Lord Carey's Inheritance

Author's note: There's no sex in this episode, I'm afraid - the demands of the plot took precedence. Normal service will be resumed in Chapter 5, however.

~

This is the first time I have set pen to paper in two months. Before today, I had neither the means nor the freedom to write. Even the meagre limits of my cell were denied me. My keepers treated me most cruelly. I was chained against the wall and fed stale bread and water. The very dogs at Mountjoy receive a better diet!

How did my sorry state come about? The way of it was this:

Gus, the chief among my keepers, had grown lax. One morning, having brought the barber in, he lingered at my window, staring out at the mournful marshes between the bars. His back was turned. The barber, a puny fellow, was shaving me. I seized the moment, and the razor too. Then, still half-lathered as I was, I threatened both with bloody mayhem if they dared oppose me. The upshot was as I wished. They both fell back in terror, I demanded the keys from Gus, and he complied. Then I unlocked the cell door, stepped boldly through it, and shut and locked it behind me – thus jailing my jailers and allowing myself, I thought, free passage to freedom beyond the walls of this accursed place. But it was not to be. Once outside the cell, I ran along the corridor while on either side the other inmates cheered and screeched and shouted. I reached a turning unopposed, then came upon a shorter corridor, with a stout gate at the end. There being none there to hinder me, I began to try Gus's keys in the lock, expecting eventually to feel the tumblers fall. I was in a fever of excitement, you may be sure. But, before I had found the right key, a veritable posse of warders appeared – alerted, no doubt, by the commotion set up by my fellow prisoners.

There is little more to tell. They drove me back from the gate with sticks and truncheons, then poured through it and set upon me. I slashed at them, of course, but to no avail: they were too quick and there were too many of them. And, once I was secured, they beat and kicked me, first there in the corridor where I was captured, then again and at length in my cell. Gus took a part in this, as did the barber, who employed his boot to good effect against my ribs. I writhed on the floor for a long time as they used me thus. I do not know how long it lasted.

Finally, half conscious, I was dragged to my bed and manacled to the wall by hand and foot. One hand, it is true, was left free, so that I might have some freedom to eat and drink – but the chains were so short I could not stir even a foot from the bed. And thus I was kept until yesterday, in hard durance and constant torment.

I do not know why they relented today – though the amelioration of my circumstance, in any case, is slight. I am still chained to the wall by one leg, though the chain has been lengthened. I can now step almost halfway across the cell, but am brought to a stop well short of the door. Both hands have been freed, however. I am now able to sit at my table and, best of all, they gave me paper and pens to write with, and ink as well. Why have they done me this favour? I cannot tell, and no explanation has been offered. Perhaps they think my writing pacifies me – and perhaps it does. It allows me, at least, to revisit pleasanter times – though some parts of my story are, in truth, most painful to think upon. But anything is better than the horror of this place. Now I am able to escape in a different way – for the hours I am writing, at least.

I will begin without further ado.

*

I last left off my tale with the news that I was challenged to a duel by Lord Frobisher over the matter of an insult he attributed to me regarding his cheating at cards. I confess I swooned when I heard it, though I swear it was either hunger or fatigue that made me faint, and by no means fear. I had been roistering all night and had not yet eaten breakfast.

When I had been revived with brandy, the full import of my situation came back to me. "Why, if I must fight at all," I demanded of my self-appointed Second (and soon-to-be brother-in-law), Algernon, "do I have to do so with pistols? Frobisher is an old man. Surely the sword would give me a greater advantage?"

Algernon looked at me kindly, then explained. "You are evidently unfamiliar with Lord Frobisher's reputation," he told me, "else you would know that the man, old as he is, was once the most feared swordsman in all England. And only two years ago, despite his age, he killed a gentleman of half his years in a sword fight. I would not have you go up against such a man using his favoured weapon. At the very least, pistols will even the odds."

I had to allow that his decision had been wise – though neither the prospect of being run through the guts with a rapier nor that of having my skull smashed through by a pistol ball held any attraction for me. And another thought made me shiver with alarm.

"But I am very short of sight!" I told my Second. "I do not think I can fire accurately beyond five paces. What chance have I therefore of prevailing in this duel?"

I confess I fairly howled my complaint at him, and Algernon's face became grave. He considered for a moment, then told me: "In that case, we must adopt another strategy. A ruse is called for. We will need money and we must be quick. First we must go to your bank, then on to Deptford. There is no time to waste. We must act at once."

In other circumstances I might have demurred at this sudden haste, but I had considerable fear for my life and was ready to grasp any straw. I began to call for my carriage, but Algernon restrained me. "In this business," he said, "we should travel incognito. We will take an ordinary street hackney. We will need clothes as well – clothes of the meaner sort. Perhaps your servants can oblige us?"

I called a footman immediately and demanded two suits of clothes – none too fashionable and none too clean. Then, the clothes being brought, we went out to the street and hailed a hack, with the clothes bundled under our arms. We drove straight to my bank where, at Algernon's instruction, I withdrew two hundred pounds in gold. Then we took another hackney and told the cabman to drive to Deptford. In the privacy of the carriage, we struggled out of our own clothes and into those my footman had given us. I felt the itch of lice almost immediately and was about to take them off again, but Algernon forbade me. "We must remain anonymous in this," he said. "If we are recognised where we are going, we are lost." So I endured the lice and the stink of the clothes until at last we came to our destination. Algernon told the cabman to wait for us, and I promised him money to ensure he stayed and that our own clothes were not stolen. The man looked at us strangely to see us emerge from his cab so altered in appearance from the way we had entered it, but we told him we were embarked on a jape, a masquerade of sorts, and he accepted that. Then Algernon guided me along the street to a tumbledown, mean tavern, just opposite the gates of Deptford Dockyard.

Inside, the place was all tobacco smoke and tallow fume. Despite the candles, however, the light was dim. There seemed to be few windows, and those I saw were so begrimed with dirt that the sun's rays could barely penetrate them. A fire burned in the fireplace as well, and this intermittently belched out clouds of smoke that rolled about the room. But, in spite of the Stygian gloom, the place was crowded.

We ducked inside – for the ceiling beams were low – and demanded beer from a passing pot boy. When he brought it, Algernon took him aside and held a whispered conversation. I did not hear what was said but, after a moment, the youth pointed towards the further reaches of the room and Algernon handed him a sixpence. Then my friend turned back to me.

"The man we seek," he said, "is here, in the back. His name is Captain Dennis. You must mind your manners carefully with him. He will be useful to us if he agrees to my scheme, but he is quick to take offence – the more so when in drink. It will be best if you remain silent throughout the interview."

So we set off towards the back room, shouldering our way through the throng of busy topers.

When we found him, the aforesaid Captain Dennis was seated at a table on his own. He had a bottle of claret before him and seemed the worse for wear. I put him at five and thirty. He wore no wig. His hair was black, his face bearded and weather-beaten. He exhibited a constant scowl. I saw the polished butts of a pair of pistols protruding from his belt.

Algernon stepped forward and introduced himself – after a fashion, at least. "I am one," he said "who would speak with Captain Dennis – if, that is, Captain Dennis will deign to speak with me."

There was a period of silence, then Dennis looked up. "If I am he," he said, "then who the hell are you? And who is that callow boy standing behind you?"

I nearly stepped forward to protest, but bit the words back. This fellow was certainly a rascal, but a dangerous one at that. I did not wish to provoke yet another vendetta in the space of only two days. I held my peace.

"My name is ... Mr Church," said Algernon. "And this is my friend, Mr ... Bishop."

"And I'm the bloody Pope in Rome!" said Dennis, snarling. "So what do you want, you two ecclesiastical gentlemen?"

"We have a proposition for you that we think will be to your liking," said Algernon. "It will involve little labour for you and will be well remunerated."

Captain Dennis considered for a moment, then indicated his agreement. "Send your boy for another pint of this wine," he said, nodding towards his bottle, "then sit ye down and tell me all your plan. – But first," he added, holding up a hand, "how much will the remuneration be?"

"Twenty-five pounds in gold now," said Algernon, "and fifty more upon completion."

"Fifty now and a hundred when it's done," retorted Dennis sharply.

"But you do not yet know the nature of the task," my friend protested.

"If it's worth seventy-five pounds to you fine gentlemen, it's worth double that at least," said Dennis, "especially since you've gone to the trouble of trying to dress the part for these insalubrious surroundings. In the absence of honesty, money buys trust. You've heard my offer. Take it or leave it as you will."

He folded his arms and stared at us. For my part, I looked away.

"Very well," said Algernon, "we agree to your terms. Jonathan, pray fetch Captain Dennis his drink."

I did as I was told. When I returned, Algernon was expounding his plan.

I held my tongue in the tavern, and paid over the fifty pounds in gold to Dennis when the business was concluded. But I was full of questions and misgivings as soon as we left the place.

*

The scheme was, in its essence, very simple. Captain Dennis, who was a crack shot and the veteran of a dozen duels, as well as many less formal affairs, would substitute for me on Hampstead Heath tomorrow. He would do so secretly and, once he had slaughtered Frobisher, I would return and claim the victory. I had no scruple about the ruse, but could see no way in which it could be successful. "And if we should be found out," I told Algernon in the hackney, during our return to London, "think of the damage it will do to my honour and reputation!"

He told me not to worry. Dennis, he said, was of approximately the same height as myself – and during duels, he added, the principals normally held themselves aloof from their opponent and the other people there. It would be no great thing, he thought, for me to absent myself behind some bushes on the pretext of relieving myself, and there to change places with Dennis, who would emerge in my stead.

"And we'll use a similar stratagem when Frobisher is beaten," he added. "Dennis will retire to ease himself again, thus requiring privacy, and you will come forth the hero."

"But," I said, "you have forgotten one major fact. Dennis's face is nothing like my own. He is older, to begin with, and swarthier, and much more coarse of feature. And I have no beard, nor any time to grow one between now and tomorrow morning! There is no way in the world that Frobisher and his people will mistake Dennis for me."

At this, Algernon smiled and leaned forward to whisper in my ear. And, when he had finished, I confess that, though it still seemed a desperate plan, I believed we might succeed.

And so I returned to London with my heart, if not exactly lighter, to some extent relieved.

*

In the carriage the next morning, driving to Hampstead, my misgivings returned. I had slept hardly at all and my nerves were severely frayed.

"What if," I asked Algernon, "I cannot find Captain Dennis when I go behind the bushes?"

"Never fear," was his reply. "He will find you."

A second thought gripped me – gripped me so strongly that my head spun and I thought I might faint again. "What if," I asked, "Captain Dennis is shot in the duel? What if Frobisher kills him? Then everyone will see the body and they will know he is not me."

Algernon looked at me most directly. "We run that risk," he said. "But remember, Dennis is an expert duellist. It is well known he is addicted to the pastime. He was, in fact, cashiered from his army commission for provoking too many of his fellow officers to challenge him. His regiment did not disapprove of duelling in principle, but he killed too many of their number to ignore it – and all, it appears, for sport."

I shivered. (Perhaps it was the early morning chill.) "But even so," I said, "there is a chance that he will fail. And then I'll be exposed!"

"And in that unlikely event," retorted Algernon, "which would you prefer – to have lost your honour or to lose your life? When all is said and done, I should think it better that Dennis dies than you. What do you say?"

And I had to agree. The thought of Captain Dennis lying dead upon the ground was infinitely preferable to the imagined vision of my own body lying there.

I nodded without speaking. We were silent for the remainder of the journey, until we came to Hampstead Heath.

*

Dawn had already broken when we reached the appointed place and the sun was rising red behind the trees. I wrapped my greatcoat close about me against the cold. My face was already swathed in a white silk scarf, as arranged before with Dennis.

A little knot of people were waiting for us beneath an oak – Frobisher's Second, a doctor, and the gentleman who was to act as referee. Frobisher himself stood a little apart. I too stopped before we reached the party, and Algernon went on alone to greet them.

I heard Frobisher's Second ask, quite sharply: "Why has Lord Carey covered his face?"

Algernon explained that I had a prodigious toothache and the scarf prevented cold air from flowing into my mouth, thus alleviating the pain a little. "However", he said, "it is clearly necessary that you should satisfy yourselves that this is indeed Lord Carey. I will ask him to reveal himself."

With that, he called to me and asked me to uncover. I did so, revealing that one cheek was grossly swollen – the consequence of the ball of cotton lint I had stuffed into my mouth in the carriage a few moments before.

Frobisher's Second nodded, apparently satisfied, but he went to speak to Frobisher nevertheless. After their conference was finished, he returned to the group with a message.

"Lord Frobisher wishes Lord Carey to know," he said, "that he is quite prepared to postpone their current engagement until Lord Carey is no longer indisposed. He would not, he says, gain an advantage by fighting a man who is distracted by a toothache."

I had heard the message, of course, but Algernon came back to me anyway. "Try to look affronted," he whispered, so I frowned to indicate displeasure and declared loudly that I wished to continue with the duel, despite my ailment. Nothing, I said stoutly, would deter me from meeting Frobisher that day.

Algernon winked at me while his back was to the other parties, then returned to them to convey my insistence on fighting. I, for my part, replaced the scarf across my face. Algernon then handed the referee the pistols he had provided – a fine pair of Wogdons, most beautifully engraved – and Frobisher came up to select his weapon. That done, both pistols were loaded, and the referee handed one to Frobisher, then brought the other to me. (I confess, I trembled as I took it. It was heavy and cold in my hand, and the powder smelt faintly of death – to my fancy, at least.)

Our ground had already been marked out with tall stakes set some sixty feet apart. We were, the referee told us, to begin twenty paces behind our respective markers. At his first signal, we would advance to the stakes. At the second, we could fire at will.

Frobisher and I walked to our places – he briskly, I more slowly. I hoped desperately that Captain Dennis was observing us from some place of concealment. If he was not, I was lost. My mouth became dry and my knees quaked at the thought that he might not be there at all.

When I had finally reached my appointed station, I raised an arm towards the referee. He trotted over to me.

"I am sorry," I told him, "but a pressure in my bladder is disturbing me. I wonder if I might be excused for the time it takes to restore myself to comfort?"

He turned and trotted the entire length of the field to convey my request to Frobisher. I could not see his Lordship's face clearly, but I gathered from the set of his jaw that he was not best pleased at the delay. Nonetheless, he gave his assent and the referee hurried back to tell me. With considerable relief, I turned and stumbled off towards the nearest thicket.

Once behind that little stand of trees and bushes I waited for what seemed an age. I waited so long, in fact, that I thought of fleeing. If I was quick, I could take the mail coach to Dover, and catch a packet boat there. With a fair wind, I might be in France by midnight. I need never return to England again.

At the very moment I had decided to execute this plan, I heard a twig snap underfoot, and Captain Dennis appeared. His habitual scowl, I saw, was gone: he wore a fierce grin now, as if he fairly revelled in the prospect of a duel.

He said nothing, but held out a hand. I placed the pistol in it. I saw with some relief that his greatcoat was of the exact same shade as mine and he wore the self-same style of hat and wig – all details we had discussed at length in the tavern the day before. To complete the simulacrum, he pulled a white silk scarf across his face. He looked, I thought, as much like me as could possibly be contrived.

I heard but did not see the subsequent encounter, since my view was obstructed by the bushes I hid behind. Algernon, however, described the entire scene to me later. Both men, he said, were dev'lish cool. At the first signal, they advanced quite steadily, neither showing any sign of fear. And when the referee shouted that firing could begin, both took their time – standing sideways-on, of course, to present a slimmer target, but each waiting bravely to receive the other's fire.

Frobisher, though unhurried, was the first to fire. It seems he was unlucky. His shot curved away to the left and missed Dennis by some feet. The Captain then allowed more time to pass as he took careful aim. (There was some murmuring against this afterwards because some saw it as unsporting behaviour in a duel, but – since the whole Town was afraid of me by then – it never reached my ears directly.)

Finally, Dennis pulled the trigger and Frobisher fell. He did not die immediately, but was sorely wounded. His servants carried him home and I heard he had died the next day. I did not regret it. In fact, I rejoiced at the news.

His day's work done, Dennis, Algernon told me, had simply turned on his heel and returned to my thicket without apology or explanation. This might, perhaps, have occasioned some surprise among the onlookers – that he should need to relieve himself, that is, twice in the space of less than fifteen minutes – but no-one questioned him on it. It is difficult, after all, to challenge a man who has just shot another down in cold blood, especially when his pistol is still smoking. So Dennis returned to me where I hid, unopposed.

I was overjoyed to see him for, up to that point, having only heard the referee's commands and the reports of the pistols, I had had no way of knowing which of them had prevailed. I grasped his hand and shook it warmly – fervently, in fact. Dennis, for his part, looked on me with a somewhat saturnine eye. He pulled the silk scarf down to reveal his face. His mouth was still grinning, but his gaze was as cold as lead – and I wondered for a moment if he would murder me as well, just for the pleasure of it.

I held out my hand for the pistol and he, in turn, extended his own. "My wages?" he asked me, mildly. I fumbled in my pocket and produced the bag of gold, which I pressed upon him without further delay. He weighed it for a moment, then nodded his approval. "I don't think ye'll be cheating me," he told me.

He then placed the gun in my hand. "Here's your pistol back then, Mr Bishop – ye sorry, cowardly cur! A better man than you by far has fallen today – but 'tis no matter!"

I forgave him the insult instantly. In truth, I barely heard it. I hurried away instead, and went to celebrate my victory.

*

Thereafter, I was the cynosure of the Town. Algernon retired to his own house – he needed to rest and recover, he said, after the excitements of the past two days – but I was too excited to sleep. I took a few turns in St James's Park instead, and noticed how, as the morning wore on and news of my duel spread, more and more gentleman bowed graciously to me and more ladies peered at me from behind their fluttering fans.

In the evening, I made a tour of the fashionable parts of the city – the theatres and ballrooms and popular gathering places. Every time I entered a room, a hush descended – the quietness spreading like ripples on a pond as the people recognised me. Nobody spoke to me directly about the duel, but I was the constant centre of polite attention. I basked in it. I glowed.

I stayed abroad 'til midnight. Then, the beau monde having returned to their homes, I took myself again to Mother Goose's House in Covent Garden and there passed a jolly few hours releasing the accumulated tensions of the day upon the persons of her ladies. Their arses were red when I left – both red and black with stripes and bruises.

I drank my fill, as well – so much, in fact, that I do not remember how I finally reached home. But having returned there, I slept the sleep of the righteous, and did not wake again 'til it was almost evening.

When I awoke, I -

*

But I am betrayed! It is not yet past noon but Gus has just informed me that I must desist from writing! He has graciously allowed me a further five minutes to put my papers in order. Then, he says, he will come back and take them away.

I understand their plan now! He has told me! They wish to make me docile! The privilege of writing will only be afforded me in proportion to my good behaviour here. It seems I earned these few scant hours just passed because I had been quiet in the three preceding days. Similar restraint will result in further indulgence. That, at least, is what he promises me.

I wish to howl and rage, but I will not. The brute is returning now. I will bear all with dignity. But I long to throw my ink pot at his head!

So this is my final sentence for today: I will continue my history as soon as I am able, though when that will be, I cannot tell ...

~