Chapter 15: Being Economical With the Truth

Harvesting of the cider apple crop was in full swing, and John Dymoke had not yet re-joined the regiment. Horse Guards had written to inform me Dymoke was due to travel to Taunton sometime after Christmas, almost three months in the future.
I had expected, hoped, to have relinquished command by Christmas at the latest, able then to go, cap in hand, to Colonel Slade or John Stafford, and ask for a position in either of their departments, and thus be at the centre of any search for Eloise de la Zouche. However it would seem I would have to wait longer before starting my search for the one remaining member of the murderous crew responsible for the death of my family, and until all the perpetrators of that foul deed were dead I would not be able to continue a normal life. There was nothing in my mind but revenge. Sometimes it took up all my thoughts, but at times, like now, it merely sat at the back of my mind, ready to blossom when any shred of evidence leading to the killers was unearthed.

However, the longer I remained Colonel of the Lincoln Militia the more settled I became in the position. The regimental officers, who had at first sight resembled a bunch of bumbling amateurs, were now friends and comrades in arms.
Miles Davis was one I especially valued, someone to whom I owed my life.
Lewis Armstrong spent as much time at ‘Muscovy’ as I did, as he and Peter Crossley had struck up a friendship based on their love and knowledge of apple cultivation. Lewis was also galloping Rulenska Crossley on a regular basis, as were several members of the Quantock Hunt, and all the officers of the Lincoln Militia – with the exception of their Colonel.
I was somewhat aggrieved Rulenska had not attempted to get into my breeches -- not that I would have allowed her that familiarity, but I wondered why I alone among the officers of the regiment did not merit a galloping.

One afternoon, during one of my frequent visits to ‘Muscovy’, she told me the reason.

I unexpectedly encountered Rulenska on her return home from a stag hunt. She was dressed in a fetching riding ensemble; breeches so tightly cut her femininity was clearly delineated, and a figure flattering riding jacket, although her figure did not need a deal of flattering as it was already superb. She wore a low crowned hat, held on her head by a silk scarf tied under her chin. Highly polished, black riding boots, that emphasised her shapely legs, completed the outfit.
She came through the front door of Muscovy untying the silk scarf fastening her hat, and then she saw me.

“Hello, Elijah, have you come to sample the cider – or me?”
She always addressed me as Elijah, as had Caroline, and always made a suggestive comment. She took off her hat, then unpinned her hair so it fell below her shoulders in a waterfall of silken black hair.
I watched in pleasure as she put her hands to her head and did the lift and shrug women do with their hair.

“No, Lady Rulenska, I have come for neither, only to give Ivan some documents.”
She pouted. “I make the joke, Elijah. And please to call me Rulenska, not lady.” She gave me a long searching look as if reading my mind.
“The reason I not take you to bed, Elijah, is when I ^^^^ “ – she used a word which I believe is Hungarian, and means, in a very crude and earthy way, fornication – “a man I want him only of me thinking, and how best to please me with his ^^^^^”. She used another, obscene, foreign word, which I will not offend you by translating.
Rulenska smiled sadly. “You have death of wife in brain only. I wait until you have only desire to “ — that vulgar Hungarian word again – “ me inside your brain and your “ – another usage of the obscene foreign word – “inside me.”
As she moved closer to me I caught the musky odour of her sweat-scented body, and saw traces of blood smeared on her face from the stag she had hunted and killed. She gave me a soft, comforting, kiss on my lips.
“You need woman, Elijah, not for love but for “ – Hungarian word –.”One day you will want to “ – Hungarian word – “a woman, and I hope it is me. Now, I go see Huntsman and “ – Hungarian word – “him until he can no longer stand upright.” She giggled, “and me also.”

At the beginning of November I decided to move the companies from the locations where I had originally placed them. Initially I had wanted the men to fit into their neighbourhoods with a minimum of friction between them and the locals, something which had certainly been accomplished.
At times, especially during the harvesting of the apple crop, completed at the end of October, militiamen could be mistaken for villagers. They took a full part in many of the village activities of farming, fishing, or cider making, which made too comfortable a relationship if one day the villagers became rioters or dissenting mobs.
I made a straight exchange of those companies at Taunton with those at Watchet and Crowcombe, and the two Bridgewater companies with those at Nether Stowey and Combwich. I decided to take over in Bridgewater, although the Regimental HQ remained in Taunton, as did Otto Blackmore and Casper Shufflebottom. Otto was in a relationship with a Taunton female, and Casper was often scrubbing Bathsheba’s back in Brackstone; it would have caused them, and ultimately me, anguish if they were dragged away to Bridgewater.
As my tenure as Commanding Officer of the Lincoln Militia would soon be ending I gave charge of the Regimental HQ to Coleman Hawkins, allowing him the space, and freedom, to put his own mark on the regiment. If Dymoke did not stir his stumps and soon take up the reins of command, Coleman might be appointed in my stead. The experience of running the regimental headquarters would be useful to him.

A few days after the relocation of the companies, Ivan Crossley visited me in Bridgewater. We exchanged small talk while I waited for him to reveal the purpose for his visit. As suspected, it was the matter of Cornelius Clark’s Last Will and Testament. Clark had died two weeks earlier; the pox had eaten away his face and his brain, and he died in the Asylum raving, while paying customers laughed and jeered as he capered crazily around his cell.
I had been a visitor at an earlier time when Clark still had periods of lucidity, and during one such moment I reminded him of his crime, and said how his suffering brought joy to my heart, which was the truth.

“I never thought Cornelius Clark possessed a philanthropic nature, and yet he left a subnational fortune to the workers he had been in dispute with only a few months before his death,” Ivan said.

“God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform,” I sneered.
Crossley glared at me; he was a Churchwarden, and on many a Sunday read the lesson in St Mary Magdalene church, at least so I had been told. I had not set foot in any church since my arrival in Taunton.
I jabbed more pins of heresy into him. “It seems obvious Clark made his will when he first discovered he had the pox. He probably thought the fearsome God Christians pray to had inflicted the disease on him, and to evade a long spell in Purgatory for his many sins decided to give all his possessions away, thus being eligible to enter heaven and ride his camel through an eye of a needle. Later, when the pox began to destroy his brain, he forgot he had made such a will and reverted to his bad old ways.”
I chuckled, watching Ivan striving to keep his temper at my goading.

“I know you suffered a loss of faith when you lost your family, Jack, but you should try to come to terms with what has happened, and seek comfort, and forgiveness, from Our Lord.” He was turning the other cheek, but I was not prepared to give him that satisfaction.

“If the reason you rode to Bridgewater, Magistrate Crossley, was to save my soul then you have made a wasted journey, and I wish you a good morning.”

He sighed. “Elijah Greenaway, I know you are a good man at heart, and only strike at God in anger – but eventually you will return to Him, and not blame Him for what happened to your family.”
He paused, and gave a thin-lipped smile.”I also know you trained as a scrivener, and Sergeant Shufflebottom worked in the same law office as you in Grantham. Clerks at Law often carry out what is known as ‘documentation’ on legal papers.”
He waited for me to reply, but I just stared stony faced at him.
“Very well, Colonel, Your silence compels me to voice my suspicion alterations were applied to the Last Will and Testament of the late Cornelius Clark —”

“You have physical evidence of any alteration?”
He shook his head “No, I do not, but the work would have been carried out by trained, skilled, clerks – such as Sergeant Shufflebottom. And yourself.”
I gave a snort of contempt. “Because he and I once worked at a lawyer’s office we are suspected of such a crime? Such ‘proof’ of a felony would be laughed out of court in London.”
He flushed angrily. “You and he were the only two people to enter Quantock House after his arrest. Moreover, you hold him – held him – responsible for your family’s death. When Miss Dawkins —”

“Who?” I said.

“When Miss Bathsheba Dawkins appeared in my office with the last will and testament of her former employer, which she said was found when cleaning the study, I was somewhat suspicious. Serving girls are not generally assured enough to face a magistrate, but Miss Dawkins was confident, and in funds. She told me she was leaving Brackstone, and had already booked a seat on the Bristol coach. I surmised, from her being able to afford the two shillings fare, someone, you, had paid her to bring the documents to my attention — “
I interrupted him. “Bathsheba could have earned the two shilling fare on her back in one night, even more if she is as talented as Cornelius Clark boasted.”
“Miss Dawkins is a whore? I thought she was Clark’s housemaid?” he exclaimed, shocked and amazed, and having his ‘proof’ of malfeasance by Casper and me blown away.

“She was Clark’s housemaid and whore, and now, because her employer and provider was committed to an asylum, she is anyone with the wherewithal’s whore. No doubt she wishes to move to Bristol, and have her skills appreciated by a wider circle of patrons than is found in Brackstone. The young woman shows a commendable spirit of initiative, and will probably do very well on the dockside.”

Actually, Bathsheba was moving to Bath to join her sister Delilah, who is employed in a high-class sporting house near the Pump Room.
Bathsheba graduated from a begrimed slattern to being a desirable, delectable doxy, and Casper could take much credit for the transformation. His frequent, sometimes unpaid, visits to ‘scrub her back’ gave her not only money to improve her appearance but also self-confidence in her ability and appeal, thereby attracting a better class of customer. As Casper had predicted, a more generous breed of males now engaged her services, when she was not engaging with Casper of course.
Ivan Crossley held out his hand. “I apologise, Jack, for the suspicions I held of you and Sergeant Shufflebottom. Will you please accept them, and forgive me?”
Naturally, I shook his hand and forgave him, and by proxy for Casper, although I was chortling inside. Caspar and I had sucessfully pulled the wool over a magistrate’s eyes; always a hugely gratifying experience.