Chapter 9: Interlude in Chippenham

The Wiltshire market town of Chippenham is situated some half way between Newark and Taunton, and where I decided to rest the regiment for a day. Repairs to waggon wheels showing signs of damage, such as loose wheel rims and broken spokes, needed to be carried out, and the respite would be a welcome break from marching for the men, who had conducted themselves well during the journey. Thanks to Rambo’s servicing of the local Cotswold sheep there was money in Regimental Funds to obtain ale for all the rank and file, and even enough to purchase brandy for the sergeants.

I was suprised to find a galloper from the Fourth Light Dragoons waiting for us in the town square, bearing fresh orders from Horse Guards.

The regiment was instructed to remain in Chippenham for three days, and then continue the march to Taunton if no further dispatches were received during the three-day period. I asked the young cornet who had brought the message if he had any idea why this order had been issued.

“The Fourth are presently at Reading, Colonel, and we had a galloper from London deliver the message. There have been rumours of disturbances in Kent and Essex, and our regiment is on twenty four hours’ notice to move to the area.” He saluted, eager to get back to his regiment now he had delivered the dispatch. “By your leave, Sir, I will return to the Fourth Dragoons.”

I waved him off, and as I watched him canter down the Great West Road towards Reading I wondered how widespread the unrest was in Kent, and if Caroline’s home village of Bearsted was involved.

The two counties of Kent and Essex had been the main areas of the uprising in 1381, known as the Peasants’ Revolt. Wat Tyler was a Maidstone man, and had been an important leader of a revolt which almost brought down the establishment of the nobility and the church.

The current government might be alarmed history was repeating itself.

It was while sitting in the Three Bells at Chippenham, regimental headquarters during our stay, a thought which had been niggling at my brain for a week or more came to fruition.

John Bailey, the magistrate from Hungerford, was ‘entertained’ at Taplow Court by young girls brought to the orgy in Metzendorf’s black coach, which was adapted to carry concealed, manacled, passengers.

I reflected on what may have happened to the girls after the orgy, once their virginity had been taken. Metzendorf abducted young girls and made them available to lecherous old men at orgies –– and afterwards, what? Were they then sold on to brothels, or sold into slavery to men with a penchant for young flesh?

I decided to ride the thirty or so miles to Hungerford and question Bailey on what he knew concerning the whereabouts of the girls present at the orgy held at Taplow Court. I assumed someone from John Stafford’s office had questioned the odious magistrate, but whoever carried out the interrogation might not have asked the necessary questions in a proper manner.

My questions would be accompanied with a sharp blade laid alongside Bailey’s throat; known to be an effective, if illegal, means of discovering the truth.

I informed Otto and Coleman Hawkins I would be away for the day. If new instructions arrived during my absence they were to carry out the orders, leaving Casper Shufflebottom in Chippenham to apprise me of the situation on my return. Otto asked if I was taking an escort.

“No, I will ride faster alone. Besides, this is not a Militia affair.”

I left Chippenham at first light the next morning and arrived in Hungerford about ten of the clock. I had stopped and looked over the ruins of Hungerford Hall before riding into the town, allowing my anger to mount as I gazed on the blackened remains, and thought of the terrible night my family had perished. Revenge, sharp and insistent, honed my anger into a red-hot blade of hatred for those responsible, but I kept my demon in check. Revenge is a dish best eaten cold, it is said, and I maintained an icy exterior beneath a raging fury as I knocked loudly on the door of Bailey’s residence.

I waited, my temper building at the delay, and was about to hammer on the door with the hilt of my broadsword when the door opened.

Mrs Bailey stood on the threshold, dressed as if she had just come from bed, with her hair unbound, cascaded over her shoulders. Her red, flushed, face and heavy breathing suggested she had been disturbed from an activity of some exertion. She wore a wool shawl draped loosely about her shoulders, but I noticed the bodice of the dress beneath gaped with undone buttons, and glimpsed the pale flesh of her breasts.

“My pardon for the delay, sir. I was attending to something in my bedroom and...” She looked at me more closely “Why, it is Major Greenaway is it not?” She pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders and curtsied. “Please, do come in sir.”

I followed her along the passageway that led to her husband’s study.

“It is now Colonel Greenaway, Missus Bailey.”

She stopped and turned to face me. “Forgive me, Colonel; I am not familiar with the badges of rank...”

I waved a hand. “Of course you are not, madam, and I would not expect you know of my promotion. However, when you announce me I want your husband to be aware I bear a higher rank than when we last spoke. I am here to ask him some more questions, and expect him to afford me the respect due to my rank. Is he in his study?”

“Bailey is dead, I’m pleased to say.” She saw the surprise on my face. “I make no apologies for what I just said. He was a brute and a bully, and a poor specimen of manhood.”