Chapter Eleven
‘If you meet King George’s men,
dressed in blue and red’
It was the screams that woke her. Sitting up in bed, clutching her bedcovers, Julia strained her ears to listen to further noises that sounded like footsteps, and then muffled voices. The din was coming from within the house. Hurrying out of the bed, Julia lit the taper on her bedside table, flung a shawl over her night-clothes, and with beating heart, went to investigate. When she reached the stairs and looked down into the flickering candlelight below, she saw Mrs Knight, Ridges and Wyatt, all huddled over a prostrate form on the floor.
‘What has happened? Is it my great uncle?’ She uttered the words as she hastily descended the stairs. Julia knew by the inert form who it was and that he was dead.
‘Oh, ma’am,’ sobbed Mrs Knight, her nightcap askew and tears coursing down her face. ‘He’s gone! I tripped over him in the dark, and oh…’
She bowed her head, still on her knees beside the body.
‘Go back to your room, Miss.’ Shaken and heavily breathing, Ridges addressed Julia. ‘You can do nothing now. We’ll attend to the master:’
Taking in the scene with bewilderment, Julia noted that both Mrs Knight and Ridges were in nightclothes, while Wyatt, standing to the side, was fully dressed. What was he doing here in the middle of the night? He wasn’t a live-in servant. As if reading her thoughts, Wyatt spoke to her roughly.
‘Do as Ridges said. Go back to your room.’
‘No.’ Her anger flared and she met Wyatt’s menacing look boldly. Stepping forward, she knelt beside her great uncle’s body and saw at once by the grotesque angle of his head that his neck was broken. Automatically, she stroked his outstretched hand and was surprised to find it warm although the sightless eyes told her he was dead. Ridges leaned across and gently closed them.
He spoke quietly to her. ‘Do come away, Miss. Wyatt and I will put him back in his bed.’
In a daze, Julia got up. Taking the weeping Mrs Knight by the arm, they headed towards the morning room. Julia was vaguely conscious of the frightened faces of Smithers and Molly at the top of the stairs.
While Ridges and Wyatt carried Great Uncle Thomas back to his room, Julia sat Mrs Knight in the nearest chair. She lifted the brandy decanter from the sideboard and poured a tumbler for the housekeeper, and then splashed some more in a second glass and took a mouthful herself. Julia almost spluttered as the fiery liquid went down her throat. She hastily offered hers to Mrs Knight.
The brandy had the desired effect. The distraught woman stopped weeping and seemed calmer, though still upset.
‘Can you tell me what happened, Mrs Knight?’
Shuddering, the housekeeper nodded. ‘I wasn’t sleeping at all well and was worried about Mr Farraday’s cold. I went to see if he needed anything but his room was empty.’
Mrs Knight trembled violently. ‘I went downstairs in the dark and... and...’
Here she started weeping piteously. Julia put her arm around her shoulders to try to calm her.
‘I fell over him lying there.’ Once more the sobbing started. Julia got up and refilled the tumbler and gave it to the crying woman. Just then Ridges entered the room, his face worried and strained.
‘I’ve told the other servants about the accident, Miss, and told them to go back to bed. Was that right?’ He seemed anxious for her approval.
‘Yes, yes of course. Where is Wyatt?’
Ridges averted her eyes. ‘He’s gone back to his home, Miss Julia.’
‘What was he doing here in the middle of the night?’
‘I really couldn’t say, Miss.’
Ridges appeared distinctly uncomfortable and there was silence, except for the muffled sobs of Mrs Knight.
It was obvious nothing could be obtained by questioning anyone tonight so with Ridges’ assistance Julia returned the housekeeper to her room. Molly kindly offered to stay the night with her.
Feeling exhausted, Julia returned to her own room. To her surprise, she fell into a deep sleep immediately, as if her mind had blocked off the need for answers to the evening’s tragic event.
The next few days passed in a hubbub of people and events. Dressed in one of her Court mourning dresses that Smithers resurrected, Julia received the local doctor who had examined her great uncle, along with the local magistrate from Rye, the burly Reverend Talbot accompanied by his wife, several other previously unknown county people who had known her great uncle, and many others from the village of Winchelsea.
The Wentworth family were away in London and there was no word from Gerald so she could only assume that he too was away. It was with considerable dismay that she received a missive from Philip, apologising for the fact that he was unable to call on her and pay his respects to her great uncle. Unfortunately, he had had to return to Sharnborough, together with his aunt, earlier than he had anticipated due to unforeseen circumstances.
That Philip was unaware that her great uncle had died was perfectly clear, but Julia wished desperately that he was still nearby.
Wyatt seemed to have vanished, and when she questioned Ridges, he could give her no satisfactory answers. Fortunately, Jimmy, Molly’s young brother, was able to come and look after Athene and tidy the garden.
The funeral was held on a day in which the heavens opened and rain poured down. As Julia sat in the darkened morning room with Mrs Talbot, listening to the toll of the church bells, she reflected on the great uncle she’d hardly known. One visitor who bowed over her hand was Lieutenant Wareham, and after the usual condolences, she was able to seat him comfortably and chat on a more friendly footing than with most of the other callers.
‘I must tell you, Lieutenant, that it has been weighing heavily on my conscience that I was left a cask of brandy and a length of exquisite French lace, presumably by the smugglers, in return for the use of Athene and my great uncle’s barouche.’
Julia gazed anxiously up at him, twisting the ring on her right hand. To her relief she was pleased to see his normally stern face break into something akin to a smile and the dark blue eyes had a decided twinkle.
‘My dear, Miss Farraday. Please don’t concern yourself with such a trifle. You had no knowledge of what was going on at the time and they unlawfully took your horse and great uncle’s carriage. We also have no way of returning the contraband left with you. In fact, it would be more of an embarrassment to the service to try and rectify the matter. My suggestion, just between ourselves of course,’ here his face sobered immediately, ‘is to let sleeping dogs lie, if you understand what I mean.’
‘Of course, Lieutenant Wareham. Thank you for putting my mind at ease.’
She smiled hesitatingly at him. ‘Have you further news about what happened on the run that night?’
‘Not really. We have some information that the person who was transported was a criminal evading arrest in France and is wanted by the authorities for fermenting anarchy during the revolution, including murder, regicide and a host of other heinous deeds.’
Julia looked suitably horrified. ‘That is dreadful, truly dreadful.’
‘Yes, l know,’ he responded grimly. ‘But money has a way of easing the path of men such as he, hence his escape and his ability to start a new life, probably under an assumed name here in England with his fortune intact.’
‘Surely not, sir. Our government would never allow it.’
Lieutenant Wareham shook his head at her.
‘Never say never, ma’am. ‘Pon my word it happens. As I said before, if you have enough money and know the right people, why…’
His answer hung in the air between them. To break the silence, Julia asked spontaneously, ‘Is there any provision made for the widow and children of the officer who was killed?’
‘There is a small government pension she will receive.’
His face was drawn. ‘You are probably not aware but he is the second officer who has been murdered here in the last six months.’
Her eyes widened i
n amazement as he continued on.
‘Last November, one of my officers on patrol was stabbed to death not far from here when he was investigating a suspected run. We found his body the next morning and I had to inform his elderly parents that their son was dead.
‘He left no wife and children but the grief of his mother I will remember to my dying day. So you see, Miss Farraday, the invisible enemy we deal with is totally ruthless when crossed.’
He stood up reluctantly, his face suddenly tired and he extended his hand to her.
‘Well, Miss Farraday, I must be on my way. I hope we may meet again in more felicitous circumstances and if you need any assistance in any way, remember that Stephen Wareham is at your service at any time should you need to avail yourself.’
Julia felt suddenly exhausted, but thanked him sincerely and watched him leave. She was grateful for what he had said and knew she had a true friend who could be relied upon at all times.