Troubled Waters

'So, how did they know who to shoot at?' Lewrie fretted. 'Whom,' Twigg primly corrected. 'At whom t'shoot,' said Sir Hugo. 'Tsk, tsk.' 'Bugger' was Lewrie's frustrated comment.

'We must take these curs to the nearest magistrate, no matter,' Twigg directed. 'The attack upon us points the finger at someone, at any rate, for it most certainly was not random. Nor may I recall all that many highwaymen working in broad daylight, nor in such numbers. I am certain that a magistrate will find this crime unusual, as well… unusual enough to raise dire suspicions… in the right quarters,' he said with an enigmatic grin.

'Too bad their leader, there, didn't carry one o' those damned Abolitionist tracts, with Alan's 'saintly' features illustrated,' Sir Hugo snickered. 'So he'd know his quarry.'

'Does anyone happen to have any of them?' Twigg asked. 'Pity. I would suppose any that you kept are aboard your ship in Portsmouth, Lewrie?'

'I don't keep 'em,' Lewrie groused. 'They went right into the quarter-gallery for bum-fodder, long since.'

'Sounds a bit sacreligious, that,' Burgess japed. 'Wiping your fundament with pictures of 'Saint Alan the Liberator.' '

'Only banned in Catholic countries,' Lewrie shot back. 'Ahem!' Mr. Twigg loudly harrumphed to stifle their low levity. 'As I was saying, gentlemen… we must convince the local magistrate that this assault was not a random event, then… tracts, yayss,' he drawled. 'Reverend Wilberforce and his associates in the anti-slavery crowd can turn this into a positive flood of new tracts, whether the Beaumans were the instigators, or not. The attempted murder of their champion, their Paladin, by person or persons unknown?

'Combine that sensational news with hints of slaver, or sugar, interests, and the merest mention of how the Beaumans' arrival barely a week before coincides so mysteriously, ah? Nothing libellous, to be certain, but…!' 'Newspapers,' Sir Hugo suggested, though he despised them. 'Just so, Sir Hugo,' Twigg said, almost twinkling with delight. 'The latest editions have featured rumours of Lewrie's impending trial, so news of this will make quite the uproar. Newspaper owners, editors, and newswriters are, in the main, a sad and scurrilous lot of ne'er-do-wells, drunks, whores, and gossip-mongers. Five pounds in the proper ink-stained hand will buy you favourable words in any publication, and, one can skirt libel in a printed letter signed with a pseudonym, such as 'Elia' of the strong opinions, who is really Charles Lamb. For all the London papers to be inundated with a slew of anonymous letters… speaking in Lewrie's favour, and subtly linking this attack to the Beaumans, well… even the most cursory reader might make the hinted connexion, ha ha!'

Good Lord, more press! Lewrie thought with a groan.

'My field,' Twigg smugly allowed. 'I shall see to it. In the meantime, we'll dis-arm ourselves and our people. I doubt there will be a second ambush awaiting us today. I'll send Perkins and his men on ahead, separately. There will be covert work for them in London, before our arrival. Now, when we wake the nearest dozing magistrate, let us agree that we had no out-riders, and that I, Sir Hugo, Lewrie, and Major Chiswick were the only ones of our party who bore weapons. I see no need to involve Ajit Roy or ex-Havildar Singh, or your sailors, Lewrie. We were suspicious, d'ye see, of the lurking rider who stood watch for us, then armed ourselves, a bare minute before these felons burst from the woods and began firing at us.

'No 'stand and deliver' demand for us to stop and hand over any valuables,' Twigg intently schemed, 'but, an attempt on all our lives.'

'Got it,' Sir Hugo said with a quick nod.

'You fellows…,' Twigg instructed the coachee and his assistant up on the box. 'Hide your weapons, and don't let on that you were armed when it happened, right? Same for you Navy lads. Your Captain Lewrie, his father, Major Chiswick, and I did all the shooting, right?'

'Aye, sor,' Cox'n Desmond firmly replied, peering at big Jones Nelson, who grunted his understanding; then at his mate Furfy, who was looking a bit puzzled. 'I'll spell it out for ye, Pat. Makes a better tale for th' newspapers, an' helps th' Cap'm.'

'Ah, arrah, I git it,' Furfy replied with a wide smile.

'We have all the miscreants' horses, Perkins? Capital!' Twigg crowed. 'Bind them over their saddles, fetch their weapons into the boot of the coach for evidence, and we'll be on our way.'

'At least, Alan,' Burgess opined as they stuffed the dead men's small possessions into a draw-string bag, 'there's no survivors left, so, no way for the Beaumans to know their ambush failed, and no alert for anyone else hired-on in London. They'll be completely in the dark 'bout where you, or any of us, go.'

'And, lads,' Sir Hugo added in right good humour as he swung an armful of muskets into the boot, 'when word of this gets out among the London bad-mashes that half a dozen o' their stoutest met their Maker, how many'll be willin', t'hire on with the Beaumans after, ha?'

'And, with Mister Twigg's watchers and followers to guard us,' Burgess said, taking time to re-load and re- prime one of his pistols in spite of Twigg's assurance that the worst was over, 'and, seeking out where the Beaumans have lit, there's a good chance we might know how many more we must watch out for… perhaps spot them by face.'

'The Beaumans, ah!' Sir Hugo said, inspired to 'set the scene' even further by drawing his small-sword and bloodying it with the gore of a dead highwayman now slung head-down cross a saddle, then wiping the blade clean on a pocket handkerchief. 'Evidence,' he snickered as he did so. 'A couple of 'em got hacked t'bits, so some of us must own blooded swords, d'ye see? You, Burgess… you, son.'

'You were sayin' 'bout the Beaumans?' Lewrie asked as he obeyed his father's suggestion.

'With Twigg's men t'smoak out their lodgings, and with a little money t'in-spire the local 'Captain Tom o' the Mob' in their parish, the Beaumans might not get a single night o' rest anywhere in London! Hue and cry, rocks an' cobblestones through the right windows… dung an' mud slung at 'em when they dare go out by a… properly outraged Mob o' Londoners, hmm?'

'A capital idea, old friend,' Twigg applauded as he rejoined them at the coach door. 'The blooded swords and the harassment, both. Let an anonymous letter or two get into the papers, suggesting that a pack of cruel and arrogant slave-holders have no place in a civilised England, in London, and they'll rue the day they took ship! I believe I may be able to arrange that, as well!

'Come, then,' Twigg ordered, turning grimmer. 'Let us be away. The quicker we're done with the magistrate, the sooner we shall be in London, where we will dine on roast lamb and tandoori chicken. Then, our plans may be set afoot!'

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

And, it was a true Far Eastern, Hindi feast, the sort of thing that Lewrie ravenously remembered from his time in Calcutta. All four of them at-table in Twigg's Baker Street house that evening were veterans of India, and each new course was cheered much like the arrival of the Christmas pudding. Genteel and witty conversation, expected of diners at refined English tables, had given way to lip-smacking, slurping, and only occasional sallies in finding new adjectives and adverbs to congratulate Twigg on his chef and his creations.

But, instead of lingering over nuts, sweet biscuits, and port (and entertaining each other with the aforesaid witty conversations to the wee hours), their small party broke up just before ten of the clock, Sir Hugo and Trilochan Singh taking the short walk to his private town-house, and Burgess Chiswick, yawning heavily, off to the Madeira Club, where Sir Hugo had arranged a room, and temporary membership.

'You are surely exhausted by our arduous adventure, today, sir,' Twigg imperiously announced, as if the matter was settled, 'and by the early hour at which you, and we, were forced to arise for our journey. Ajit Roy will light you up to a spare bedroom for the night. You are sure you brought along your best uniform, your medals, and such? Good. Such a brave show, your barrister assures me, will go a long way with the Lord Justice who will conduct your evidentiary hearing tomorrow. Good night, bonne nuit… achchhaa raat, sonaa t'keek* …