Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
A CHANCE ENCOUNTER
Spring progressed as is its wont, and soon the weather warmed towards that of summer.
Richard heard frequently from Lyons, but the reports were all devoid of any real information.
There was no suggestion that Weekes had been near his family’s estate in Bedfordshire—no sign of him at the village or in the towns that Lyons’ associate could uncover—and likewise none in the stews and gaming houses in London.
Mr Lyons went so far as to return a portion of Richard’s fee since he had been so unable to discover anything about his quarry.
Could he have left England? Richard asked in a letter to the investigator.
Might he have gone to Scotland? Or to Ireland?
But all inquiries were futile. No man by the name of Weekes or answering his description could be found.
He was, unexpectedly, not a frequent gamer at any of the expected pubs or taverns and had not been reported dallying with anyone’s maids or daughters.
It was as if the man had returned to England and then had promptly melted into the ether.
Richard’s general sense of frustration was exacerbated by his frequent visits home.
His mother had informed him that he was expected at Matlock House to dine every fortnight on Saturday night, whereupon he must stay all Sunday and return to his regiment on Monday morning.
These orders were echoed by his superior at the War Office, who informed him that he was off duty every other Saturday and Sunday and not expected back until the following morning.
His mother’s reach, it seemed, was as long as his father’s.
Some of these dinners were intimate family affairs, with his brother and his family, his younger sister, and Darcy when he was in Town.
But a great many were more elaborate events with invited guests and the never-ending parade of wealthy young women in search of husbands.
Miss Eastway and her family were frequent visitors.
Richard had begun to consider how best to advise the young lady to cast her eye elsewhere for a husband.
It proved more difficult than he had first thought.
He could not speak to her before or after dinner, for there were too many others around who might intrude on any private conversation; neither could he solicit a private interview, for this would raise exactly those expectations which he hoped to quell.
The only answer, he decided, was to adopt a cool and distant manner towards her, which aroused his mother’s ire. The whole situation was insufferable.
There seemed to be only one solution open to the brave soldier: to avoid the issue completely by hiding.
The billiard room was the chosen refuge, a space where Richard, Darcy, and any other gentlemen hoping to avoid the obligations of the salon could while away the hours.
It was far from ideal, but it served its purpose.
If Richard were not present with the ladies, he could not be seen to snub them.
Darcy himself was often away in Derbyshire at his estate.
He had gone up after the planting to confer with his steward and deal with any issues regarding his tenants, and returned to London as little as possible.
The journey was long, after all, and required several days on the road between destinations.
Richard knew that Darcy intended to bring his sister to Town for some weeks at the very beginning of the summer to visit the exhibits and improve her pianoforte performance under a gifted master, and he very much looked forward to seeing Georgie again.
It had been three years since last he saw his young cousin and could scarcely imagine the little girl he knew now grown into a young woman.
But this was several weeks away, and for the nonce he must tolerate his mother’s meddling fingers with his enforced visits to London.
It was with pleasure and relief, therefore, that he saw the approach of summer training at Brighton.
He quite looked forward to the journey to the coast to oversee the transfer of command to the troops’ new regiments.
He would be busy at his duties for some of the time, but there would also be ample opportunity for leisure.
He imagined a quiet stretch of beach, far from the holidaymakers and bathing machines, where he might strip off his hose and roll his trousers to the knee and wade, or—were he sufficiently fortunate to find a suitably isolated spot—strip off everything and swim.
There would be times for meetings with his fellow colonels and times for more social activities, and hopefully some good cold ale and better jokes and banter.
There would be no obligation to be anyone other than himself, no pressure to perform to a certain standard or to sing to a particular piper.
It had been a very long time since last he had enjoyed the companionship of friends without somebody looking over his shoulder.
He was all prepared for the short journey, his two light travelling bags packed and his soldiers awaiting orders, when the unthinkable happened.
It was the eleventh of May, a day much like any other, and the wagons were set to depart for Brighton on the morrow.
The day’s work had been done and dinner eaten, and the men had been relieved of their duties for the evening.
Richard was sparring at swords with the training sergeant when the thundering of hooves grabbed at his attention.
He squinted into the light of the setting sun as a mounted messenger raced into the yard, perspiration damp upon his brow.
The horse was panting and steaming. They must have ridden hard!
“Colonel, I come with a most desperate summons.” A young sergeant leapt off the sweat-drenched horse and thrust a missive towards Richard. “You are needed in London at once.”
“London? But I leave for Brighton in the morning. What has happened?”
“The Prime Minister is dead!” The messenger blurted as he wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “Shot. It was murder! Just this evening at the House of Commons. It may be too late to return now, and the moon is new. But you must ride at first light.”
For a moment, all Richard could do was gape at the fellow, the words rattling through his head, not settling long enough for him to make sense of them.
The prime minister… shot… It seemed quite unreal, a jest, or some strange fever.
Then, at once, the enormity of it hit him with a force almost physical, and he snapped to his senses.
“Yes. To London. Of course.” It was time for action. “Smothers!” He called to an ostler. “See to this man’s horse. And Farrow, help him to a cold drink and a good meal, and find him a room for the evening. First light. I shall meet you here.”
Richard hurried to his room with the missive.
It said little more than what the messenger had told him; indeed, if the assassination had occurred only two hours earlier, there had been scant time to write long letters.
It was remarkable that the sergeant had been able to complete the ride so quickly.
He called his lieutenant colonel to his rooms to pass the reins of authority for the next while and explain matters, and readied his belongings for the trip north, rather than south.
London was in chaos when he and the sergeant arrived shortly before eight o’clock the next morning.
They had risen early and pushed their horses hard on the ride.
The War Office seemed to have called in every senior officer within three hours of the city, for what reason Richard never did discern.
He imagined it was a decision born of panic and not enough time to consider what was needed, but the sudden show of red and gold coats in the city streets, along with a surge of military men parading through the town, helped to keep unrest at bay and allowed the authorities to regain control over London.
He did nothing useful for three days, other than be conspicuously present, but the time was not entirely wasted.
For amongst those officers parading about London in their scarlet and gold was an old schoolmate, also the second son of an earl, and also headed to Brighton to oversee the training there.
Pleased enough with each other’s company, Richard and Colonel Nathaniel Ackley decided to travel together, the better to rekindle their friendship and enjoy the journey.
They departed early the next morning. The recent clouds had lifted at last to reveal a glorious sky, and the men decided to ride rather than take the carriage.
With a distance of only forty miles to cover, and with no expectation of their arrival at any particular time, the old friends were at leisure to make the ride a pleasant one, and they were able to enjoy something of the activities at Brighton before parting ways to find their troops.
The training grounds at Brighton had the atmosphere of a carnival.
Ranks of militia were displayed in the broad fields, whilst almost an equal number of townsfolk and visitors sat upon the surrounding hillsides picnicking and watching the soldiers below.
Soon the Prince Regent himself would arrive to inspect the militia, who would put on a grand show for their monarch.
It was a cause for much excitement and revelry.