Chapter 22: The Road to Bristol

I was down at breakfast early next morning, although it took all my resolve to uncouple myself from a sleeping Mimi and leave the place and person that had conveyed me to paradise.
That night Mimi demonstrated what she had promised earlier.
I shall not describe what she did to me, suffice it to say I experienced delirious ecstasy, and was ridden to the limit of my sexual strength, before being rejuvenated by Mimi’s accomplished body, mouth, tongue, and hands. I went to a place I had never been before, and was assured by Mimi she would transport me there often, but I might require a helping hand from Professor Potter to fully enjoy all that she had to offer.
Mimi stirred as I buttoned up my tunic.

“Come back to bed, my love” Her sultry tone nearly had me unfastening my jacket, ripping off my trousers and leaping back into bed, but there was to be a Loyal Address later that morning at Leigh Court, and I knew where my duty lay.
I kissed her soft lips “Duty calls, my love. I need some sustenance to regain the strength leeched from me by you last night, and then must see to my men.”
She smiled sweetly. “Oh well, there is always tonight.” With that she turned over and fell back asleep.

It was going to be long day, and another energetic night, so at breakfast I helped myself to a large portion of kedgeree. Mr Howard had served with the East India Company as a District Magistrate, and had brought back a recipe for this Indian dish when he retired.
After breakfast my first port of call was the dais, which had arrived at Leigh Court at daybreak and was in process of being re-assembled.
There was a lack of labourers at Leigh Court so I drafted Captain Botham’s troop to help the carpenters fit the various beams and planks together. Botham was notable by his absence, no doubt still guarding the body of Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent. I removed my tunic, rolled up my shirtsleeves, and helped heave the beams and joists into place. My efforts were warmly appreciated by the men, and even shamed Lieutenant Dexter and Cornet Compton in to lending a hand.

With the platform assembled, I took a stroll around the grounds of Leigh Court, obseving the proximity of St Catherine’s Church, with its Norman tower, to the estate. Although the odds of there being another crossbow-armed assassin in the vicinity were scant I was taking no chances, and ordered Cornet Compton to have the church searched, and then have the front door locked and guarded, with a man placed on the tower as a look out.

With the dais completed and guards and piquets set I relaxed and took myself up to the top of the tower of St Catherine’s Church. The landscape was similar to Lincolnshire’s fenlands. Low lying, marshy and boggy in places, with drainage ditches channelling excess water west towards the River Severn.
From my vantage point I had good all round observation, and any one approaching Leigh Court could be easily spotted. Belatedly I remembered the flag wielding system I had thought about at Tewkesbury Abbey. However, I decided the man on the tower would be able to attract the attention of the man guarding the church door if the need arrived.

The Loyal Address held at Leigh Court was a smaller affair than at Tewkesbury Abbey. The Lord Mayor and Aldermen of Gloucester were accompanied by the choir of Gloucester Cathedral, but the Bishop, who had attended at Tewkesbury Abbey, was now fully involved in the purification ceremony of the Abbey. The deputy Lieutenant Governor did not attend as he had also attended the Tewkesbury Abbey event.
The Cathedral choir sang ‘Zadok the Priest’, although by now I think even the most ardent fan of Georg Friederich Handel were sated with the over frequent rendering of his works.
After the ceremony the Royal Party had a cold collation for lunch, during which time the dais was dismantled and readied for transportation to Blandon Hall, where the Royal Party would spend the next three nights, and endure another Loyal Address, this time from the Mayor and Aldermen of Thornbury.
It occurred to me that Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent could probably recite the Loyal Address from memory.
As far as I knew the form and content did not differ, other than that of the name of the town or city whose Mayor gave the address

Blandon Hall was some twenty miles to the south of Leigh Court, and I impressed on all the carriage and coach drivers to maintain a steady pace, preferably a working trot. The road to Thornbury was well surfaced and flat, and I hoped to reach the residence of Alasdair Cambull before dark.
In fact the sun was just setting over the Welsh hills when the Royal Progress drew into the grounds of Blandon Hall, a building slightly smaller, and only slightly less ostentatious, than Blenheim Palace.
It was a garish monument to Mammon, built some seventy years ago at the height of the slave trade, and high prices for sugar and rum. The owner’s fortune had declined with the end of the Napoleonic War, and the suppression of the slave trade from Africa.
Alasdair Cambull had acquired the property four years previously, and then added an extra wing, which made the already overblown structure rather grotesque.

The Royal Party was to spend three nights at Blandon Hall, during which time a banquet, a Grand Ball, and a Loyal Address were to take place.
The three day stay at Blandon Hall would allow repairs to be made to the carriages and coaches; horses to be re-shod, harnesses and saddlery overhauled, and a general relaxation, although the Fourth Light Dragoons were still responsible for the safety of the Royal Party.
At night Mimi and I continued to push the boundaries of lovemaking, and Professor Potter’s Potion continued to assist me in doing so.

However, the main reason for our extended stay at Blandon Hall was for the Duchess to enlist the support of Cambull.
I do not know what lure she used to snare him – Cambull was wealthy enough for two men, and had scant regard for titles – but by the satisfied smiles on the faces of both the Duchess and Sir John Conroy when we left Blandon Hall three days later it would appear they had secured his support and probably that of others of the local gentry.
I saw little of Humphrey Appleby during the three days, but supposed he was probing the housekeeper, a flint faced, poker stiff, black bombazine clad female of around fifty years of age, and I wished him the best of luck in gaining her confidences.

The Loyal Address concluded; and then the choir from Saint Arilda, the parish church of Oldbury on Severn, sang; not Handel, but William Byrd’s Haec Dies’ – two minutes of pure bliss.
I was humming the tune, probably off key, as I led the Royal Progress out of the palatial grounds of Blandon Hall towards Bristol.
Birds sang in the greening hedgerows, and the scent of broom and sedge wafted from the surrounding wetlands. A parliament of rooks argued and quarrelled in a stand of hornbeam trees away to my left, and the whole air was suffused with sunshine, warmth, and general joyousness of an English spring morning.
God is in His heaven and all is right in the world.

An hour into the journey and Humphrey Appleby joined me. He had a smug expression on his face that begged me to ask him why he was so pleased with himself. Not willing to puncture the air of congeniality and peace about me, I asked him if hearing a choir sing Byrd’s motet had made him so jubilant.
He shook his head. “Personally I prefer Handel to that rather old fashioned style of music. No, the reason I am in such good spirits is I have identified the Organisation’s man who has been visiting our suspects.”

“Your probing of the housekeeper was successful... ?”

“That bandy legged, acid faced harridan! Casanova himself would have been unable to breach her defences No, my informant was the cook, Delilah Smith, a buxom widow, who was as pleased as punch for me to probe her, although she damned near killed me with her exuberance, especially as I was also galloping...”

“You were putting Baroness Lehzen over the jumps while probing the... ?”

“No, fortunately Louise has the painters in, and I am currently galloping...”

“‘Has the painters in’? What are you on about, Humph?”

“My, my, you are a backwards lot in Lincolnshire. ‘Having the painters in’ is a euphemism, meaning a female has her monthly visitor, Jack.”

“Oh.” It was a term I was not familiar with, probably used in the salons of London but certainly not in Grantham or Valenciennes.
“But I interrupted you, Humph. You say you have identified a senior Organisation member?”
He gave a wide smile. “Cornelius Van de Valk, a wealthy, well connected merchant of Delft, and reputed to be among those who make the decisions in the Organisation, visited Blandon Hall two weeks ago. In fact I believe him to be the ‘foreign gentleman’ Henrietta Golightly, the housekeeper in Mount Bank Hall, informed me had been a guest at Pierce Morghan’s residence.”

“How could the cook at Blandon Hall be sure the man was Dutch – does she speak the language?”

“Exactly the question I asked Delilah. Her reply was ‘he wanted cheese for breakfast – what man, other than a Dutchmen, would eat cheese at that time of day? And not an honest English cheese like Double Gloucester or Cheddar, oh no, Mynheer demanded that stinking Limburger cheese. I had to send to Bristol for some, and it took a week to get the stench from out of my pantry’.”

“So Van de Valk has visited both Pierce Morghan and Alasdair Cambull. Has he visited Reece-Mogg?”
“No, it seems Van de Valk wants to recruit a person with influence in the House of Commons rather than in the House of Lords – he may have already recruited somebody from ‘the other place’. I will ascertain from Sir Boris if any of his informants report a Dutchman at any Peers’ residences in the past month, and also ask John Stafford if he has any relevant information.”

His statement puzzled me. “Why should Sir Boris or John Stafford have any knowledge of foreigners visiting Peers of the realm?”

“You are a partner in XTC are you not?”