Chapter 36

edited by Old Rotorhead

Nathaniel had naturally gone to see his sister at Victoria’s. He was very fond of his sister, and he also wanted to know if there was any news of his mother. Angelica, normally the most sensible and level headed of women had been feeling a little under the weather as ladies are wont to do from time to time. So by the time had she caught up with Nathaniel she realised that her outburst had been, well, silly. She was only too aware that the job that Dennis was offering Nathaniel would further his career, and his prospects as a potential husband; a girl has to look to the main chance!

“Hello, Angelica,” said Narissa, who was the first to see her as she entered the millinery workshop.

Nathaniel turned and saw her and held out a hand to her. “Angelica my love. What brings you here?”

Angelica took his hand. “I have some good news for you,” she told him, and promptly burst into tears again.

Nathaniel put his arms around her and hugged her to him. “It can’t be very good news,” he said.

“I’m going to miss you,” Angelica sobbed. “I shan’t see you for years.”

“Why?” asked Nathaniel, “where are you going?”

Angelica pushed him away. “I’m not going anywhere, you idiot! You are!”

“Well not until ’Belatrix’ is loaded,” replied Nathaniel. “And that’ll be a week or two I should think.”

“Ooh!” Angelica stamped her foot in frustration. “You are going to America. Dennis wants you to take a new cylinder out to ’Rigel’ in California, and help fit it.”

“Well,” Nathaniel grinned, “That’s the first I’ve heard of it. It sounds wonderful.”

“Of course it’s the first you’ve heard of it, because I’ve just told you,” Angelica’s frustration was beginning to boil over. “And it’s not wonderful, because you will be away for years. You’d better come and talk to Dennis and he’ll tell you what he wants. Then you can buy me supper.”

Half an hour later they walked into Dennis’s office.

“Ah! Just the man,” said Dennis. “We’ve got a special job, Nat. D’you think you’re up for it?”

“If it’s what Angelica has been telling me, then yes,” Nathaniel replied.

“Right,” said Dennis. “You are to go to McPhersons in Glasgow. They’re machining a new low pressure cylinder for ‘Rigel’. You take that by train to Liverpool, put it and yourself on a liner for New York. When you get there you get it on the express to Chicago. From there it’s the Union Pacific for Sacramento, and then I think it’s Southern Pacific to San Francisco. It won’t be as straight forward as that to be sure, but you stick to it all the way, sleep with it if necessary. Any problems?

“When do I leave?”

“Soon as possible,” said Dennis. “Take tomorrow to get any special stuff you need. I’d suggest a revolver would be good.”

“I’ll take him to see my man,” said Angelica.

Dennis grinned. “That’ll be good. Come in tomorrow and I’ll have money and letters for you,” Dennis told him.

They stood and shook hands.

“Now,” said Angelica, linking her arm through Nathaniel’s, “where are you taking me for supper?”

Almost the first thing that Jake and Hermione wanted to do on their return to Bristol was see the children. All the men that Jake knew who had children seemed to take little interest in them, they were just ... well he wasn’t sure what, just something that arrived shortly after you acquired a wife. The older men were either proud of their sons, rarely their daughters, or they were cursing them for being wastrels. Jake on the other hand was fascinated by the little people and their development, and in turn the children related to him, and particularly to the stories that he told them. Jake and Hermione had not been away long, but it certainly seemed as though they had when they saw the changes that had happened even in that short time. Of course, the children wanted to know all about where Jake and Hermione had been, and what had happened to them. They sat down to so that Jake could tell them all about it, with the children sitting on the floor or the maids laps. Little Aoife came to Hermione, held out her arms and said ‘Mama’, then with Hermione’s assistance, climbed up onto her and cuddled into her. They all sat enthralled by Jake’s narrative. Hermione as usual was amazed at what she must have missed, where had she been when the pirates attacked them when they crossed to Calais? And then the evil genius with his band of dwarfs who tried to steal Hermione’s jewellery, what jewellery was that, she wondered. But then again it would account for the fact that she had very little, something she ought to rectify, perhaps a hint or two she mused, because she was very fond of sparkly things. In the best possible taste of course. Then the narrative moved on to Paris, where Jake was unable to improve on the real events, and so on until all the children were nodding off, and it was declared that it was time for bed. As they left Hermione had a tear in her eye. All the children had kissed her and called her mama.

Bea followed Amanda and stepped up into the coach. She stopped and fiddled with her hat.

“No need for that,” snarled the man behind her, “you won’t have it on much longer.” and he prodded her forward with his gun. She moved into the coach and the man stepped up into the coach behind her, and turned to close the door. As he leant out to catch the door Bea turned and thrust her hat pin into his backside. With a howl the man lurched forward, tripped, and fell out face first into the inevitable pile of horse droppings in the street. As this was happening Amanda had reached for the second man’s generous beard, wrapped a good chunk of it around her hand and pulled the man to half standing as he tried to relieve the pressure. He screamed and, clearly not an experienced abductor of young women, dropped his gun in order to grab Amanda’s hand to stop her pulling.

Bea picked up the man’s gun. “You can let go of him now, Amanda,” she told her companion. “Sit down,” she continued speaking to the man, the gun pointed at his head. She handed her reticule to Amanda.

“Take out the Derringer and keep him covered,” she told her. “I’ll take care of the other one.”

She looked out of the door to see the other man dancing, doing what appeared to be a jig, although largely on one leg. She stepped out, bent down and scooped up his revolver and cocked it.

“Get in the coach!” her voice dripping with contempt. “My god you are such a big baby, a little hat pin ... I thought all the men out west were supposed to be ... men!

The man looked daggers at her, but the revolver was very persuasive and he mounted the step. As he did so she moved behind him, caught the head of the hat pin and pulled it out to the tune of another howl.

Amanda was sitting opposite the second man, covering him with the Derringer and Bea told the first to sit alongside his friend which he did awkwardly, whilst she sat next to Amanda. She now had two of the latest Colt revolvers, that, taken together with the men’s well tailored suits told her that they were at least reasonably prosperous.

“First,” she began, “let me tell you that if you attempt anything I shall shoot you. I have done it before, and I shan’t hesitate. Do you understand?”

Both men nodded.

“Now let’s have some names, you first,” she pointed to the first man.

“Jonathon Deaux,” said the man, wincing.

“Henry Mortimer,” said the second.

“Good,” said Bea. “See how easy it is to be reasonable. So, are you married?”

Both men nodded.

“And whose coach is this?”

“His,” said Mortimer, indicating his partner.

“Driver!” Bea raised her voice. “Home!”

“Yes, ma’am,” the driver returned with a grin in his voice.

The whip cracked and the coach set off.

“You can’t do this,” began Deaux. “What’ll our wives say?”

“It’s going to be interesting to find out,” said Bea to a giggle from Amanda. “And in any case you need some medical attention to your ... wound,” she smiled.

After a drive of about twenty minutes they arrived at a large house built in a highly decorative style and set in its own grounds. The driver pulled up to an imposing front entrance. The was door opened after no more than a few seconds by a uniformed footman. This, thought Bea, was getting more and more interesting.

With the men out of the coach she marched them at gunpoint into the foyer.

“Stand still!” she told the men. “Will you ask your mistress to join us, please,” she said to the footman.

“Yes ma’am!” said the footman. He left to carry out the instruction.

No more than two minutes elapsed before three ladies joined them, two young and one older.

“What is going on?” asked the leading lady, a tall slim woman with a rather angular face.

Bea introduced herself. “I am Lady Beatrice Hatherley, my companion, Miss Amanda Collins,” she indicated Amanda. “These, ah, gentlemen attempted to abduct us with the intention of forcing themselves on us. I believe this one,” she prodded Jonathon Deaux, “lives here.”

“He’s my husband,” the leading lady confirmed. “I am Jane Deaux. What have you been up to this time Jonathon? Whatever it is, when father finds out you are going to be in deep trouble.”

“He d-doesn’t have to know,” stuttered a very subdued Jonathon, all bravado completely gone now.

“With mother here I rather think she will enjoy telling him. God knows she never thought much of you, and now you are returned here at the point of your own gun by a wisp of a girl, begging, your pardon,” she said to Bea, “some man aren’t you?”

“But she stabbed me,”

Janelle looked at Bea questioningly.

“With my hat pin,” said Bea smiling, “in his ... backside.”

Jane’s face showed a smile. “Well,” she addressed her husband, “when that tale gets around town you aren’t going to be able to show your face anywhere, especially at Miss Forsale’s establishment, I shall see her personally. Now get out of my sight, you disgusting creature!”

Her husband left after giving Bea a look that should have killed her on the spot.

“And you been a party to this, Henry?” asked the other young woman, a pretty curvaceous woman with a mass of blonde curls. “You have disgraced yourself once again. Everyone knows that you follow Jonathon about like a puppy, and when the story of how he got wounded gets about, people will look at me with pity. How do you think I shall feel? I doubt that I shall be able to forgive you for a very long time. And these poor innocent ladies having to fight for their virtue against brutes like you and Jonathon.”

Henry looked as though he would explode. “ You do me an injustice, Juliette!”

“I think not,” said Jane. “My husband has been a bad influence on you ever since you were boys.”

“Mother!” Henry appealed to the older woman, “Tell her that isn’t true!”

“You know very well that your sister speaks nothing less than the truth,” said the older woman, who Bea now worked out was the mother of both Jane and Henry. “You have always sought to bring disgrace to our family. If it were not for Juliette, I would insist your father cut you off.”

Henry appeared to be almost in tears as he left.

“Lady Beatrice,” Jane began. “Would you like to put the guns down? Then you and Miss Collins must join us for some refreshments. We would love to hear the full tale.”

They were conducted into a spacious and expensively decorated salon with many fine works of art. Over coffee Bea gave a highly edited version of the events, and explained their presence in San Francisco. She admitted that they had visited Miss Forsale’s establishment since Amanda had discovered that she was related to Miss Forsale whom they had met on the train from Sacramento.

“You may imagine our shock, indeed horror, when we discovered the business that was conducted there,” Bea told them. “We naturally left as quickly as possible, and it was then that we were accosted by your husbands.”

“And naturally a hat pin is the ideal thing for a lady to use,” commented the elder Mrs Mortimer. “But you seem very familiar with a revolver.”

“We had to come by the Overland Stage,” said Bea. “Before we left Bristol I had some training by a local gunsmith.”

“That was very wise, I am told it is almost completely lawless,” said Mrs Mortimer. “I wonder any of the mail gets through. My husband is president of the Gold and Silver Bank, and he is always concerned that communications with the government in Washington will not get through. Thank heavens the railroad is all but complete.”

“That is a coincidence,” said Bea, “My father, Lord Kingswood, is the chairman of Stuckey’s Bank in Bristol.”

“And that is not the only coincidence,” said Jane. “Just nearby we have another lady from England, Lady Frances Collins. Do you think she might be a relation of yours?” she asked Amanda.

Bea and Amanda managed to keep straight faces until they were on their way home in the coach, but then they dissolved into fits of giggles.

“She is a cheeky madam!” said Bea to a further fit of giggles at her own joke. “We must call on her.”

“Do you think it really is Aunt Fanny?” asked Amanda.

“Too much of a coincidence, and she has the brass neck for it.”

The driver helped them out of the coach. “I take my hat off to you ladies,” he grinned. “Those two needed taking down.”

The day was like a whirlwind for Nathaniel, at least until he was sitting in a first class compartment on his way to London. Supper the previous evening at what was undoubtedly the best restaurant in town had been a delight with Angelica positively glowing after he had proposed to her.

“You’ll have to ask Jake, when he returns,” she told him. “I am his ward, but I’m sure he will agree.”

The next morning he collected her from the office, and they went to see the gunsmith.

“Miss Angelica!” the gunsmith greeted her, “it is good to see you again. And this young man...?” he left the sentence hanging.

“Thank you, Mr Smith. This is Mr Nathaniel Norton, and he in need of a firearm,” said Angelica, but between her sparkling eyes and the sheepish expression on Nathaniel’s face the gunsmith was in little doubt as to their relationship.

“Is there any particular reason?” asked Mr Smith.

Angelica explained that Nathaniel was to go to America, and cross the continent by train.

“Then I have just the thing for you, sir,” the Mr Smith told Nathaniel. “One of Mr Colt’s revolvers, just arrived. It’s a .38 calibre and has brass cartridges which make loading a good deal easier.”

After some practice in the range at the back of the gunsmith’s, Nathaniel purchased the gun together with cleaning equipment and spare ammunition.

Next it was back to the office where Dennis gave him information on the transaction with McPhersons, contacts with the bank in New York, letters and instructions, as well as contact information for the shipping agent that the company used. Then it was off to Templemeads station and the train for London. There was a tearful farewell with Angelica, and then Nathaniel was speeding off to London on the first leg of his adventure.

The next morning he took the first London and North Western express from London’s Euston Station to Carlisle, and from there the Caledonian Railway to Glasgow. After another overnight stay he arrived bright and early at the works of McPherson and Sons.

Until he was relaxing in his cabin aboard the liner bound for New York, Nathaniel’s time over the next few days was spent overseeing the finishing, packing and transporting the new low pressure cylinder. When he first arrived at McPherson’s it was, he discovered, a good thing that he had worked with Chief McTavish aboard the ‘Bellatrix’ or he would have found the Glaswegian accent impenetrable. He was first given a tour of the works, from the drawing office to the pattern maker’s shop, to the foundry and the storage area where castings were left for several months before proceeding to the machine shop, which was where they caught up with the cylinder that Nathaniel was to take to San Francisco. The machining would, at that point, take another day after which it would be carefully crated ready for dispatch.

It had been intended that the crate should be taken south by rail to Liverpool from where Cunard ships sailed to New York. However, whilst Nathaniel had been waiting for the cylinder to be finished and crated, he discovered that there was a brand new ship, the ’California’, that was recently constructed by A. Stevens and Son for the Anchor Line, and was bound for New York. There would be a stop in Ireland, no doubt to pick up immigrants, but she was a fast ship of more than three thousand tons, and would make a good passage time. The next thing would be to get the crate aboard in such a position as to be able to get it unloaded easily in New York, and to this end he went to the company’s offices. There was no problem about shipping the crate, and the cost was not too extravagant. However, the clerk informed him that the actual loading of the ship, with regard to where it was positioned was up to the ship’s officers. Of course if he were a first class passenger then there would be no problem with it being stowed, possibly with the first class passengers’ trunks. Nathaniel decided that even if the company refused to reimburse him for the extra cost of the first class fare over that of second class, it would still be worth it to have a more comfortable passage.

Having sorted out the journey as far as New York, with the ship leaving in three days he decided that he would need some additional clothing, and particularly, as a first class passenger, evening wear. He was directed to a reasonable gentlemen’s outfitter where he was able to purchase several items that, with some minor alterations would be suitable. These would be carried out in good time. Back at his hotel, he sat at the desk in his room well satisfied with his efforts, and wrote a letter to Dennis, and one to Angelica. Dennis he appraised of the progress with his task, and Angelica’s was, well, private.

The first thing that Hermione decided to do, once they had settled back in to the house, was to go and see Sarah. Having two mothers was sometimes a little confusing she thought as she rang the door bell. A moment later Sarah herself opened the door.

“Mama!” Hermione greeted her.

“Umm...” Sarah blushed and stuttered, then went to curtsey, but Hermione held her hand.

“It’s Hermione, Mama. I’m your daughter,” she smiled.

“Yes ... of course, come in, come in.”

Sarah took her into the sitting room.

“I’m sorry, I’m on my own today ... I’ll make some tea,” Sarah looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry ... having a daughter ... and a Lady, I’m...”

Hermione hugged her. “Well I am your daughter, and I’m getting used to having two mothers. I know I’m a Lady, but not with you. You’re my mother,” she kissed Sarah’s cheek. “Lets go and make tea.” She guided Sarah towards the kitchen.

“But Ladies don’t make tea...”

“This one does. I have a companion and a maid, but if they aren’t about I go to the kitchen, and if cook isn’t there I can make my own tea. I’m afraid Jake taught me that. Don’t wait for other people, get on and do something.”

“Yes, that would be Jake. He’s quite the man,” said Sarah.

“Oh yes,” said her daughter with a dreamy look in her eyes, “yes, he is that.”

Sarah looked at her, “I didn’t mean like that!” she said, sharply. “Besides, I thought you already knew.”

“No! Well, almost. But he made me wait for the last part! Still, he’s done the job, you’re going to be a grandmother,” said Hermione, happily.

They went on to discuss the sort of things that mothers and daughters discuss particularly with respect to pregnancy, although Sarah admitted that she had only experience of Hermione, and that was quite a long time ago. Hermione left a happy and smiling Sarah, who seemed much more at ease with her daughter.

Hermione’s next mission was to go and visit her other mother, the Duchess of Skegness. It was a long train journey to Wraxall where the Duchess lived in Wraxall Old Hall. This required some organisation and it was several days before Hermione, Susan and Myrtle had packed sufficient clothing, and booked a compartment on the express to London where they would stay overnight, and then proceed to Wraxall via Boston with the final leg by pony and trap. In London she met with her uncle, Lord Kingswood who joined her for supper. He appeared to be under some strain.

“You look worried, Uncle Peter. Is Victoria not well? Or is it affairs of state that I should not enquire about?” Hermione asked him.

“No,” he replied, “it’s neither of those. Victoria is positively glowing with health, and the realm is remarkably calm at the present. No, I am concerned about whispers that I keep hearing, but nothing I can pin down. I’ve tried every source, but nothing.”

“What are the whispers about?” asked Hermione.

“That is just the thing, it’s Jake, and what happened on your way home. You do realise that he has made a lot of enemies. Some, like the Fenians, I am partly to blame for, but there are others, who are as good as beyond the law who were supplied by Portmahon with their entertainment. Not Jake’s fault in anyway, nor Fitz either, I certainly couldn’t fault him for his actions. But there is something afoot, and unusually I cannot get a handle on it.”

“Should I return to Bristol, do you think?”

“No, carry on to Wraxall. If there were anything definite that we could pin down then we could do something. But as it is we will just have to react to anything that happens. I didn’t want to worry you...”

“But you have succeeded,” said Hermione. “I cannot imagine that there would be any action against me, and in any case getting past my companions would be, shall we say, difficult. They are loyal to a fault, and happy to use sword and firearm to protect me.”

Lord Kingswood laughed. “No, I don’t see any problem in that direction. It may be nothing.”

It was hardly reassuring, but Hermione decided to continue her journey to Wraxall, and after a tiring journey they arrived at Wraxall Old Hall in late afternoon.

Brightman opened the door as they arrived.

“Lady Hermione! It’s good to see you, you are looking well. Her Grace is in her sitting room, she’ll want to see you first. You bags will be in your usual room.”

Brightman looked quizzically at the other two women.

“Susan, my companion and friend,” said Hermione, indicating to Brightman that although when she was last at Wraxall, Susan had been Hermione’s maid she was now a guest.

“Good to see you again, Miss Susan,” Brightman acknowledged and turned to Hermione. “I’ll put her in the room next to yours, Lady Hermione.”

“Yes, that will be good. This is Myrtle, my maid,” Hermione went on. “Be careful with her, Brightman,” Hermione grinned, “she’s a dab hand with a firearm!”