  Young Evan Queave can throw straight,” said Lucy. “Now the police are part of the village, you might ask Pete and Timothy. Charlie Wilkes used to be on Sir Tarleton’s team but he got thrown off for saying you were a proper Christian.

 “I had no idea; I’ll ask him, and the fuzz,” said Chaz. “Now! Don’t distract me, Mrs. Cunningham-to-be; I have a ring for you.”

He retrieved the box from his pocket and slid the blue diamond and diamond ring onto her finger.

“Chaz! That’s a ring for someone out of my league!” gasped Lucy.

“No, my love; it’s the ring for a woman I value above any other, because I want to demonstrate to the idiots who put you down how much I value you,” said Chaz. “Which is not in the least proper behaviour for a vicar, but I am human too.”

“It’s lovely! Is that a sapphire?”

“No, it’s a blue diamond, from the mines of Kimberley. I wanted to match your eyes, and sapphires are too dark.”

Lucy blushed again.

“It’s lovely,” she said.

“I’ll put up the banns then,” said Chaz. “May I kiss you?”

Lucy went to his arms, and the kiss was long and tender.

“It feels like coming home,” said Lucy. “Why am I crying?”

“Because sometimes tears are bright diamonds of joy as well as the raindrops of sorrow,” said Chaz.

“I love it when you are whimsical,” said Lucy. “I have no idea how good I may be at cricket, but I’ll stand my ground with grim determination to thrash Sir Tarleton.”

“Attagirl,” said Chaz. “I’m going to go and enlist Pete and Tim and Charlie whilst I might.”

oOoOo

 

“A second cricket team? Count me in, reverend,” said Charlie. “I ain’t no good at fast bowling, but I can do slow ones which break to the offside.”

“Nice,” said Chaz.  “Ajit Patel is their fast bowler, isn’t he?”

“Yes, and he’s a steady bat as well, but he can be rattled by slow balls,” said Charlie. “Most of the team are what Sir Tarleton calls ‘county’ and the ones who go to church usually go somewhere posher than a little village church.”

“Well, I shall look to you for a run down on all of them,” said Chaz. “I’m going to buy the meadow which was up for sale for development, and keep it for cricket, dog-walking, and leisure. We may need housing, but we need nice green spaces too, and turning a stream into a sewer I will not have.”

“Hear hear!” said Charlie. “I thought that’d be a right shame if the meadow was turned into ticky-tacky boxes, which won’t be housing for the poor nowise, but shoddily-built expensive five-bedroom places for them as have more money than sense.”

“Just what I thought,” said Chaz.

 

 

---

[1] ‘Harvey And the Black Hole’ and ‘Harvey and the Big Red Bus’ are charming stories by my friend Heather King, illustrated by yours truly. I do recommend  them for 5-8 year olds. 

alternative bride 24

 wow all go here, and my builder cut himself badly on glass his mate had put in the bag with paper.... so had to patch him up.

I did manage a village vicar to come after this and might manage a second.

Chapter 24

 

If Gerard and Jane had had a rather busy week, so too had Belwether and Peter in finding and purchasing a fine Queen Anne house, once the rectory for a parish which had been absorbed into a larger parish as Dunstable had expanded. Lucy and the servants duly moved out of the cramped cottage, with Peter’s horses, and Gerard’s other two, Lady having healed fully. This being settled, Belwether had the pleasure of summoning Gerard’s solicitor for the purpose of suing Mr. Frith once Gerard’s letter arrived.

It is not to be supposed that Arthur Whittington had been entirely inactive. He had a nasty break to his arm to recover, but after several days doing little but sleep, he was up, and resenting Lady Wintergreen for having maimed him. Had he known Wilfrid Frith, and had joined forces with him, he might have managed to make life unpleasant for the young couple, in making hints in various newspapers to cause many people to murmur about ‘no smoke without fire,’ a statement which many a frustrated housemaid with a contrary chimney and the wind in the wrong quarter could refute, but the old saw persists despite the prevalence for nasty choking smoke to arise without a thread of flame. Whittington’s obsession, however, was to possess Jane, and ruin her, through bringing doubt on any child she might bear, after Wintergreen’s death when he had shot him. 

Thoughts of despoiling her, and her terror kept him sustained through the pain. And he would shoot her in the arm before he left her, so that she knew the agony, and then he would take her one more time. Whittington was very pleased with his fantasy.

Turning it into reality might prove harder.

He had no idea where Lady Wintergreen might be; and if she had fled back to London to her family when she was widowed, he would have to find out where that was, and make an uncomfortable drive there. Not to mention, having to have someone else to drive him. His mind went straight to Cuckoo Smith, his own half-brother, who had been his accomplice in killing their father, and who was therefore as deep in that business as himself. Cuckoo was happy with a nominal position as secretary, and would doubtless like a go with Jane Wintergreen as an incentive. Some evil genius had prompted the young Arthur to make a pet of the son of the blacksmith’s wife rather than taunt him, and he had won the loyalty of the young man who had known more blows than kindness before Arthur had installed him in the luxury of his house, once their father was dead.  Arthur suspected that Cuckoo had killed the blacksmith too, but he was not about to enquire too deeply into that death. Cuckoo was not clever, but he was cunning, so Arthur confided his problem to his only true confidante.

“Listen, that doctor who helped you, he’s the biggest gossip on earth, and I heard they had him out to the viscount,” said Cuckoo.

“I killed him,” said Arthur.

“Well, he was alive when Endicott came out to him,” said Cuckoo.

“Call in Endicott to look at me,” said Arthur.

 

oOoOo

 

Endicott bustled in.

“How are we doing today, Mr. Whittington?” he asked, cheerfully.

“In pain, what do you think, you old fool?” said Arthur.

“Well, well, it’s only to be expected,” said Endicott, making an examination. “When the bone has healed, you might be able to gently exercise your arm, to get some use back in it.”

“Damn you! Couldn’t you fix it all?”

“Tendons are funny things, Mr. Whittington, and torn ones don’t mend, I’m sorry,” shrugged Endicott.

“I heard someone else was attacked by footpads, the same day,” said Arthur.

“Poor young Lord Wintergreen! Yes, he had suffered nasty burns across the face, where a pistol discharged; no ball in him, thank goodness, but terrible burns to the face and eyelids, and some question of whether he will ever see again,” said Endicott. “Good job for him his wife kept her head, or he might have died of shock or sepsis. She’s taken him north to his hunting box for quiet, I believe.”

“Probably for the best,” said Whittington, managing not to give a savage smirk.  The little lady all alone in the country, perhaps with a blind husband tied to her... he might almost consider seducing her to give her a thrill in her life, when all her hopes of being wed to a society leader had been dashed. But no, he wanted to punish her, and so she should be dragged somewhere secluded, and know that her husband was useless and unable to help her. It might even be rewarding to take Wintergreen as well, and tie him up to hear her scream, knowing he could do nothing.  Whittington let his smirk grow as the doctor left.

“So, we’re heading north,” said Cuckoo.

“Yes, you can drive to an inn nearby, and we’ll leave the phaeton, and we’ll look for an abandoned cottage on his land. There are always tumbledown cottages on a landowner’s land where the peasants have been evicted for being annoying one way or the other,” declared Arthur, who would never have dreamed of spending out to improve peasant houses, but would evict a man for not having his house in good repair, whether there was material to effect repairs available or not.

The pair set off north about the time Gerard’s letter to Belwether arrived asking him to send for his lawyer, with Arthur padded up in the hard seat with a mountain of cushions and quilts, and laudanum with him for the pain.

Cuckoo enjoyed driving, even if the horses he was driving did not, and pushed on with his brother half conscious under laudanum, to go as far and as fast as possible.

Two days later, he was turning off towards Wintergreen House on the back roads, and Cuckoo laughed a sadistic laugh to see some fellow tottering towards them in most unsuitable footwear. It occurred to Cuckoo that it would be a laugh to set the phaeton at the fellow to make him jump into the ditch.

Unfortunately for Wilfrid Frith, he was too transfixed with fear to manage to leap into a ditch; and if the horses would not trample him, their passage made him fall over, and Cuckoo swore as the phaeton lurched when the hind wheel passed right over the unfortunate pedestrian. However, the vehicle seemed undamaged, so Cuckoo shrugged, and drove on.

When picked up by a local, Frith lived long enough to declare that the phaeton had been driven by two men who were probably on their way to sodomise Wintergreen.

The local doctor, who had mended Gerard’s broken arm in his youth, and seen him through childhood ailments, made a note only that there was a phaeton with two men in it. His report went to the local magistrate, who filed it, having no expectation of solving a death by dangerous driving. Frith’s body was sent to his home, which might be discovered by his box of cards.

 

oOoOo

 

Gerard had hurried back to be home as soon as he could, after the interrogation of the coiners; it was no longer his business, and he wanted to be back with his young wife, not leaving her worrying that he had been hurt,  as he told Sir Gifford when that worthy offered to put him up for the night.

Politeness decreed that Langcostard be offered accommodation, which that worthy accepted with alacrity, and was neither surprised, nor put out, to be housed with the servants. His brief foray into the lap of luxury had been an amusing adventure, but Langcostard did not expect to find it often!

Jane flew to Gerard’s arms when he got in, and it was some time later before they sat to eat. Gerard did justice to Mrs. Jevvins’s efforts, between telling Jane what had happened; and Jane waited until all had been removed to speak seriously of her day.

“Gerard,” said Jane, “I did my inventory.”

“I’m hoping some of my father’s shirts will fit me; I’ve been growing,” said Gerard.

Jane let out the breath she did not know she was holding.

“I will have them all brought down for you,” she said.  “I found a muff-pistol, and all that goes with it.”

“Yes, Papa liked Mama to carry one; lawless times,” said Gerard. “I was thinking of getting you one, but if you are happy with Mama’s?”

“Oh! Perfectly, but I wish you will show me how to shoot, and with the door pistols of the coach as well, because my hand was thrown up quite hard and I think I might have been hurt if I had not dropped it, when I shot Whittington.”

“Yes, and I will start teaching you tomorrow,” said Gerard.

“Oh, I shall look forward to that,” said Jane. “I like learning new things, and you teach me so well.”

She blushed.

“Well, madam, you are an apt pupil,” said Gerard.

“Have you got anything more to teach me in the bedroom?” she asked.

“Madam wife! I believe I can manage something new,” said Gerard. “Even if only adapting positions to see how many pieces of furniture we can christen.”

The conversation fell apart at this point, as the young couple went upstairs, giggling.

 

oOoOo

 

Arthur Whittington and Cuckoo had no idea that their presence in the inn might be reported to the viscount; nor that their sneaking around on the edges of the property might also be seen and passed on. Arthur would never bother to listen to anything a peasant told him, so he assumed no other landowner would do so either.

“We appear to have intruders, my dear,” said Gerard. “I don’t know if the people lurking on my lands are anything to do with those who drove in by phaeton to the inn and have been out a lot of the time, but I wonder if they are hirelings of Frith’s to spy whether Lucy and Peter really are here.”

“How tedious of them!” said Jane. “What are you going to do?”

“They appear to have taken refuge in the old millhouse, which is being robbed out gradually since I caused a better mill to be built downstream,” said Gerard. “I’m inclined to go over and tell them that they are trespassing.”

“I’m coming,” said Jane.

“Bring your pistol to intimidate them,” said Gerard.

“Bring yours, too,” said Jane.

“I will,” said Gerard.

 

oOoOo

 

Arthur and Cuckoo found the old mill house very convenient, and still in fairly good repair. They brought bedding and food to camp out there and await an opportunity.  They could hardly believe their luck when the viscount and viscountess could be seen approaching their hideout. He wore a mask over his face, and held on to his lady’s arm; as blind as a bat, crowed Arthur.  Gerard liked to cover his face from the early morning frost, and gallantly offered his arm to his lady, whose muff kept her hands warm, and her muff-pistol too.

Arthur and Cuckoo leaped out.

“Now I’m going to teach you a lesson my lady,” laughed Arthur. “And your husband too blind to do anything but listen to you scream when I do all I want to you.”

Jane shot him, through her muff, without any hesitation. Gerard knocked Cuckoo down.

Cuckoo was a man who did not stay down long, but levelled his own pistol at the viscount.  Gerard, seeing the finger tighten on the trigger, pulled Jane down as he ducked, and fired. His ball hit Cuckoo’s powder horn, which exploded, and set off Arthur’s as well, as they were close. Gerard lay on top of Jane, sheltering her with his body, and glad once again of his thick, fur-lined boat cloak which provided rudimentary armour against wildly flying shrapnel from pieces of powder horn, pistol, snuff box, watches and sundry pulverised body parts.

Men came running to see what was going on, and Gerard and Jane, rather dazed, made their way back to the house, as Gerard’s men blocked the lady’s view of the bodies.

 

 

“Any idea who those two were?” asked the local magistrate.

“Not a clue,” said Gerard, who had been assured that the features of their assailants had been well obliterated by the excess gunpowder they carried. “I suspect they may be part of the gang of coiners I helped break up – perhaps financers or backers of some sort, if they are the two men whom I have heard are staying in the Blue Pig, with a phaeton.  I can only think of revenge as being a motive. You will have to speak to Sir Gifford Peakes about that,” he added. “I witnessed odd behaviour, reported it to the Bow Street Officer investigating, and volunteered to help round them up; but otherwise it’s out of my hands. I just want to enjoy my honeymoon, and here’s my poor wife with a twisted ankle from where those ruffians attacked us.”

He received soothing words, and that was an end to it.

It was not for some weeks that Belwether discovered that Frith was dead; but by that time, Peter and Lucy were happily married, and Gerard and Jane had travelled south to act as groomsman and matron of honour for the happy couple. The Franklins would be meeting higher society than Lucy’s father might ever have dreamed of.

Frith’s death was laid at the door of the mysterious coiners who had attacked the Wintergreens; and when Orpington came south in search of his prospective father-in-law, he was arrested and spent a few unhappy days in interrogation, in case he was also involved in coining. His tale was considered too fanciful a rigmarole to hold any truth. Especially when Lucy was asked to identify him, and said she did not know him from Adam.  He was finally released because nothing could be proven, but it was not a pleasant experience.

 

Epilogue

 

Gerard and Jane went to London for the next season, so that Gerard could sit in the House and animadvert knowledgeably about corruption in Bow Street, as well as the ills of slavery; and Lady Wintergreen, despite being in an Interesting Condition, was acknowledged a most gracious, witty, beautiful, and charming hostess, passing effortlessly through society.

Mrs. Frederick Vane, who turned her looks into taking discreet lovers to fund her expensive husband, whilst living off her own small dowry, was to regret not having made a friend of the stepsister who was civil to her when they met, and no more.

Helen Dauntry took to drink after her husband beat her for slapping little Tommy, and died under the wheels of a brewer’s drey when she stumbled out of the alehouse which she was secretly visiting. Henry Daubrey engaged a housekeeper, and married her when he was satisfied she knew what she was doing.  Tommy grew up idolising his brother-in-law, Wintergreen, and content with his stepmama, having very few memories of any other mother but his half-sister’s loving care.

 

Sally married her Tom Coffee, who hated being an ostler and went on stage as ‘The Jolly Black Tar’ having a fine voice and having talked a few other beached sailors to join him, performed hornpipes and naval work songs for the public, and Sally, having a fine sense of the dramatic, wrote and produced short melodramas for the company, which were basically an excuse to dance the hornpipe, climb ropes, and perform cutlass drill in the cutting down of Frenchies and pirates. They brought colour to the lives of people through the year without a summer, and earned as well as if they had stayed in service, but had a great deal more fun.

 

 

alternative bride 23

 

Chapter 23

 

Jane was used to early rising, having been accustomed to rise with the servants to direct them before her marriage, so sat and ate breakfast with Gerard, Christopher, Mr. Langcostard, Jem, and a Billy Winkle, a tough looking individual who was one of Gerard’s bailiffs. Christopher had been a trifle stiff with Mr. Langcostard, and was positively scandalised at Gerard eating with a groom and a bailiff.

“I don’t want to go over things again, Kit,” said Gerard. “You can be as high-and-mighty as you like at the Hall; it’s the sort of place that asks for it.”

Christopher gave a shy smile.

“Thanks for giving me the chance to run it,” he said. “I’m scarcely needed here, and if you plan to live here most of the time, I’d feel like a donkey hitched unicorn with a matched pair.”

“Well, it needs someone who appreciates it,” said Gerard. “But I am happy to vanish from society and raise a family and be a country gentleman.”

“I wonder how long that will last,” said Christopher.

“You’re a cynic,” said Gerard. “I’ve only been wasting my life in society because I did not know what to do with my life; and because, though I love this house, I was afraid if I lived here alone, I would be overwhelmed with missing Mama, Papa, Amelia, and Annabel. But my life is filled with Jane, and if there are any ghosts here, they are happy for me, and do not torment me.”

“Ghosts, indeed,” scoffed Christopher.

“Ghosts grow in your own head,” said Gerard, softly. “Especially at an age where one is uncertain of oneself as a man. Don’t scoff, Kit, until you’ve suffered great personal loss.”

“I’m sorry, old man, it was insensitive of me,” apologised Christopher.

 

The men left after breakfast, and Jane, well aware that they would be gone all day, if not longer, set herself to explore the rest of the house, and to inventory both the attics, and the boxes of her mother’s things, which arrived by carrier, shortly after the men had gone.  Jane gave a coo of delight, setting up her mother’s writing box and father’s davenport in her own haven, and regarded Gerard’s own library to consider where to stow the old friends of books in the three cases which had comprised her father’s library. Fortunately, the library took two storeys, the upper storey being on a wide gallery, and there were a sufficiency of shelves to take the new arrivals.

“I can sort through and catalogue them in the winter, when an indoor job will be good,” said Jane. “And then where there are duplicates, we can keep the best in the library and box up any others.  But for now, I think we want everything from the attics, and my mother’s trunks, on the front lawn where I can peruse any fabric in daylight, and see if there are any repairs needed, and if Helen permitted the moth in when she would not permit me to touch my own property.”

“A singularly inadequate step-mother,” said Mrs. Jevvins, who had been about to exclaim in horror over the disruption of having the attics emptied onto the front lawn, but wisely perceived that her ladyship needed to stamp her own seal of ownership on the house, and do things her way. And she could not deny that it would be easier to go through things in bright September daylight.

“It won’t last,” said Jane. “This fine weather will break, and then it will be too late. It will be fun finding out what there is!”

“Have you spoken to his lordship about this?” asked Mrs. Jevvins. “Much of the property in the attics would be the clothes of his parents and sisters.”

“Yes, I did,” said Jane. “I asked if you were likely to have inventoried the attics and he said, ‘more than likely, apart from more recent clothes.’ And he gripped his brandy glass, and sat quiet for a moment, and then he said, ‘Look them over, and use them, Jane; it’s a waste not to do so, and my sisters and my mother would think me very churlish not to share. I’ll look over my father’s things, but most of them can go to servants.’ So, he is aware what I am about. But I think it would be more tactful to do when he is not here, so that they are reduced merely to being usable fabric on which I sew.”

“They will be five... no, six years old, and out of date,” said Mrs. Jevvins.

“Much the same age as most of my mother’s clothes,” said Jane.”But the styles are still for high waists, and two gowns can perhaps be made into one for the greater fullness these days, and trains to make long sleeves.”

“Yes, that makes sense,” said Mrs. Jevvins. “The fashion then was for tunics over long gowns, like the Romans, I believe, or the Greeks; some sort of heathen, anyway.”

“Well, doubtless I shall want to sew on baby clothes at some point,” said Jane, colouring. “No, I don’t know, yet, but it is surely likely.  And contrasting bodices are not out of fashion, so the upper parts of tunics may be used.”

Her own mother had, like the former viscountess, owned good winter gowns in velvet and rich wools, which had fortunately not succumbed to moth, and not being excesses of fashion were readily able to be refurbished. Jane was much of a size with her own mother, and the late viscountess had been a small woman beside her daughters, and her clothes had needed very little altering to suit Jane. Those in blue, Jane set aside, but was delighted by an opera gown in dusky pink, not far from the colour of her bridesmaid’s gown, in which she had been married. There were blacks for various royal mourning – the death of Princess Amelia, Jane guessed – which would always be serviceable and useful to have. Her own  mother also had mourning and half-mourning for her father as well as for whichever royals managed to die inopportunely.

“These can go in the cupboard in my dressing room to be worked on,” she said, of those gowns she hoped to make over straight away.  “What would you pick from Lady Wintergreen’s clothes for yourself, Mrs. Jevvins? I am sure she would like you to remember her with something. And you can wear blue.”

“If you’re sure, my lady, I’ll have the two bombazines to put together, and one of her shawls,” said Mrs. Jevvins. She hesitated. “A couple of blue day gowns in poplin?”

“Take more, if you wish,” said Jane.  “This round gown of, I conjecture, Annabel, would suit you very well, for lavender and silver do not argue with your complexion as they do with mine, and Annabel was an amazon, and it seems a shame to cut it short when you can wear it.”

“Some mistresses forbid muslin for their servants,” said Mrs. Jevvins.

“Oh! I can see the point of that with maids who are dealing with fireplaces, and might be feckless enough to permit their muslins to catch fire, but I cannot think you would be so careless,” said Jane.

Mrs. Jevvins decided not to enlighten her ladyship that it was more a desire to deny finery to servants than any fire risk on the part of most, but it was heartening that her ladyship was alive to fire-risk.

Trunks might go back to the attics, but they were now labelled in Jane’s round, firm script as to what was contained, and what might be done with it. She was delighted to fit a pair of walking brogues owned by Amelia, already bidding fair to be tall like her sister before her life was cut so cruelly short, and Jane planned to get to know the estate as well as the house now she might walk out whatever the conditions.

She and Mrs. Jevvins shared a meal somewhere between nuncheon and afternoon tea in the late afternoon, with a sense of accomplishment.

 

oOoOo

 

Gerard approached Sir Gifford Peakes with Langcostard, arriving as he was finishing up breakfast.

“Ah, Wintergreen; you and your friend will join me in coffee? Have you eaten?” said the knight, expansively.

“Thank you, Sir Gifford, much obliged,” said Gerard. “Yes, we ate before we rode over, though if any of that toast is going begging, my belly thinks it’s time for nuncheon.”

“New wife working you hard in the bedroom, eh?” said Sir Gifford.

Gerard flushed.

“More the haying,” he said. “I am still growing, too; I discovered my shirts are too short.”

“Still growing! You’re already a beanpole, boy! Like your father.”

“Yes, I will have to look out his shirts, I fancy, until I can have some made,” said Gerard. “Not that I came to discuss my sartorial vicissitudes.  This is Officer Langcostard, a most excellent man from Bow Street, who is looking into coining.”

“I heard a rumour,” said Sir Gifford, looking slightly askance at Langcostard. “I’d offer him a writ as constable in my bailiwick without a recommendation, you know.”

“It goes further than that,” said Gerard. “I was driving my wife over Shirley Common, and there are some gypsies, or supposed gypsies there, who appear to be doing a lot of metalwork.”

“Oh! I see.  Well, I can raise half a dozen men to help you, ah, Langcostard,” said Sir Gifford.

“Thank you, sir,” said Langcostard. “His lordship has also agreed to loan some of his men if you will sign off on them as constables for the purpose of arresting these purported gypsies.”

“However many are there?” asked Sir Giffard.

“Between a score and two dozen,” said Gerard, grimly. “And whilst some might just be there to add local colour, as you might say... a few purple patches, even, if Horace is not out of place...  they will all need to be rounded up, for Abram here to question.”

“Yes, quite so, and as well to have plenty of men, and not risk losing them,” said Sir Gifford.

 

oOoOo

 

Sir Gifford’s men consisted of half a dozen sturdy gamekeepers, who could put most poachers to shame, and who swore they could get the force right up to the gypsies before being noticed.

“For which I shall be glad,” said Langcostard. “The penalties of coining are harsh, and it would not surprise me if many of them have firearms.”

“And we have shotguns,” said Gerard. “I don’t much care if I cheat the executioner so long as my lads are safe, and a threat is dealt with.”

“Let me and my boys deal with any guards,” said Sir Gifford’s bailiff. “I’ve identified which of the supposed idlers are actually alert; and there’s plenty of bracken and furze to get up close, and neutralise them.”

“I’m not even going to ask,” said Langcostard.

The bailiff grinned.

“Oh, they’ll mostly be alive. Not happy, but alive.”

 

Gerard lurked next to Langcostard in a thick clump of bracken, and noted what could only be described as a snare flung over the head of the closest guard, from whom muffled throttling noises were heard, followed by the sound of what Gerard believed to be a sap, and then silence. When motioned to move up, he found a well-trussed figure with a gag.

“Nice work,” he said.  The gamekeeper grinned shyly and nodded. “Mr. Brown’s orders to keep on keeping on to take down as many as I can,” he said.

“Mr. Brown and you men are going to save us a mort o’ trouble,” said Langcostard, in some relief. They waited as their gamekeeper slithered off again.

Mr. Brown, the bailiff,  eventually gave a signal to stand up and attack by the expedient of a short burst on a hunter’s horn.

“Tantivvy, tantivvy, tantivvy we say,” sang Gerard, enthusiastically, wading in.

“An affront to Mr. Handel,” said Langcostard.

“Salt beef and herring,

With coddled eggs and ham

Cover it with Naples cheeses

And grated parmezan,” sang Gerard, to the tune of Cherubino’s aria. “We mangle Mozart, too.”

“Gawd save us from enthusiasts in battle,” said Langcostard.

“Abram, I’m scared.  I’ve never fought outside of boxing,” said Gerard.

“Then you sing whatever you like, my lord; I’m not averse to having my own courage bolstered,” said Langcostard.

The supposed gypsies were taken so completely by surprise that the whole lot of them were rounded up with relative ease, one of them shot dead, and one of Gerard’s men taking a ball in the arm.

“And if we’d had the militia in, it would have been a mess,” said Langcostard, pleased. “They shoot first and ask questions after, they’d have been fired on, and we’d have nobody to question. I don’t know about you, my lord, but I’m going into the nearest public house for a heavy wet and a meal before I even try to sort out this lot.”

“I’m with you,” said Gerard. “I must say, there’s more to police work than you’d think.”

“It has its moments,” said Langcostard, dryly.

 

Langcostard started his interrogations with the youngest, who was terrified, and told all he knew. It seemed that most of the band were just there as guards and were paid; their pay was in counterfeit coinage, it turned out.

“Insult added to injury,” said Gerard. “I can’t see that there’s much case to answer for them.”

“No, I was going to recommend keeping them in the lockup until we’ve arrested everyone to do with this, and then let them go with a warning about vagrancy,” said Langcostard. “They’ll not heed it, but that’s not my concern.”

The next youngest had been aiding the smith, and also broke down. The smith was his uncle, and he was as much a hostage as a helpmate, as his mother and father ran an inn in Quorndon, which was to be used to pass out bad coin, half-crowns and guineas, made of lead stolen from various church roofs, with a thin layer of gold on top. His other uncle, who worked in the inn, was a willing confederate of the coiner.

“I’m going to ask Sir Giffard if I can’t take this one home, and arrest his other uncle,” said Langcostard.

“I’d back you on that,” said Gerard. “He’s no coiner, just caught up in it; and if his parents will give evidence of the coiner’s coercion, you have a very good case.”

“Well!  It all seems to be wrapped up, bar telling,” he consulted his notes, “Huey Davis that his lay is bubbled and the jig is up. Thank you kindly for all your aid!”

“Pleased to do so; and the offer still stands, my bailiff is getting old,” said Gerard.

“Well, my lord, I’ll see this case through to the end, and then I think I might just do so,” said Langcostard. “I’ll need some instruction, though.”

“Well, I’d a mind to put you under Whitby for a while, to learn the ropes, and enlarge his cottage to house the both of you; it’s his for his lifetime, but he’s a good man, and as my pensioner would be an invaluable man to take advice from in return for caring for him.”

“That I’d be glad to do; I know him now, and he knows me.”

“And he says you’re of an age with the son he lost fighting the French,” said Gerard. “His wife died of grief not long after.”

“Well, mebbe he’d not mind me bringing my mother to live here? My sisters being married, and my brother in the navy. I take care of her, and I bought Abel into being a captain’s servant so he can rise and become an officer when he’s done his six years; he having been the baby when we came to London, and being about your lordship’s age now.”

“I think that would be an excellent idea,” said Gerard.