0 comments/ 9621 views/ 0 favorites The Adventures of Lady Belinda By: raven5 A True Relation of the Adventures of Belinda, Lady D'Airing, and her faithful servant Groat Notar bene - although the dramatis personae herebelow included are based upon some real people, living and historical, any resemblance between them and the people of the story is purely coincidental. Prologue - Our story is set, gentle reader, in a time of great tribulation for these fair Isles of ours. Cruel and bloody civil war has ravaged the land, and the afflicted populace seek to put their lives back together again. All have felt the shadow of the sword in some way, from the lowest to the highest in the land and it is to the home of one of that has been counted among these 'highest' that we go now - Castle D'Airing, deep among the fields and vales of Shropshire. It is early morning one fine and sunny March day. Part the first: A fayre lady, her distresse Groat's first inkling that it was going to be a bad day was when he found that rats had been at the barley in the store. Counting the remaining sacks he found that several of the bags had been chewed at the bottom and precious barley had been stolen. Cursing all such parasites upon humanity he made a note in his scrawled writing to put one or two of the estate's boys about the work of catching them, and failing that, and more expensively, a rat catcher. Just then his threats upon the rodent world were drowned by the arrival of two people both clamouring for his attention. "Groat! Groat!" Her ladyship's mellifluous tones cut through the morning air, as she sought her steward. At the same time a small boy ran into the store room at full pelt. "Mister Groat! Mister Groat!" He shouted, then came to a skidding stop, struck dumb as he realised who else was present. Both of the adults looked at the boy. "Well? Speak lad." Groat said, not unkindly. The boy found his voice quickly, aware of his audience. "Begging your pardon, your ladyship, Mr Groat, but I'm to tell Mister Groat that there's troopers approaching the house, about ten of 'em." The lad bobbed and twitched at speaking to the lady of the house. She thanked him graciously for performing his errand. This only made the poor boy twitch and bob even more as he ran off backwards, twitching and bobbing, until he could politely turn and run properly. "Richard Hopwell's boy, mistress." Groat said automatically, knowing his mistress would ask. Lady Belinda nodded absently, "I wonder what they want," she mused, her own errand forgotten, as they walked back to the house. "I'll receive in the Solar, Groat." She said as they entered, leaving Groat to change his jerkin for a doublet. As the clatter of hooves filled the stable yard with echoes of the horses that had been taken away by two armies, Groat went about his business. His principal aim was to keep the troopers busy in the yard, if they roamed the house as they were wont to do they could get up to no end of mischief. Fortunately the first person he saw as he entered the big kitchen was Maggie Thorne. Behind his back they called themselves the 'lame ducks', many of the staff that now ran the big house behind the scenes were refugees or victims of the war. All had been given a home at the castle, and though Groat knew some were not to be trusted, he knew most were as loyal as he was. Maggie was such a victim, homeless and penniless, rough as a bear's arse, but she had a heart of gold. Groat took the girl to one side. "Maggie, draw a couple of pitchers of beer and make sure that our guests are properly entertained." "Right you are Mister Groat. Not to leave the yard sir?" Groat smiled, Maggie would take care of the troopers, he could rely on her. As young Hopwell had reported there were ten of them, Parliamentarian troopers, all well armed, each man having two pistols hanging from the front of his saddle, and a long sword at his belt. What the boy had not said, was that one of the ten riders was an officer. Groat reckoned he knew who it was as well. Colonel Gregory Duckett, who was reported to have the ear, and the favour, of general Cromwell himself. In as much as Groat found most Parliamentarians objectionable, what he had heard of Duckett particularly annoyed him. Groat's ear about the district had already informed him that Duckett was buying land from various estates, profiting from the losses of the former royalist supporters. To add to this a previous visit by some of the colonel's troopers had brought the first rumours, subsequently confirmed, of the man's interest in the eligible mistress of Castle D'Airing. A match with Lady Belinda would increase his social respectability as well as his influence. Groat had not been impressed by the idea. "Scrope, isn't it?" The colonel asked as he got down from his blowing mount. Groat was a burly man, well-over weight, but the corpulent Duckett made him look like a stripling. Like Groat, the Colonel had obviously been forewarned. "Groat, your excellency." Groat kept his tone proper. "That's right, same as the coin, ain't it? Is your mistress home? I'd have requested an appointment, but we were merely passing." Groat knew precisely what 'merely passing' meant. Over my dead body, Groat silently vowed, over my dead body. With the colonel puffing and wheezing up the staircase behind him Groat led the parliamentarian to the long solar that ran the width of the great house. Offering the colonel a seat, he noted a door opening and sprang into place. As his mistress stepped into the room Groat watched the colonel stand as, his chest swelling with pride he announced "Colonel Duckett - may I present my mistress, Belinda, Lady D'Airing." As Groat turned towards his mistress the early sunlight through the window illuminated Lady Belinda's pale blonde hair. Gracefully she advanced down the wide room, her smile radiant and her hand held graciously for the colonel to kiss. Groat had never loved her more than at that moment. It was a love that Groat knew would never, could never become public, there were too many barriers between them, it was a love that was as secret as the D'Airing silver plate, secreted behind a wall in the castle cellars. None of which bothered the big man over much, Groat was content to serve as faithfully as he could. As one of the young lads that Groat was training for service brought wine, Lady Belinda dismissed them both, to talk to the colonel privately as social equals. As he left the room, Groat caught the colonel's eye, anger boiled in his heart and fleetingly he thought, 'One false move fatboy, and the whole war starts again!' Part the Seconde: A Slippe of the Lips Back in the yard the big man found the soldiers chatting about their work, each desperately trying to impress Maggie with their tales of soldiering. Groat had no problems with the troopers themselves, they were just simple men doing their jobs. He found it hard not to smile, as these so called 'godly' men proved just as susceptible as any other to Maggie's girlish but nonetheless ample charms. "Cor!" She said breathlessly as she poured Groat a pot of the beer, "You must all be such important men you riding round with the general and all." She said deliberately promoting the colonel. The corporal in charge of the detachment, who obviously saw himself and Maggie riding out together somewhere, drew himself up with a broad grin. "The 'general'," he said, keeping the colonel's new higher rank, "The general, he don't go nowhere with out us'n. We're hand picked men, we're. They reckon, you know, they reckon it was the likes of us that they based this New Model Army on, they do. That's how good we are an' all." Groat nearly breathed his beer back into yard. Soldiers. Lord, where did they find them? "What do you think of that then Mister Groat? They modelled the New Model on these men, we're ever so pleased to have you visit," Maggie simpered. "They call on us for all of the tough jobs, they do," chimed in another trooper. "Even this pay convoy they're bringing through for Ireland, we're up for that too!" The others nodded, before the corporal realised what had been said. "But you ain'tn't to tell no one about it if you please, Mister Groat, nor you too Maggie." Groat's smile was honesty inviolate as he swore his and Maggie's silence. Part the Thirde: Plans are made In the solar the troopers' commander had concluded his business and was preparing to leave. The lady he had been visiting gathered herself from the letter that the colonel had delivered, attempting to act out her social role, despite the shocking news that it contained. She summoned the servant who waited just outside the door. "Conduct the Colonel to his men, and tell Groat to come to see me." She said, her voice taut with barely contained anger. The servant did as he was told. And as soon as he had seen the soldiers away from the gate Groat made his way to the solar. "Not here Groat, we must talk." Lady Belinda took the steward and led him down into the garden, away from the house. "God damn their eyes, Groat! God damn them all to a burning, festering hell where I hope they rot and burn for all eternity!" Groat winced at her ladyship's command of the common tongue, he blamed her upbringing in a house full of men. "God damn whom mistress?" He asked placidly. When the lady Belinda was like this he usually found it better to be his calm to her fury. The ill-matched pair walked along the terrace in front of the house, he hulking and seemingly slow, she smaller, and appearing more delicate. Groat led her ladyship away from the house, there were ears among the servants that he did not trust at all. The big man's calm and solid disposition began to calm the angry noblewoman. "Those pox-ridden whoreson knaves who call themselves the Committee for Shropshire." "And what is it they're wanting now, mistress?" he enquired through the tirade. "Money, Groat. Bags of the damned stuff. Bags that we don't have. Because of my father's 'delinquency', - fighting for the King makes him a delinquent - when half of those wracked, back-biting, pulpit hugging clawbacks were safe away from all harm. Anyway they've fined us five hundred pounds." In his position as steward of the house, with a responsibility for the accounts Groat knew immediately how much money the D'Airings didn't have. Five hundred pounds was a huge fine, and one that they really had no chance of paying. "Where do they expect us to get it from, mistress? If we dip into the 'reserve' and they realise, they'll take it all." Groat referred to the hidden silver. By now the lady Belinda's temper was calming and she began to turn her sharp mind to the problem. Briefly they talked of disposing of property, but in England in the closing months of a brutal civil war property was power. While crops and profits varied, rents were a steady income, money could be borrowed against land, something they might have to consider. Disposing of some of the estate would severely hamper any hope they might have of recovering the D'Airing family fortunes. Besides that, speculators like Duckett, men and families with no interest in the county were acquiring land such as theirs, that was being disposed of by imposed on and impoverished royalist families. That bothered Groat, it was against the natural order of things for tailors and vintners to be as powerful as families such as the D'Airings, who could trace their lineage back to the Norman Conquest "There's always Sir Byron, mistress," Groat suggested. Sir Byron Fox was his mistresses' most ardent suitor, although he too was being prosecuted for his stand in the late war, his estates were extensive and Groat knew that he would do anything for the affections of Belinda, Lady D'Airing. "Fie, shame on you Groat! 'Tis improper to suggest such a thing." Groat mumbled an apology, against giving offence, but her ladyship went on, "Besides Sir Byron is as hard pressed as we are with these impositions." As she waved the letter, announcing the imposition like a fan, Groat realised that his mistresses' sharp mind was racing to solve this latest problem. "The first thing you'll do Groat is instruct that leech lawyer of ours to launch an appeal, against this, we'll try and buy some more time. Secondly we'll try and raise some money on another mortgage to pay part of it, say some three hundred pounds. Then thirdly..." "Yes, mistress?" Groat asked hopefully. "There is no thirdly yet, Groat but there will be soon." In fact the lady Belinda had already begun to hatch a 'third'. During their conversation the repulsive Colonel Duckett had echoed the actions of his men. In trying to impress the lady with his military importance, he had hinted at the role he had to play in the transition of the pay convoy. Lady Belinda had noted it through a mask of politeness, but given it little mind, until the man had delivered up the letter. Sanctimoniously he announced that it 'pained him mightily to do this', - though he still went on and did it - and he told her solicitously that 'if there was anything he could, she should not hesitate to ask'. But as she had read the details enclosed in the letter, the words 'pay convoy' had crossed her mind more than once. Belinda cursed her luck not to have been born a man, if she had been then many of the problems she faced would not have existed. She'd have gone with the King to his wars and the keeping of Castle D'Airing would have been somebody else's task. She caught her thoughts though, that responsibility, however irksome, was an important part of her life. The lady Belinda was aware that with her father and two brothers in exile on the continent the responsibility for the house, Groat and all those who depended on the family for their livelihoods, all the estates and the future of the family rested with her. It was a sobering thought. It probably would have come as no surprise to lady Belinda that loyal Groat was having similar thoughts. Whilst he fully intended to carry his mistresses' instructions, Groat was already giving consideration to alternative sources of income. Larceny, he told himself was merely a means to an end, somehow he would keep the family's estates and fortune away from the hands of the speculators. The house without Belinda Lady D'Airing and her heirs was unthinkable. Just then Lady Belinda herself said something which struck a resounding chord in Groat's faithful heart, "Desperate times, Groat, and desperate times call for desperate measures." "Amen to that mistress, amen," Groat muttered. Part the fourthe: Events are put in Hande The following day Groat announced that he was going to try to buy more barley. It was, he said, going to take all day and he would be taking one of the horses for his journey. Groat started his journey to Shrewsbury by stopping off in the village of Myddle, nearby. In particular he made a stop at the tavern run by one Thomas Jukes. Groat had known Jukes for many years. Despite his overall air of respectability Jukes was a man who knew where to get things, and who to speak to. Groat approached the conversation carefully, by asking if anyone locally had any spare barley to sell. He was after at least three strikes, each strike a little over a bushel. Jukes shook his head, just for once he didn't know, which Groat had been counting on. There had been a demand recently and most of the local farmers were hoarding what they had. "Still," Jukes said cheerfully, "Will you not take a drink now, Groat?" Groat paid for his drink and as the tavern was still quiet he stood and talked to the owner, passing time. Finally as he reached the bottom of his drink, he asked quietly, "Does Pickstock still trade horses?" Jukes looked at him quizzically. "I've heard he might." He said cautiously. "I need a good mare." "Castle D'Airing in need of horse flesh?" Jukes was puzzled and a little intrigued. "These bloody soldiers have had all our best stock, we need breeders, and I'm not too particular where they come from." "Call by his place, it's just over Houlston way, and see him, he might have something you can use." "Thanks very much," said Groat as he made his leave, "I might do just that." And that was what Groat did, arriving at the shoddy cottage, over-grown and ill-cultivated just about noon. "Mister Groat isn't it?" George Pickstock looked up at the man on the horse. "That it is George, and I have business to discuss, if you've aught for selling." Pickstock looked at him askance. "Might have." He said monosyllabicly. "Only I'm looking for a mare. In primis for breeding stock, but she should be a good riding beast as well." "Oh I don't know about that..." George Pickstock began to protest. "That's not the sort of thing I do anymore." "I've got good money for her - if you've got one, George, but I need one soon and no questions to be asked." "Well ... if I was the sort of man that did that sort of thing - which I won't say that I am - I'd be the sort that kept close as an oak anyway." Groat fixed him firmly with his best glare. "Well if I was the sort of man that worried about a man like you not keeping his mouth shut, I might also be the sort of man that took great exception to loose lips, George, mightn't I?" George thought about this one for a moment, working out whether it was actually a threat or not, then he nodded his agreement, "You might, Mister Groat, you just might." Groat clapped George on his back, "Good George I'm glad that that's all settled." George was still not sure what had been settled, but he went along with Groat anyway. "Actually Mister Groat, this is your lucky day, because I do happen to have something that may interest you, and what do you know? It's as legal as Church services." Groat raised an eyebrow. "As true as I stand here, Mister Groat." Pickstock crossed himself quickly, "I took her as winnings in a game of dice from some drovers. See for yourself." The mare was a specially fine animal, a solidly built chestnut with white socks on her front legs and a plain, but pleasant, unmarked face. Her legs were sturdy and her coat was in good condition, she walked over to Groat and looked at him as carefully as he looked at her. Groat entered the paddock and examined the mare's teeth. She stood patiently as he lifted her each leg and checked the underside of her hooves, finally Groat had George walk and trot the mare up and down the length of the small paddock. That done the two men came together again, they both turned and looked at the mare. "George," Groat drew the smaller man to him, "George, I hesitate to ask what kind of drover allows a horse like that to get away, or whether the dice were loaded or not, but I want her. And if someone comes looking for her George, I shall come looking for you." "You're not very good at this horse trading thing are you mister Groat?" "No George I am not." "You don't say things like 'I want her', you hum and har a bit." "Well all right George, we'll assume that all the rest of it has been done, and you tell me what you want for her. Then I shall tell you what I'll pay for her. Then you sell her to me. And then if anyone asks me what I paid for her I tell them that you got the best of me." Once again George Pickstock's brow furrowed in deep thought. Pickstock was not what you'd call a major criminal, Groat knew that. He did associate with some complete villains, but was not himself of sufficient status to rate the attention of the Justice's men. Groat on the other hand, knew more than enough of what went on around the district and, despite the impoverished state of D'Airing finances, he was a man with a lot of power, so that he had the situation completely under control. And more than that he bulked alarmingly over the smaller George Pickstock. After a minute or so Pickstock arrived at the same conclusion under his own power. The Adventures of Lady Belinda Ch. 2 Further Relations of the Adventures of Belinda, Lady D’Airing, and her faithful servant Groat Notar bene - although the dramatis personae herebelow included are based upon some real people, living and historical, any resemblance between them and the people of the story is purely coincidental. Part the fifthe: In Which Tongues are loosened, and Schemes Revealed Both the soldiers and Colonel Duckett had inferred that the pay convoy would be on the move sometime in the next week, Groat needed to know precisely when and what route it would take. For a day or so he pondered how to tackle this one until the arrival of colonel Duckett, himself and escort, this time on a social call. This time Groat saw to the settling of the troopers, whilst unbeknown to him, his elegant mistress also set to to discover what she might. Having made sure that all the troopers had a drink and bread and cheese Groat settled himself for a while. “Not so busy then, Mister Groat?” The leader of the colonel’s escort asked. “Nothing that I can’t spare some time for our guests.” Groat beamed expansively, “I ‘spect you lot like the odd moment off as well don’t you? Dun’t his excellency run you lot ragged as well?” Corporal Harcourt shared a ‘tell-me-about-it’ look with Groat and his men. “The old bugger’s ‘ad us out all morning he ‘as.” Harcourt took a deep drink of the beer. “Riding down past Shawbury way, up to the north of Battlefield and on towards the Montford Bridge. Checking out the route for that thing we was telling you about the other day.” Harcourt closed one eye conspiratorially. “Seems like there’s not one convoy, but two, one big one for Ireland and another for us at Shrewsbury. And which stupid sods have they found to spend all night on horseback guarding it?” Groat nodded, and Harcourt prodded himself with his thumb. “You guessed it.” Groat commiserated with the men, no closer to finding out what night it would be but with clear evidence of the route. Just then one of the servant boys called him to wait on his mistress, finishing his drink he laughed at the irony. “No peace for the wicked, eh lads?” “No peace at all mr. Groat, no peace at all.” Once again Groat entered the solar wishing he had a pistol in his hands. Once again he caught his breath at the sight of his mistress in the bright sunshine. “Groat I am planning to give a dinner. The Colonel Duckett says he is not available on Wednesday night next, can you send pages to the Whitbrys and the Corbets to find which nights they are available?” Appalled by the fact that the fat colonel would be dining under the roof of castle D’Airing, Groat mentally rubbed his hands at such a simple method of discovering the night of the convoy presenting itself. Unknown to Groat, the Lady Belinda also now had all the information she required. Unlike Groat the Lady Belinda did not have a dark past to draw on for her preparations. Instead she applied her sharp wit to the problem, so telling her maids that she should not be disturbed she sat for several hours in her room and made her plans. On the Wednesday night Lady Belinda complained to Abigail, her maid, that she was feeling unwell. She would, she informed the girl, withdraw, and dismissing the maid for the night she announced that she did not wish to be disturbed. Abigail, having been trained to her task by the inestimable Groat went down to the servants quarters where she sat with some of the other servants, and waited for anything her mistress might call for. While Abigail waited Lady D’Airing was changing into her brother’s Ralph’s old clothes. First she donned the man’s shirt, and over that the dark green breeches and doublet. Next she put on two pairs of hose and pulled Ralph’s old long boots on, finding them just too loose she put on a third pair of hose before the boots fitted well. Finally she picked up a dark kerchief, a dark coloured riding coat and Ralph’s oldest most battered hat before she slipped, as quietly as she could down the back stairs to the stables. In the stables, the years of playing the tom-boy to her brother’s stood her in good stead as she saddled her own horse, this time with a man’s saddle rather than her own side-saddle. Harnessed and ready she led Orpheus out into the yard and away from the house before mounting him and riding off into the night. Groat too was making ready for his expedition, but as he left the house he was aware that someone had left the stable yard. Calling for Richard Hopwell he found that the man had had to go out to one of the tenements, too pressed for time Groat had to let the matter pass, so that he too could leave ostensibly on estate business. Part the sixth: Robberie on the King’s Highway! Despite their best efforts eight soldiers, and their mounts, two carters and their team of two horses and a cart laden with hard coin, does not go gently into the good night. In fact it makes a lot of noise. The soldiers and carters had tried, the horses’ hooves were muffled in lengths of cloth, and the axles of the cart were well greased, yet the whole affair sounded like an approaching fair. For what he felt must have been the twentieth time Corporal Harcourt prayed to the Lord that he grant the convoy a safe and quiet passage, he prayed fervently for the safe delivery of this cargo of back-pay to Shrewsbury, and, as a final note, he added, Lord, please shut Mattie Potter’s rattling chops. Trooper Potter was a happy man. He looked at the cart and he saw back pay, six month’s back pay to be precise. Once his ‘owings’ had been deducted Mattie knew that he wasn’t going to be rich man, but at least he would be solvent. For the fifth time he started on how precisely he was going to spend his new found wealth. Most of the day Trooper Potter was one of the most godly men going. He loved the psalms, more importantly he loved singing the psalms, and he knew he had the voice to do them justice, but he also reckoned seven hours of psalming on a Sunday was as much as the dear Lord God could expect from any reasonable man. It was true as well, it said so in the Bible, a man could not live by bread alone, and Trooper Potter had a sweetheart. And such was the way of the world that sweethearts took money. With his income rising Trooper Mattie Potter saw his success in the sweetheart department as pretty much certain. Certain, that was until, with all the assurance of a pair of well loaded pistols, backed by thirty-one inches of good steel pointed at your throat, the cry of “STAND AND DELIVER!” cut the creaking, rattling chattering night. As one three voices delivered those deadly words. Three? ‘Sodding hell!’ Mattie Potter thought staring virtually straight down one, very hefty looking pistol barrel. ‘Gods wounds!’ thought the first highwayman, the stout one with the heavy riding cote swathing his physique. ‘Bugger!’ Thought the second highwayman, also well wrapped as a disguise, and as surprised as the first. ‘Damn and Rot It!’ the third highwayman, or perhaps that should have been highway-person, exclaimed silently. Like the first two, well wrapped in dark apparel as a disguise against recognition, and equally startled by the abrupt alteration in what had been thought of as quite thorough plans. ‘I’m a dead man!’ Corporal Harcourt thought to himself as he realised that his night had just gone straight down the privvy, without touching the sides. Cautiously the three highway-people covered each other with their multiplicity of pistols, whilst ordering, almost by committee, the troopers to dismount. Mistrust reigned, in the dark forest glade. The soldiers saw that the three robbers were in competition. This was more disconcerting than being robbed. The fact that one false move might cause a trigger finger to flinch and a pistol to fire. Everyone moved very, very slowly. After a few minutes where the robbers regarded each other nervously, the smaller of the three spoke. “Er, er herumph!” ‘He’ coughed making, what a quicker, less pre-occupied ear might have said was a pleasant and lilting voice gruff and ‘manly’, “There’s enough for all of us,. Let us split the spoils?” The other two thought about this for a moment. Their eyes constantly flitting between their competitors and the convoyers, lying prone now upon the turf, they almost seemed to be engaged in some sort of jerky dance. Finally the second robber spoke, “Aye ‘tis a match! We’ll each take a third of the money. We’ll take the cart and divide it up the road a ways” The first robber, the bulky one, eventually agreed, “But first!” he said, “You lot! Off with your boots and your britches.” “You what?” Corporal Harcourt protested. “Their what?” The smaller of the highway-robbers exclaimed in surprise. “Aye! Good idea.” The second robber, relaxing his guard slightly, directed one of the troopers to gather all of the breeches and boots and shoes put them in the cart. The robber then gathered all of the troopers’ swords, and took their pistols off their horses and threw them into the cart. Then as the smaller robber led the cart off into the dark the second robber took the soldier’s horses while the third loomed over the prone soldiers. “I don’t expect you boys to move for at least a half hour until after we’ve gone. Your gear’ll be up the road a way, but the first one to move before the half hour is up, gets a shroud on the morrow. Now all of yous face down.” The ten men obediently studied the earth in front of them, as, with a silence surprising for a large man, the robber melted backwards into the darkness. ‘It’s damned typical!’ Harcourt told himself as he lay there listening to the sounds of the night, ‘The sodding cart sounds like all hell breaking loose when we’ve got it. The damned thing doesn’t make a bloody squeak when they’ve got it.!’ In the darkness away from the glade the three robbers stopped briefly and gathered their own mounts, one of which was a handsome grey mare, scattering the troop horses and moving a mile or so down the road. Finally they stopped and gathered by the tail of the cart. There were four small coffers on the cart, each containing ten bags of coins, which weighed several pounds each. The big robber produced a steel pry-bar, which served to open the coffers, then he took some lengths of rope out of one of his saddle bags and after replacing them with some of the bags of coins. After that he began to tie the rest of his bags into bundles. The other two when they saw what he was doing began to do the same, using parts of the cart harness for the task. The bigger robber then unharnessed one of the cart horses, and loaded that with his sacks. As there was only one carthorse left the other two robbers looked at each other for a few minutes. “There is but one horse left.” The smaller robber said needlessly. “Aye!”, said the other, “And who should have it?” he asked. Finally the big robber stood between them. Reaching up he removed his hat, “If I might suggest, sirrah, you take your horse loaded with your sacks and we shall take the other, ‘twould be better if both horses are found close together, and not the one near Castle D’Airing and t’other near your Fox Hall, my lord Byron.” and the robber removed the kerchief he wore around his face. Stunned the other two robbers whipped round and stared at the big robber, their mouths open. “Groat?!” Part the sixth: Plots and plotters unmasked “Yes, mistress, my Lord?” “Sir Byron?!” the smaller robber gasped. “Lady Belinda?!” the second robber asked, equally surprised. “Groat?!” they both exclaimed again. “Ay mistress, my Lord Byron.” “Belinda!” “Byron!” The shock and accusations rolled around the now horseless cart. “If I may, my Lady, my Lord?” Groat fought to get the situation under control, “‘twould be better we were not here. Those soldier boys are not very bright, but even they are going to figure out that we’re hardly likely to leave one guarding them while the other two share out the loot. “If I may make a suggestion? We’d best be away and meet this afternoon and discuss this in more congenial surroundings.” The other two ‘robbers’ recovered their composure quickly, “How did you know it was me, Groat?” Lord Byron asked. “And how many times have I seen this mare at Castle D’Airing, my Lord? Now, until noon, I bid you goodnight.” And between them they left the scene. Still bemused by the evening’s events the lady D’Airing strove to recover her bemused wits. Groat, continually surprising Groat, seemed to have it all under control, and she was content to let him handle the situation. To be perfectly frank her plans had only ever dealt with actually stealing the money, she had given no thought, so far, to its disposal. All she had reached was a vague idea that somehow it would solve many of their problems. Groat on the other hand had given it much thought. He had reasoned, correctly it was to turn out, that the money would be new minted, and if it would have been minted in London, it would therefore be quite recognisable. Should large quantities of this money turn up anywhere it would lead, what would be irate authorities to the culprits. The same would happen if the money was used to pay an imposition. Groat’s plan had called for him to sit on the money, dispose of some of it through connections like George and use it to replace the money they would lose paying the fine. That way any money they raised, which would be known about would mask the money that they used for keeping the estate going, and paying the real bills. He explained this now to Belinda, who agreed to follow his plan. She quizzed him about his plans and how he had prepared, then refused to let him tell her where he would hide the money. They split up and the now nefarious Lady D’Airing returned to the house. “And my father a Justice of the Peace!” she laughed to herself. ‘Still’, she mused, ‘it had all been very exciting’. Far more exciting than her life normally was. Part the sevinth: What happened later that morninge By the time Groat had hidden the money, returned his new mare to her stabling and returned to Castle D’Airing it was late. He was almost tempted to stay up and watch the new morning, which, despite the events of the night before, promised to be fair and pleasant, instead he made his way to bed. Later, although he could easily have lingered in bed, Groat was up and about as usual. A house as big Castle D’Airing doesn’t run itself, and the big steward was about the business of making it run smoothly. Despite his preoccupation with his daily tasks - compiling accounts, training servants and the one hundred other things that needed to be done daily to ensure that the place did not break down into anarchy - Groat found time to review the events of the night before. To be sure it had gone smoothly, despite the intervention of Lady Belinda and Lord Fox. By back-tracking several times during the trip away from the robbery, by simply reigning in and sitting still in the darkness and listening Groat was certain that they had not been followed. During their conversation he had agreed with Lady Belinda that if ever questioned they had spent the evening, after the Lady Belinda had summoned Groat for company, until late playing ‘tables’ or backgammon, as some called it. She had won money from him, they would say, and he from her, though as neither of them had any money none had changed hands. Groat thought it through quite carefully several times during the first part of the morning, he was fairly certain that they had gotten away with it. Upstairs in Lady Belinda’s bed chamber that fair lady lay musing about the previous night’s adventures also. In her great bed with the down-filled mattress the sun peeped through the half closed curtains, and the lady of Castle D’Airing thrilled as she recalled the excitement of the robbery, the excitement outlasted the surprise and fear she had felt at the appearance of the two other robbers. Yes, she told herself, she had kept her head. Fortunately they had been friendly and the robbery had succeeded. Groat had helped her once again, but Lady Belinda was bitten by a bug. Without understanding it fully the elegant lady cavalier had been become addicted to the adrenaline from her experiences of the night before. She told herself that it would have to be a once-only occasion, a drastic solution to a dire situation, but one, deep down, she wanted to repeat. And why should she not? She questioned, half dreading an answer, and half wanting one. She rode and shot as well as either of her brothers. She now held Castle D’Airing for the family, and had held it safe through the latter years of the past wars. She was not alone, Brilliana, Lady Harley at Brampton Bryan, the Countess of Derby and others had all played the part of their husbands in sieges and kept their houses and honour safe. Why should she not play the highway robber? She was fortunate to have Groat, who she was sure would back her in these ventures, Groat whose overseership had ensured the success of last night. Of that both she and Groat agreed, they had not been recognised, neither had they been followed. At last after an age of lying still, contemplating the patterns carved on the testor above her head, she resolved to be shed of her womanly meekness. She would, if the opportunity arose, and she could see no reason why it should not, play the robber again, at first chance. Just before noon Lord Byron arrived on his famous grey mare, one of the most distinctive mounts in the county. Groat was just about to show Lord Fox up to his mistress, when out of the woods to the south of the house, surprising Groat and the lad that usually acted as sentinel, colonel Duckett and his troopers appeared, riding fast and hard towards the house. Groat’s heart leapt into his mouth as with surprising dexterity the fat colonel brought his horse to a skidding halt and dismounted. Red-faced from his hard ride and panting with anger, the colonel looked first at Lord Fox and then at Groat, “My Lord Fox, Groat, I need to see you, sirs, and the Lady Belinda. Immediately!” Well, gentle reader, has this venture met an untimely end? Did my Lord Byron’s mare give him away? Shall we see the fayre Lady Belinda taken a prisoner to Shrewsbury Gaol in chains, and all that that would entail? Would it be over Groat’s dead, but faithful body? Find all of this out and more in the next instalment of the “TRUE relation of the Adventures of Belinda, Lady Daring and her faithful servant Groat” The Adventures of Lady Belinda Ch. 4 Notar bene - although the dramatis personae herebelow included are based upon some real people, living and historical, any resemblance between them and the people of the story is purely coincidental. In the last enstallment, gentle reader, our trepidous Lady met the less trepid George Pickstock. In putting her side of the argument, it is possible that Lady Belinda was a little too forceful in persuading the normally naturally felonious George, causing him to resent his recent employment. What will he do? Is the Lady Belinda riding into a trap, has George summoned the soldiers or will he bring other forces into play? Read on as we present - Part the twelfthe: A Meetinge in the Darkness Two nights later it was a very nervous George that once again heard his name called across the overgrown and cramped yard outside the little cottage. “PICKSTOCK! GEORGE PICKSTOCK! Come out, I have returned!” Had he but known it the rider who summoned him so imperiously was feeling anything but imperious. Groat had warned her that perhaps George might have resented the approach she had taken in their last encounter. Even as she waited Lady Belinda’s eyes roamed hither and yon about the dark clearing. Groat she knew was in the trees, armed and roving the darkness. He had loaded her pistols himself, giving her the more reliable flintlocks, and charging them carefully with meticulously measured powder and placing the ball and wadding carefully. At last George’s nervous face appeared at the door. “Well?” The rider asked as soon as she saw him. “Well what?” George asked nervously, unsure as to what was going to happen, and trying to conceal the fact that he had made plans himself. “George Pickstock, did you carry out the warrant of the Committee of the Heath?” The Lady Belinda, said confidently, slipping into her role of ‘Red Nick Bidstand’, chairman of the Committee of the Heath. If she had known that at that moment one of George’s less respectable friends was drawing a bead down upon her from the shadows, the Lady Belinda might not have been so confident. The man took his time, confident that George would hold the target in conversation while he made ready. Like the highway robbers' pistols, the sniper had a flintlock gun, but unlike hers the gun was a full musket with a three-quarter inch bore. Steadying the gun against a tree limb he sighted along the top of the barrel, even a musket would hit what it was aimed at this short range, and the sniper was a good shot. Now he aimed the gun at the rider, sighting for the dark mass of the rider’s upper torso, confident that when the ball hit, the rider would be shattered by the impact, and thrown to the floor, where he could be collected and, if he lived, or even if he did not, the body could be duly turned in for the reward. Click. Parte the thirteenth: - and the Advantages of a Loaded Pistol In the darkness of night a simple click can have many meanings, it could be the click of a closing door, or the welcoming click of a tinderbox about to light a fire. It might be the click of a gate shutting behind a returning traveller, or it might be, as it was in this case, the awe-inspiring click of a pistol being readied for firing right by the hearer’s ear. “Evenin’.” The large shadow spoke softly into the sniper’s ear. “E_, e_, e_, evening.” The sniper stuttered back. “What you have just heard,” the shadow whispered hoarsely, “was the sound of a piece of pyrites being placed against the steel wheel that provides the ignition for a wheel-lock pistol - possibly the most complicated fire-arm available in the world today. “The problem with a wheel-lock is that the firing mechanism is not as reliable as it could be. Now I could pull the trigger and the wheel rotates and nothing happens, or I could pull the trigger, the spark catches the priming which goes through to the powder in the barrel sending a twelve gauge ball into the side of your head. “The question is will it go off or won’t it? And you’ve got to ask yourself - do you feel lucky? Well? Do you?” It was obvious from the way that the musket was pulled away and off the target that the sniper did not feel that lucky. As it was, the next thing he was aware of was a soundless explosion of lights in the darkness and the heavy pistol was used as a club to knock him unconscious. “Do you know what?” Groat quietly asked the prone form, as he hefted the newly acquired musket and stole off towards the back of the cottage. “I kind of wonder what would’ve happened myself?” From her vantage point all the Lady Belinda was aware of was the sight of Groat appearing concealed from George’s view, waving the all-clear. The highwaywoman dismounted quickly and strode up to the doorway of the cottage. Pickstock tried to shut the door but Belinda shoved her way in. She thrust her pistol under his chin and, in as fierce a whisper as she could manage, she urged George to speak. And speak he did. His plan had clearly not worked, he was on his own with the obviously murderous leader of the Committee of the Heath. “Five nights from now, in the Tannat valley near Oswestry. There’s a tavern, the Three Feathers. Three hundred yards beyond there, there’s a split oak tree, wait there an hour before midnight and some one will contact you.” “Give me a name, George, I want a name!” Pickstock was rising on his tip-toes from the pressure of the pistol-barrel. “I don’t know a name - no ‘onest, really I don’t. I just heard one thing_” “Speak!” “I heard them say ap Evan, that was all.” The rider dropped him and made for the door, pausing the leader of the Committee turned and said, “Be warned George Pickstock. The Committee of the Heath of the Heath rewards those that serve it well, but the foulest fates await those that cross it. You decide which one you’d be.” And with that the rider was mounted and away. Parte the fowrteenth: Verilie a New and Furthe Complication As the Lady Belinda and Groat rode back to Castle D’Airing, riding around in a circle south away from Myddle parish, they talked about George’s information. Groat was not impressed, “It’s a dirty little place, and as far as I remember it’s full of the worst sort, thieves and cut-throats to a man.” “What are we now, Groat?” “Begging your pardon my lady, there’s thieves and then there’s thieves, and the likes of villain as you’d find up that part of the world, ‘ud slit their granny up and they thought she was hiding something. Some of ‘em was dragoons during the war - they could strip a house in minutes.” “Well what about this ap Evan?” “As I remember it they’re all called ap Evan - son of Evan.” “So there’s no course left but to go up and have a look, is there?” Groat wished that there was, but his mistress was right, the only option left was to go there and find out. Just then they heard the sound of horses on the road in front of them. A coach was heading towards them. Groat was about to pull his horse off the road and let the coach pass, when he realised that Lady Belinda had pulled up her kerchief and drawn her pistols. Lady Belinda D’Airing was determined to be a highway robber, and to be sure a coach was a robber’s stock-in-trade. “God help us and save us! NO!” he thought as he moved to one side, but just then her ‘highway man’s voice’ rang out in the night. “STAND YE AND DELIVER!” The coach man brought the horses to an abrupt stop. His postillion looked to see what had brought them to a stand. The rider in front of them waved his pistols, suggesting they dismount onto the verge. “You, catch-fart!” The robber indicated the postillion, “Unhitch the horses.” The man hurried to do the robber’s bidding. When that was done, the robber summoned the passengers to dismount. In the light of the carriage lamps the sole occupant of the coach was a girl, still in her teens. From her clothes Groat judged that she was from a well-off family, but not gentry. That was why the coach-men had capitulated so easily, it was a livery coach, not retainers. “Hand over your valuables girl.” The robber demanded. “To whom?” Groat had to admire the girl’s defiance. “Let us say,” Lady Belinda answered her, “The Committee of the Heath has judged your Imposition to be all that you own of value.” From his vantage point Groat saw the girl catch her breath, almost as if she was enjoying the experience. Just then the postillion who had been told to throw down a little coffer, made too rapid a movement and to Groat’s astonishment, the Lady Belinda shot him. Actually, he corrected himself, seconds later, she had shot at him, the bullet passing within a half of an inch of his nose, “The next one will be through your head, God damn you! “Now you girl, bring me the chest.” Willingly almost, the young girl brought the chest to the robber’s stirrup. Handing it up to him as she would a present to a friend. The Lady Belinda was about to turn the mare away when the girl spoke, “I pray you my Lord Bidstand, since you have had all of my worth, may I ask a favour.” Intrigued the Lady Belinda paused in her departure as the girl went on excitedly, “Sir robber, may I request a kiss, of such a famous highway man?” Even at the distance he was away from the pair, Groat heard Lady Belinda cough. “Damn you for a strumpet, girl! D’ye kiss every man that would rob you? Save your lips for one as would want them.” Entranced by the experience of being robbed by the Committee the girl had been ensorceled by the romance of it. When Lady Belinda had refused her that romance turned to anger. “Wait until my uncle hears of this, you bloody bastard!” The girl screamed at the diminishing back of the robber. “He’ll see your neck as long my arm for this you whoreson bastard, you boy-loving dognapper! I’ll laugh when you swing you pig-futtering jack-thief!” I hope she never kissed her mother with that mouth! Groat thought to himself as he slipped away from the scene. Even as he made his way through the darkness to catch up with his mistress, he could hear the girl’s imprecations resounding through the woods. Suddenly Groat felt a chill wrap him in its cold embrace, and he knew that there would be complications from this little bit of business. The next day that feeling was brought home with a vengeance when both Groat and lady Belinda, walking in the gardens at Castle D’Airing were treated to the site of the coach and four, with an escort of troopers drove up the road to the house. Groat went cold at the thought of what might happen, only for that to be replaced by his usual nausea at the sight of colonel Duckett, who approached them both with what the colonel hoped was a beaming greeting for the fair lady. Following the colonel was a young lady, a young lady that both of them found uneasily familiar. “Dear Lady,” the colonel said greasily, “Please allow me the pleasure of introducing my niece Amber.” Belinda extended her hand and the girl, as good form dictated took it and kissed it, curtseying to the noblewoman. The colonel’s beam disappeared, “Unfortunately her parents have been inconvenienced by these late troubles and have sojourned to sunnier shores.” As royalists they had been forced to flee into exile, Groat gave thanks to providence that at least someone in the colonel’s family had sense. “My niece will be staying with me for a while.” God help her, Groat added. “I trust you are well this morning, Amber?” Lady Belinda asked. The girl looked own at the floor, “I am sorry, my Lady, but I am not_” Belinda was just about to ask why not, when Duckett broke in. “That damned highway man, Red Nick! Not only did he rob my niece last night, but the villain tried to have his way with her as well. Damn fine thing she fought him off though, ain’t it?” “Quite so.” Both Belinda and Groat fought back their surprise. But Duckett was in fine flow and after cursing Red Nick to hell and an eternity in the execrable fires of torment, he went on, “Thought I’d bring the girl to meet you, as you’re the only woman around here with the feminine qualities. You’re a godly woman, and a gentle woman.” Groat coughed. The Colonel went on, “Amber needs those things in her life. I pray you my lady D’Airing, be her teacher in these things. I cannot teach her more than a soldier’s skills and the barracks life - and I could be more than grateful.” The colonel smiled meaningfully, now even Belinda’s stomach turned. Thinking quickly she stalled, obviously the colonel wanted to farm out the poor child out, but the way things were at the moment, it might prove difficult. Taking the colonel by his wrist and leading him through the garden, Belinda turned her not inconsiderable charms on the man. Groat followed with the girl, making small talk and chit-chat. Reflecting, in the morning sunshine that the shy young lady before him had, the night before called an infamous highwayman ‘a pig-futtering jack-thief’. “I beg you, dear colonel Duckett, allow me one week, Castle D’Airing has for too long been a man’s house, and though my father and my brothers no longer reside here, their shadow is long over the house, and it is still no fit place for a child of gentle nature. “Allow me a week to put the house to rights and gladly Amber can come and live here.” It was almost what Duckett wanted to hear, though the delay bothered him, he’d have to find suitable accommodation for the girl till then. Once more his oily face beamed, he was about to say ‘a week then?’, but Belinda stopped him. “I shall send a messenger when I am ready.” Stalled the colonel put his best face on the matter, “Until then dear Lady, I await, your servant. Come Amber, we must away!” Once again Amber demurely curtseyed her respects before she followed her uncle to the coach. Groat looked at his mistress as she stood there regarding their departing forms. Just for once both of them were speechless. Parte the fifteenthe:A Quiet Pint Five nights later, Groat and his mistress were once again riding through the moonlight. This time it was the end of a long ride. Ahead of them the lights of the tavern shone through the windy evening. Trees on the valley sides rustled and shook as the breeze ruffled them. Belinda, in her highwayman’s clothes blessed the long casaque she wore and shrugged the collar higher, while Groat nervously looked around them. Once again he had been careful to tell his mistress as much as he could about the area, it was true he had family up this way, but it was not something he was proud of. Still people in this valley were sensitive, and feelings between them and the English from just across the border often ran deep. “We just go in and have a quiet beer until it’s time to go. Then as soon as we’ve done we’re gone from here.” No one would have described Groat as a timorous man, but in all of this business so far he had never been so nervous. The tavern, though lit, was gloomy inside from smoke and poor lighting. As the two walked up to the door they could hear laughter and conversation from inside. As the two of them entered, that conversation died to a threatening stillness. His worst fears recognised, Groat ordered two beers. The girl put the pots on the bar, slopping them carelessly, spilling beer on Groat’s coat. Suddenly a voice spoke from the darkness of the common room, “ I donnow - they sounded like they was English to me.” “Me too!” Another voice chimed in. “Don’t be daft, what would bloody English be doin’ across this side of the border on a night like this?” This question went unanswered for a moment, the silence that followed building even more tension in the room. “Do yew think?” The first voice asked. “Do yew think they could be some of those ‘pewritans’ come to convert us ‘eathen Welsh to their English church, or something daft like that?” Groat was about to turn around when his mistress beat him to it. Turning to face the speakers in the dark she offered loudly, “If any of you pox-ridden, whoreson bastard, sheep shaggers have got a problem with two travellers taking a drink, why don’t you say something, instead of whispering in the dark like a bunch of nancy little girlies who are afraid of the teacher, otherwise shut your toothless, rotten mouths and God damn you all to an everlasting torment in the cess pits of the Devil’s own dung-hole, being shit on by the turds of a thousand devils.” While Groat was impressed by his mistresses imagination he was not so sure of the locals. As a man they stood and moved to surround the two at the bar. Impassively Belinda looked at the biggest of them, and quietly she asked, “Well?” And there gentle readers we must leave our daring duo. Has our heroine’s way with the English language turned the trick? Or will the Welsh take offence at being called sheep-shaggers? Are the two travellers going to find time called a little early? More will be revealed in the next round of the Adventures of Belinda Lady D’Airing and her faithful servant Groat The Adventures of Lady Belinda "Sounds like a plan to me Mister Groat." And he named his price. When Groat offered his price it actually wasn't that much shy of the one George had asked for, but it was enough for George to know who had been in charge of the deal. As he led the mare out of the paddock, Pickstock handed the halter to Groat, "You know, Mister Groat," George said in all seriousness, "You let me drive a hard bargain, you really do Mister Groat." "Thank you George, I shall remember that." And with that he turned the two animals and made his way into Shrewsbury to buy barley. At the same time that Groat was making his way to Shrewsbury, in the family's rooms at Castle D'Airing Lady Belinda was hatching her own plan. She began by rummaging through the chests of clothes that had belonged to her brothers. Selecting a non-descript doublet and breeches, a shirt, a dark hat and a pair of men's riding boots, she tried them for size, finding that they fitted her with a minimum of alteration. Satisfied with her work, she made her way back to her apartments, where she hid the male apparel at the bottom of a chest. Next she went to the small room, that everyone in the castle, including herself called the 'armoury', where she selected two pistols and some powder and ball. These went with the men's clothes in the bottom of the chest. Finally the Lady Belinda wrote a note for Colonel Duckett, asking whether he would attend a dinner one evening. As she had to arrange for other guests what evenings in the near future, she asked, her writing sweet innocence, would he be free? This she sealed and despatched with one of Groat's trainee servants. That accomplished, Belinda Lady D'Airing considered it to be an afternoon well-spent. Groat too had had a good afternoon. He'd not only purchased barley, but his new mare was settled at one of the local tenements belonging to the D'Airing estates. Widow Elizabeth Harley had been glad to look after Mister Groat's horse, which he said he might call for at any time, such was Groat's manner with many of the tenants, the Widow Harley was more than happy to accommodate the horse. From there Groat returned to the castle. Reflecting the satisfaction of his mistress Groat decided he'd done a good day's work. To be continued...