Rebecca Dorset called Squeaks by Lord Stokes, and his staff was excited as today was the first day she would take the coach and reins though her father would be beside her. Born into service, Rebecca had always been the apple of His Lordship’s eye. As a baby, she did more chirping than crying, and Lord Stokes began calling her Squeaks. The household adopted the term, and the name seemed hers for life. As she grew, she accompanied her father most days and learned his trade. As the years passed, she pleaded with Lord Stokes to allow her to take the reins when her father could not. Finally, worn down by her giggles and smiles, he acquiesced, never thinking she would want to do the same when she grew into a young woman, but he was mistaken. She took his promise as a gold-crested agreement and undertook her future career with sincerity and vigor.
Squeaks took to horse and carriage as no other woman known. She was unique and had grown into a beautiful, spirited, and intelligent woman. His Lordship allowed all the children born into his service to have a limited education. Squeaks was twenty years of age, neat, trim, and 5’1” with raven-black hair and light blue eyes, tinged in black. Her head was typically covered in a woman’s riding top hat. It, too, was the same royal blue matching her uniform; a dyed beaver hat with a large black bow to hold it on her head. She also had a silk hat for specific outings when rain was sure to stay away. The beaver hat could weather anything. Her hair was long, but she kept it braided. If it weren’t for the wide ribbon, tied into a bow at her neck, she was thought to be a small male until one looked closely.
As her father and Lord Stokes aged, she became more useful to their needs: fetching things and reading to them quite often, keeping them company when they asked. Squeaks knew she would draw attention, not all of it favorable, in her chosen profession, but she did not care. It was her first love, even with all His Lordship’s and her father’s admonishments. She was thankful for what the household had done for both over the years. They raised her. She was rarely treated as staff, running and playing inside the castle until regrettably she was urged to realize her place in life. The house became quiet, as she kept in the kitchen or stables, at the age of eleven. His Lordship missed her smiling face but knew it was time to prepare her for a more realistic life. And she still wanted to drive for him. To help her through the crisis of leaving His Lordship’s private quarters, he had a livery made for her.
Kip sat in the shade of a large oak tree watching his hand flow across the paper, sketching the scenery around him. He liked it when he was asked to drive to one of the parks. Being an independent coach driver in London rarely permitted him a customer who wanted to be driven out of the crowded and congested streets to more open landscapes. Trevor had settled in a profession that kept him among the inner circles of society, a place to which he belonged, but he would forgo for some time. Not yet, at any rate, although his self-imposed feeling of culpability for his sister’s death was begrudgingly dissipating.
Kip was lost in thought as he blended the shadowed trees on his paper. He began thinking of his life of wealth and privilege, nearly a year ago. His murdered sister was always with him, but seeing her through his dream states, kept her alive and eased his soul. Many times, he wondered if he was suffering some form of madness, after all. However, his brethren drivers lived a full and interesting life, which he slowly learned to incorporate unto himself.
Fully engulfed in his past, Kip snapped his charcoal pencil in half, unaware of the stress he had put on its point. “Damn,” he whispered loudly, seeing the mess he had made of his sketch. Brushing the small bits of charcoal off the page, Kip looked toward the carriage to see if he had been overheard. Apparently, his client and guest were not interrupted. As Kip returned to his drawing, he smiled to himself. Today he was a coachman. Who knew it had been the right choice for him when he left home? He had lost himself in Kip, the driver, but wasn’t so sure he had done much about finding Trevor, the heir.
Out of the corner of his eye, Kip continued his drawing but could see his coach swaying. The couple seemed to be mutually engaged in one another. This happened often, but he always kept his ear attuned to any calls of distress from the woman. If it were two men, he had to walk further away, as the images conjured rankled his male pride.
He looked on as his two horses nibbled at the grass. Today he wore his tailored livery and drove his daily carriage, which had particularly elegant lines and structure, but it didn’t hold a candle to his “Queen Mary,” as he called it. Kip’s entire driving wardrobe was designed by himself and tailor-fitted. His high-valued clients who wanted the best in a driving experience received the full complement. Having the funds, Kip made the most of his new world, and it comforted him. He needed to feel proud of something – to be a success throughout his life, even as a coachman. And he was achieving that. Kip knew he was still an enigma to his fellow drivers, but they soon acclimated to his way of doing things and accepted him as a qualified brother coachman.
Kip heard a whistle from his client and assumed that their matinee was completed. He folded his sketching pad and returned to the coach.
“Where to, milord?”
“The lady’s home, if you will, Kip.”
As Kip climbed to his bench, he felt the man must be known to his father, Lord Caldwell. He wondered what his father would think if he knew this Lord was not keeping true faith with his wife.
Kip prepared for the harshness of the city. He navigated the most scenic and clean routes he could find, arriving at the lady’s home with an easy ride. Jumping to the ground, he waited for a signal to open the door. Often there were last kisses or soft words to be finished between the couple. Usually, the gentleman would knock at the side door when Kip was to appear and open it.
Opening the door, he folded down the step. If the lady exited first, he would extend his hand, and she would take it if she wanted. More often, the gentlemen exited first and took the honors. Quite often during the earlier part of the day, a lady would wish to visit some function or shop, and she would be alone. He would hand her in and out of the coach and offer to attend her and her packages if she desired. All these courtesies came from his own remembrance of the Caldwell coachmen. Whether it was the Caldwell’s’ expected courtesies or not, the practice had held him in good stead. He added his own standards for highborn people, and all his customers received it, reduced circumstances or not.
His client exited the coach, escorted his lady to her door, and returned.
“Kip, take me to my club,” the client instructed, as he came back.
“Yes, milord,” Kip replied. Even though there were several men’s clubs in London, it was his job to know his clients’ preferences. One or two drives for someone made him or her a patron; more than three, and he or she became a client. Rarely did they switch to another driver once driven by him. His elegant livery was better than most peerage in-service drivers. Kip was projecting an air of sophistication and style, which brought him higher fares and the most influential of people. For special occasions, he offered a second driver or the back-footman service so the client could feel envy. Changing from daily fares to evening balls was never a problem. He had clothes and coaches for both.
As Kip traveled back into central London looking for his daily hails, he passed driver Clyde Dorset, in-service driver to Lord Stokes. They nodded to each other as a greeting. His daughter was beside him on the bench. Everyone had heard a rumor that she wanted to be a coach woman and succeed her father. All the elite independents and the in-service teams, who waited at Parliament for their Lords, had been watching her ride with her father. Along with Kip, not one of them thought the day would come that Lord Stokes would allow her to take the reins of a team. It took great strength to turn a team of two, and Miss Dorset looked too young and small to handle the job. She was thought most likely to greet and open the door for His Lordship.
Today she was holding the reins aside her father. She sat proudly, almost bursting those cherub dimples with pride. Kip was earnestly amazed but assumed the coach was empty, on its way to fetch Lord Stokes where her father would then assume the reins.
“I’ll have a beef sandwich and a pint,” said Kip wandering over to sit with Marc, who had arrived at the pub before the others. I see Driver Dorset’s daughter is holding the reins today,” remarked Kip, restraining a smile. “She looks quite young.”
“Is she now?” Responded Marc with a laugh. “I’d suppose the coach to be empty if she were heading towards the House of Lords at this time of day. I know His Lordship is worried about her, but she’s determined.”
“I think she looks quite charming sitting up there with her father in her livery.
“You and every other bloke driving. We’ve all been watching her.”
“So, what can you tell me about this bewitching young lady. She’s small; it appears.”
“She was the age of 11 when Lord Stokes had a livery made to match her father. I’ve been told this because she’s about 20 years old now. I haven’t been around that long. The word is that Dorset lost his wife early in his daughter’s life. Lord and Lady Stokes looked kindly on their driver’s plight of raising her. They had no daughter of their own. I hear that her father, His Lordship and the staff have been raising her. She used to have run of the Castle, Dorset has told us.”
“I had a good chuckle over her small matching beaver top hat being held on her head with a large black bow. It endears her further to onlookers if that is possible. Being an independent, it is unlikely our paths will converge. I rarely have a call to Parliament. Seeing her today, holding those reins, beaming like the morning sun on a spring day, encourages me to be introduced to her. Is that possible?” It was a year since his heart felt a stirring of activity. “I’ve had my share of invitations from Lady customers, to which I decline, but a female driver is different. Her interest in horses and coaching is exciting my fancy.” A long-lost feeling of lust engulfed him. It was a raw and primitive urging, which never in his life had he felt to this extreme.
Lucas and Jon arrived at the table after ordering.
“Kip, here, would like to be introduced to Miss Dorset. Can either of you arrange that for him?” Marc howled. The other two joined in.
Kip felt embarrassed. “Apparently, I have asked for the impossible?”
“Well, yes, I say. It may be possible, but we hardly stand on having someone known to both of us to introduce one to the other. Only nobles are that principled.” More laughter from the table and Kip joined in the fun of being mocked.
Using polite society protocols had snagged him several times. Occasionally, he had to sand off the veneer of nobility to blend with the Brotherhood. All-in-all, his politeness carried a lot of reputation which was starting to reach far and wide. “I guess I’ll just have to outwit you blokes and accidentally meet her at the House of Lords.”
“You know Kip; your fares have been picking up considerably of late. Don’t think we haven’t noticed. We’ve passed you on a few of these night affairs and see you in your tailored tails and velvet top hat. Are you playing God to us, Apostles? You’re certainly doing something we don’t know about. I think it’s time for you to train us. You owe us that much.” Lucas cajoled.
Kip was rocking in his seat with laughter. “Lads, go another step with your uniforms, and you can raise your fees. We all know the gentry need pampering, and that’s all that I am doing.”
“I guess those green eyes, brown hair, pulled into a horse’s tail with a ribbon have nothing to do with it,” Lucas chided.
“Look!” Kip pulled out a couple of introduction cards. “See here. It has my name, Trevor Kipling, lists my services and address. I have been getting requests for my unique service, well in advance of events. It may work for you, too.”
“What are your special services?”
“Naturally, it’s my best bib and tucker, best coach and flowers for the coach vases. My coach is always cleaned, and polished. My boots are like mirrors. I can hire Ioan, you know Ioan, to ride second driver or footman. We can make an unusually rich look for being independent.”
“Damn, Kip. That’s brilliant.”
“Now will you introduce me to Miss Dorset?” Everyone clinked their beer mugs, roaring to the rafters.
It was nearing six in the evening, and Kip headed home to clean and wash the coach, and himself for the Lady Blevins fare tonight.
To accommodate his stable and quarters, Kip selected a residence with a large stable near the edge of outer London. His reputation was growing, causing him to check his in-town post often for reservations being asked for in advance. The name “Kip” seemed to be on the lips of many people wanting his premiere appearance, and he was being recommended among the gentry of society.
A quick look inside the Queen Mary revealed only bits of boot sand to sweep out. He dressed in his handsome, understated but elegant livery with tails. It was unlikely that any driver could match his coach, and they certainly never would match his horses, costing a driver five year’s salary for one of them. Kip at no time meant to laud his superior team and coach, over the others, but he wanted the best for himself. They had become the only spark in his life until he anticipated a way to meet Miss Dorset.
Before leaving the estate, Trevor walked into Mary’s room, absorbing the last essence of her. It was chilled as no fire had been lit for the dark and damp nights. He strolled the room, drawing one final scent of her before it was gone. Spotting on her dressing table, a favorite cameo ring that she loved, he slipped it into his vest pocket. Father had two cameos carved, in Mary’s likeness, when she was younger. One was a ring for her finger, and the other much larger piece was a brooch for his wife. Tears traveled down his chiseled patrician face.
Returning to his own room, he opened the wardrobe where his finery, top hats, and boots lay in wait for some grand event. He pulled a small satchel from a cabinet, packing his razor, a few pairs of hose, undergarments and one set of riding clothes. Walking the room, things once meant much to him, held little interest now. He did take the watch that Mary had given him for his birthday. Trevor ran his finger along his bookshelves looking for anything that he might want to take. There was nothing. His heart seemed dead. On an easel in the corner was the beginnings of a portrait that he was trying to paint. Mary wouldn’t sit still long enough for him to continue. The canvas had sat there for several years, with Mary promising to return until it was finished. It was always, soon. Packed light, he said good-bye to his family, valet, and horse before having Brigg’s carry him to the train depot.
Dressed in riding clothes, carrying his small satchel, he boarded the next train. He was heading to where people wouldn’t know him. Laying back on the cushioned seat he drifted off. Dreams of Mary and his mother came and went. Both females, fragile, flooded his mind, Mary, especially. Why did God make them so helpless? “Kipling! Kipling, that’s it,” brought him out of his sleep. He would become Trevor Kipling, naming himself after his mother’s people. Having no one knowing his face, and a name such as Trevor Kipling would hardly draw any particular interest. He fell back to sleep.
LONDON! Next Stop LONDON!
Suddenly the dark stormy clouds that Kip had been sketching in his mind blew away. He sat up, surveying others that had entered his coach while he slept. It embarrassed him as there was no one in the coach when he left the depot. Kip, heard the coach Porter calling “LONDON” again and set off to find him.
“Can you tell me which stop is closest to the Metropolitan Police Station?” Having his answer, he returned to his seat and collected his satchel. Eventually, the train slowed down to his destination surprising him with the mass of humanity waiting to board while his coach mates were standing ready to leave. What a spectacle he was witnessing. He exited last from his coach and began his pilgrimage through the crush of top hats, bonnets, and umbrellas. He saw people kissing and crying, men shaking hands, businessmen with portfolios under their arms alongside parents with wailing children. He breathed a sigh of thanks for not having to go through hours listening to the din of voices every day. As Trevor emerged, a beautiful sight met him. Gleaming horses with polished brass fittings and coachmen wearing fine clothes waiting to carry some wealthy person to a destination. He saw two livery-clothed coaches, each with two drivers waiting on their noble masters. Only one had a crested coat of arms on the door.
“What I wouldn’t give to be the driver?” The thought surprised him. “Why can’t I become a driver.” I’ve always had a great fondness for horses and riding.” His mind began swirling as he approached a smart-looking driver with a polished look.
“May I ride atop with you, driver? I have some questions.” Trevor literally felt his spirits rise from the bottom of wherever they were dwelling. He may have found his new life which he had not forced on himself.
The driver looked him over before replying. “Sir, we do not permit …” The driver noticed the coins in the gents’ extended hand and readily acquiesced. “Yes, sir. Where can I take you?”
“Please, if you will, just drive and allow me to question you about the service you perform.”
The driver stowed Trevor’s satchel and invited him to the top.
“Drive where you will, but I am hiring you for the rest of the day. You may pick up fares while I remain to watch.” Trevor couldn’t remember the last time he had come to London. The architecture fascinated him. There were buildings he would like to sketch one day, but he was taken aback by the sheer volume of people, coaches, and horses. His driver was regularly hailed, as they thought Trevor was the second coachman. A smile broke through his defenses, and it felt good. It was so unexpected that the moment stood out to remember.
By nightfall, he hired the coachman, Marc, for the next two days, paying him exceedingly well. He was taken to a pub, which catered to coachmen, offering food and a room until he changed dwellings. Loving his own stable of horses at home, the novelty of experiencing this career drew him to its bosom.
After a full belly, hot bath and a real bed, Trevor fell into a deep sleep. Mary’s activity in his dream was most assertive tonight. This was new for him. He would often see her in his dreams, but these images flashed during the night, causing his tossing and turning.
Is she warning me or encouraging me?
Trevor always invited her into his nightly fantasies, never running away in his thoughts or waking due to fright. Tonight, Mary was in his coach. The horses had their heads, even though he held the reins.
“Where is she taking me?”
Coming down to breakfast the next morning, Marc was sitting at a bench table with a few other lads. Trevor was welcomed over and introduced. He met Jon, Matthew, and Lucas. He was introduced as Trevor Kipling, but in short fashion, they started calling him Kip.
Smiling as he shook hands, he responded, “You chaps are having one over on me, are you not?”
The young men were startled at his words. “Sir, are you offering offense? Marc has told us of your interest. We wish to help you learn our trade, but you laugh at us? Not a pleasant beginning.”
“Has no one called you ‘The Apostles?”
Although it didn’t sound like an insult, they chose to remain affronted.
Kip laughed. “You’ve heard of the four Apostles, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, have you not?”
Finally, the fog lifted and a rousing laugh ensued. He was invited to sit down with them, and the education began with … “We are a Brotherhood of Gentlemen Coachmen.”
Over the next two months, Kip learned their ways, which he would improve on, but most importantly; he learned London. He came to know every restaurant, prominent person’s address, gentlemen’s club, theater, train stop, hotel, business, and every brothel that London could offer. He was told of confidences, which he would swear to take to his grave. During that time, Kip purchased two matching Friesians, one magnificent coach and one significant coach for every day. He wanted the very best he could have, no matter the jealousy of the other drivers. He was happy. The drivers talked behind his back about the expense of his horses and coaches, and others remarked about his polished accent. He pacified them by saying that his father had been a prosperous merchant, recently dead. As he was not disposed to follow in the business, he divested himself of it and sought this career for the love of horses.
Each of the Apostles took an added week with Kip, showing him shortcuts, explaining the rumors of many of his prospective customers. He realized quickly that this brotherhood which policed itself was the elite of London coachmen. There were more than a hundred of them, which did not include the in-service drivers. Often, he was told of the nobility that he would carry and protect. Many tricks of the trade were mastered in short order. He knew well, his home’s liveried staff and how he was treated as a noble. He would build on that and develop his own style. The horses and coach had come first, but he could see sizable tipping if he improved his clothing and conduct. He wanted to knock London on its ear. Kip knew he was ready, but the Apostles insisted on spending a week with him as he received his customers and drew them to their stops. Their honor was at risk, and Kip knew he must pass muster before they turned him loose. Otherwise, he would be forced further down the financial and respected chain of customers.
He finally understood why they called themselves a Brotherhood of Coachmen.
The months rolled by, and he began building his reputation as a high-class ride. He was noticing a particular in-service driver, always heading to Parliament, but he chaperoned a female who sat beside him. She was in livery and possibly 12 or 13 years old. The Apostles would know the story as he was finding that in-service and independents often waited together at balls and private parties. Matthew would surely know this driving combination.
Just a video to show you why I love Friesian Horses and selected them for my book
These horses carried knights into battle, drove noble coaches and today know dressage. They are naturally high-steppers (not trained) which means they don’t leave clods of grass or dirt to be repaired.
Viscount Trevor William Hamilton Caldwell, son, and heir to his father, Earl Grant William Hamilton Caldwell, the Sixth Earl of Norcaster, smiled as he greeted the guests of his sister, Lady Mary’s, ‘Coming Out’ weekend gathering. Trevor knew the next two days would bring, him and his brother, challenging but experience in social matters for their sister.
“Gus,” Trevor spoke in concerning tones, “Father gave her permission for this party on our estate, yet he somehow managed to find reasons to stay in London. Mother would have been the perfect hostess for this type of an affair, were she living.”
“Trevor, there is no sense getting anxious about this. I think it shall be quite full of enjoyment for our sister. I am sure father believes the realm will disintegrate if he wanders 80 miles away from the House of Lords. I’m sorry old man,” Gus laughed, slapping his brother on the back, “but you’re the senior and heir. These matters are a peek into your future.” Gus walked away smiling, strolling among the lovely women who were beginning to huddle.
Trevor mumbled to himself, “Old man, am I? When did 25 become old?” Watching these young toffs and gents, swagger in, ready to swill spirits and press ladies against their chests, reminded him of a man he could never be. Being a noble heir prohibited his young male fancies from asserting themselves as often as his body asked. “I am an heir while these randy young nobles may have lineage, but few, if any, will be titled. They will be bolder, having little reputation to worry about.” Trevor was cognizant that his randy years would lead him down a path, less seasoned, than other males his age, but he accepted his noble proprieties, readily.
“Hello, Lady Eliot. Very gracious of you to attend.” Trevor bowed.
“Trevor, I have been waiting for an invitation from you, asking me to a ball. I can’t let a tall, chestnut-haired single man miss any of the seasons in London,” she smiled, patting his chest with her closed fan.
“You are most complimentary, Lady Eliot. I am but a humble servant to my people and sister,” he smiled. “I will be most anxious to place your name somewhere in my appointment book. I see you laughing. It is a most coveted honor to be penned there.” Seeing her smile, Trevor exhaled his breath as Lady Eliot passed on her way.
With the next coach far in the distance, Trevor pulled a folded note from his waistcoat pocket. “Hmm … dinner to be had tonight. Breakfast, riding, lunch and a scavenger hunt, before the banquet and ball tomorrow night. I suppose Gus, and I can keep an eye on the men hovering too close to Mary.”
Gus slowly walked back to his brother, as he eyed a suspicious-looking bloke. “I already disapprove of that one with the full mustache. He looks a bit aged for this soiree.”
“He is, Gus.” Trevor laughed. “I’m not sure about his name, but Duchess Pitt insisted on her daughter having a chaperone. He’s not here looking for a wife.”
“I’ll be her chaperone,” Gus smiled.
“And who will be yours? I understand she needs a chaperone to protect some unsuspecting lad,” Trevor grinned.
“Gus, if you were ever to become the heir, you would learn the secrets that father has passed on to me.” Trevor walked off with his head in the air, leaving Gus laughing as the next guest pulled to the front of the manor.
“I believe it is your turn to smile and greet,” Gus heard from his retreating brother.
Trevor slipped into his study, away from the merry-makers, and practiced smiles. Sitting at his desk, he fondly remembered having to rear Mary after his mother died. He loved his sister greatly and bowed to his father’s wishes to let her enjoy her unfamiliar maturing life. She wanted to show off the estate to her new friends.
Now pacing the floor, Trevor talked to himself. “I suppose the day will come for me when I must choose a wife. Fortunately, I am not like some first-born sons who must marry for wealth or property. But still . . . the thought of having to select a wife who will benefit my position and not embarrass it applies a pressure I do not care for. How lucky a noble was if he or she was permitted to find a life with someone they could love. I know many nobles near my age, however, seeing one still in love was rare. Marry the best and then take a mistress seemed to be the sage advice from the elders.”
“This is a big weekend for her. As a Caldwell, she has wealth, nobility, and beauty. She is a perfect example of any man’s dreams for love or financial gains. She is endowed with much to recommend her. Nevertheless, I feel utterly ill-at-ease with this horde of youthful men clamoring for her attention. With all the unknown visitors, Gus and I need to observe the activities of eight young male nobles. Mary is wrestling the control in her life away from me. Her naivete and not knowing men will overwhelm her during their stay, but I cannot follow her everywhere.”
May they all be real gentlemen. God, help me.
Since Mary was an eligible lady of wealth and title, flitting from guest to guest, Gus and Trevor would divide the task as chaperones. Trevor offered to oversee all the males while Gus remained at her side and watched the men who directly approached her. Wanting her safety and happiness; their protective instincts were accelerated. During the evening, Trevor often found himself watching through the outside veranda windows at his brother, ensuring he didn’t wander off, yet, still, give her, her personal space.
The evening went unexpectedly carefree.
“Good morning, brother Gus, anything to report?” Trevor asked as he sat at the kitchen prep table, eating breakfast away from the crowd.
“I’ve been looking for you. Where have you been all morning?”
“I helped organize the horses for the few that wanted to ride this morning. I’m happy to see our sister decline. Most of the men took to the saddle. Thank heavens for that. I did get a moment with Mary. She’s thanking us for being invisible. If she only knew we were peeking through bushes and keyholes, faces pressed against windows, and ears pressed against doors.” Trevor laughed. “I’m starting to feel like a detective, and you?”
“I’m starting to feel like a pervert.”
“A pervert! I think there are two young men we can rule out as chasing Mary for her money or title.”
“Gus, I think our most difficult time is going to be this afternoon when they form groups and begin the scavenger hunt. That’s 50 acres of prime hunting ground. We can’t watch her every moment. She will be upset with us.”
“Trev, I think you have arranged the event skillfully. What do they have to find? The old water-well is one, the ice house that is covered over by brush, the tombstone, and the tree fort. Mary may remember where that is, but she was very young when we played in it. Are you still in agreement that we wander the grounds on horseback looking for anything untoward?”
“We must. We will tell them we’re there if they get lost. Yes, that’s it. How many are there? Let me think. With Mary, I believe there to be 16. That’s four groups, each with two males and females. Point those two perverts out to me and make sure they’re on Mary’s team,” Trevor chuckled.
“Indeed, your Lordship. I think they will find little interest in the ladies.”
As the sun rose over the manor, lunch was served on the terrace, while Trevor explained the scavenger hunt.
“Can I have everyone’s attention, please. Maps are being handed out with paths drawn, along with compasses, a list of the four areas to find, plus a piece of chalk to mark that you have been there. For emergencies, every group will be given a fox horn to be blown if help is needed. A gunshot will be fired when the time is at an end, or one group finds all items and has returned to the manor. Gus and I shall be on horseback should anyone get lost, injured or need directions. Over here are canteens of water for each team. Everyone is to have fun. You may begin when you have your party assembled. Winners get season tickets to all of London’s theaters. Good luck to all.”
Trevor sat down at his luncheon plate and began to nibble at his chicken. Watching the guests scatter was like the autumn leaves scattering in the wind. It was sad to think that his youthful sister was at an age where some young man could hold her in his arms. He knew he would be a gentleman were the situation reversed, but he had little confidence in all men.
“We can only go so far,” Trevor mused. “It’s been quite an experience to watch our sister grow into a young woman, don’t you think? Watching her countenance, frailty, her emotions and vulnerability have opened my eyes to women. They’re such soft, gentle creatures. How rightly they need all the protection; we can give them. Just from playing with Mary when we were younger, I could easily see the damage a grown man could inflict on a female with very little effort.”
“Indeed, Trevor. I remember realizing that when I was quite young as Mary was unable to do many things that you and I were doing. I recall you taking the blame for most accidents that were her fault. Seeing you teach and shelter her opened my eyes early. As lust grew in my body, I became painfully aware of what some women must have to endure. Sometimes, I look at our Mary and fear she will break.”
“That is our task this weekend. We may not choose her mate in life if he is here, but we can intercede if she falls for someone who will treat her ill. Are you done eating? The groom is bringing our horses. The guests have disappeared into the woods. Ready?”
Gus and Trevor split their directions heading toward the forest. There were many trails for people to follow, but most of those were riding and hunting paths, leaving the old roads overgrown, and the goals well hidden.
Trevor headed down the first path he had planned to observe. In the distance, a group was heard laughing with each other, as they wove through the tall stand of oaks. A second group nearby was studying the map. Soon the teams would hit the trees and brush lines where the hunting game thrived. He felt a bit melancholy for a hunt which they hadn’t hosted for years. He remembered charging his horse as the dogs smelled the fox, followed by being blooded at the age of 11. It was quite a ceremony the first time he tracked the fox. His face was smeared with fox blood, and alcohol poured down his gullet until he was sick. His father was proud. His mother was disgusted. However, he felt like a man.
“Hello,” someone behind him called, pulling him back from his victorious memories.
“Say, have you seen my group? I’m afraid it’s the one with only three people.”
Trevor laughed. “There is one group farther north, but they have all their people. I do hear a group down that way,” Trevor pointed. The young man, still in his riding clothes from the morning, started plodding in that direction. “Thank you, milord.”
An hour elapsed. The woods seemed eerily quiet, too quiet, thought Trevor. He took a new path until he heard voices. Someone was calling for Mary. Then a second voice was heard, calling for Mary. His stomach lurched, and the sweat began flowing as he spurred his horse toward the callers. He spotted a young lady and gentleman wandering through the brush. He raced to their side.
“What is it? Where is Mary?” He asked excitedly. “Why are you two alone?” Barely giving them time to answer.
“Lord Caldwell, we don’t know where she is. She’s been missing for nearly 30 minutes. Colin went that way. Brenda and I came this way. Could she get lost on her own property, do you think?”
“No, I do not think. Where were you when you last saw her?”
“I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t know. We had found the old well with the bucket on a rope and then traveled on from there. I think the sun has been behind us all this way. I would say that way,” he pointed behind him.
“Why by the name of God are you walking this way then?”
“We finally assumed Mary had gone ahead of us. What can we do to help?”
“For now, if you find others, stay with them. Collect yourselves into one complete group. Stay on the edge of the forest where you entered, and I shall organize a search.”
Trevor raced down the path, before pulling into the low-growing brush.
“Damn! One of the gents must have led her off for a bit of romance.”
With fear rising inside him, Trevor began to prepare for some unlikely event. Gus called his name as he galloped toward him.
“Trevor, have you heard Mary is missing?”
They were alarmed hearing a fox horn split the air with its unique sound.
“I think that came from the direction of the ice house.”
Trevor reared his horse, striking off toward the sound as his heart started pounding like a caged bird, slamming against the sides. As he drew closer, an almost unbearable pain shot through his upper torso. Seeing a somber group standing outside the ice house door, he clutched his chest as more pain gripped him. Jumping from his mount, the faces on Mary’s guests revealed his worst fear.
Mary can’t be in there. Dear God, help me face this moment.
Slowly, he walked through the door, hearing Gus coming in behind him.
As they entered, Gus cried out. “Oh, Trevor. Dear God, what has happened to Mary?”
Trevor was still silent, unable to speak words meant to be heard. His mind was full of horrific scenes of what must have been her struggle against her attacker. “I thought we might find trouble this weekend, but never this. God. Never this.” He stood there looking down at his sister splayed and twisted on the cold, damp floor.
God, know now that someday Mary will be avenged.
Trevor’s tears began as he knelt and quickly pulled her shredded dress down, which now revealed the beating to her face. Blood was still oozing from her mouth, nose, and hands. Mud and leaves tangled her hair; her legs and arms were scratched.
Gus left, embarrassed to be sick, as the onlookers watched. Cleaning his mouth with his handkerchief, he asked, “Did anyone see what happened here? Hear anything? Does anyone know who was with her?”
The girls wept; the huddled men grew pale. Two of the young men had been inside and relayed the disaster to those outside. Most of the men knew they could be suspects in this tragedy. They hardly knew Mary and thoughts of themselves came first.
For the first time during his life, Trevor had to lead everyone through this adversity.
Where will the courage come from?
He walked outside to the crowd that was gathering. “You,” he said, pointing to someone, “take my horse, ride to the manor. Tell the Butler to send a cart, horse, and driver with a blanket. Stay there to direct him here. Ask to have the Constable sent for immediately.”
Unable to view his sister’s body again, Gus waited while Trevor went back to his sister.
Startling Trevor’s now fragile bravery, Mary made a small movement showing life remained. He knelt and cradled her head, speaking soft, soothing words of encouragement. Her eyes fluttered then closed. “Gus, she still lives!” He shouted to his brother.
“What is it Trev? I can’t look anymore.”
“She still breathes. Ride for the doctor! Now!”
As Gus turned to leave, Trevor had more to say. “Tell the guests to gather at the manor, no one is to leave. Have Chandler keep everyone outside until the constable arrives. I do not want anyone changing their clothes. Now, go!”
Trevor looked down at Mary. Inside, his heart was splintering into fragments. Every moment with her seemed to be flitting away. Until now, he felt some pride in raising her, but that rapidly spiraled into oblivion. He failed her in the most ultimate way possible. Lightly rubbing her forehead, he tenderly spoke. “Mary. . . Mary.” Agonizingly, he felt the pull of her soul on his. He knew she was dying and his own life bled into her, protecting her in her next life. He wanted to lift her and hold her in his arms, but he feared he could do more damage. Bruises were becoming more visible on her arms and face. One shoe was in the corner, and her dress was ripped down to her breasts. “Mary, why you? This should be me lying here. Mary, please do not let us live without you.”
He pleaded to any God that was listening. “Save her, please. Save us both.”
Only the sound of scuffling feet pulled him back from his prayers. “Yes, who is it?”
“It’s Roger, milord. Here’s the blanket,” gasping as he handed it to Trevor. “Our Miss Mary is hurt badly.”
“Yes, she is. Who’s outside?”
“Only I and the gent who came for me, milord, but two of the constable’s men are close behind.”
“Please wait outside and then bring the constable in when he gets here. Tell the gentleman to return to the manor.”
“Aye, milord. Can I do anything else, milord?”
“No. Even I do not know how to help her.” Trevor held out little hope. He prayed she was unconscious during the rape. He wondered how someone could come back from an attack such as this. The inevitable guilt began to bear its weight. Something was changing inside of him. He knew he would never be the same man again, and didn’t think he should be. Trevor wanted to die, himself.
The constable’s deputy called into the ice house, warning of his approach. The other officer remained just outside the door.
“Back here,” Trevor acknowledged, as he swept Mary’s hair from her face and checked her dress once again.
“This is Lady Mary, Lord Caldwell?”
“Yes,” Trevor despairingly responded. “This is just the way she was found, although I believe one of the guests discovered her here and blew the fox horn for help. I want to get her home immediately.”
“I am terribly sorry, Sir.” The deputy knelt beside Trevor. “She has suffered a most savage attack.”
“She is breathing rather shallow. I want to take her to her room. There are no words for this torturous rape and beating,” he stammered. “Why didn’t anyone hear her?”
The deputy had a quick look at the surroundings. “Let’s get her to the house.”
The two of them lifted her gently and laid her in Trevor’s arms to cushion the ride on the cart. The second officer remained on the scene, ensuring nothing was disturbed.
Arriving at the doors to the manor, the invited crowd gathered by the cart as Trevor carried his sister inside and up the steps. The housekeeper and Mary’s lady’s maid walked behind, crying as they followed.
When Trevor entered her room, he called out. “Someone bring me warm water and a cloth. Furthermore, bring a glass of brandy.” Trevor checked her breathing. It was still weak. “Deputy, I told no one to leave and wouldn’t allow anyone to come in and change their clothes.”
“Thank you for that. That will be most useful. The Constable should be here any moment.”
Gus came through the door. “The doctor is pulling in now.”
Trevor let out a small sigh knowing medical help arrived. The bowl with warm water came just ahead of the physician. Trevor moved away from her side, walked over and closed the door, leaving only he, Gus and the doctor with Mary.
“Lord Caldwell, you have done all you can. I need to examine her thoroughly. Do you wish to stay? You could send in her maid.”
“Gus and I will be outside this door. Call me, as soon as you can.” Trevor walked over to the next bedroom and collected a chair from there, placing it outside Mary’s door. He sat. Mary’s lady’s maid was standing there in shock. “You may be excused,” he told her.
Chandler arrived with two scotches for the brothers and brandy for the patient.
“Thank you, Chandler. Always one step ahead as usual.”
“May I and the staff wish her recovery to be swift?”
“Thank you, Chandler, and thank the staff for their prayers and hopes.”
“Father!” He whispered loudly. Trevor ran to his room and composed a note to Lord Earl Caldwell. His tears were blurring the ink as he penned the words. He trotted to the balcony and shouted for Chandler, who was now in the reception hall below.
For an old butler, he made his way up the steps quickly. “Yes, milord?”
“Find Richards, and have him take a horse.” Putting the sealed note into Chandler’s hand, he said, “Have him give this to Father at parliament.”
“Tell him, sharpish like.”
Trevor returned to Mary’s door and began pacing the corridor. “Nothing like this has ever happened on this estate or the properties, to my knowledge. Was Mary a victim or a target?”
“Trevor …” Gus was weeping. “How could one do such a thing to Mary or any woman?”
“Only a dead man,” he whispered as he stared into nothingness.
“A dead what? What are you saying?”
“I will kill the bastard who did this, even if it costs my title or life.”
“I am sure we both feel that way, and father will too. However, we must remember we represent the English aristocracy. We have a long and proud history of a titled gentry. We don’t exact revenge.”
“The title be damned! I could not care less about it. Oh, God, I can feel Mary pulling me.”
“Retribution won’t bring her back, Trevor. Do not consider anything rash.”
Trevor downed his drink in one swallow and clasped his hands behind him. He didn’t want to hear any more of Gus’s admonitions. The long hallway, covered in fine oriental carpeting, masked the pacing sound of boots. The din from downstairs were the guests, the deputy, and Chandler. No doubt, the Constable was arriving.
The doctor poked his head out and said Lady Mary had little time. He wasn’t going to put her through the exhaustion of having her re-dressed. “She has a cracked skull in addition to the internal bleeding which is slowly draining the life from her. She also was brutally sexually assaulted. Seconds are precious now.”
Trevor looked at the doctor’s grim face and knew the worst was moments away. He stared at the door he had to open. For a moment, he thought he heard her call his name.
Entering, each brother took a hand on either side of the bed. They looked at one another. Tears were falling unashamed when Trevor heard Mary whisper, I. . I”
“Yes, Mary. Gus and I are with you. You are safe. What do you want us to know?” He placed his ear near her mouth and heard her constricted raspy voice and her final exhalation of breath. “No …no!” He watched as she closed her eyes for the last time. She was gone. He kissed her cheek, and the back of her hand before strolling over to a reading chair in her room and sat, staring at her. He had no words. He felt empty. Something snapped within him. In the far distance, it sounded as if Gus was speaking with the doctor through a breaking voice. He couldn’t accept that his sister was gone, forever.
How does one’s life change in an instant?
“The doctor is speaking to me,” his mind told him. Trevor didn’t reply. He watched the doctor walk to the bed and pull the sheet over her face. He and Gus left the room, closing the door.
Trevor walked back to the bed observing her small frame in her large 4-poster bed. She loved her canopy bed. How many times had he fixed it due to her jumping into it? He hauled his chair to the bedside and pulled the sheet down to her neck. There was a peaceful countenance on that battered face. It felt odd. Slipping his palm under the sheet, he pulled her hand out so he could hold it. Mary’s hand had grown pale while he held it. Perhaps her spirit was leaving her body. His mother had been the only religious one in the family. Had she been alive, she may have been able to explain Mary’s spirit and where it went. Trevor looked round the room, hoping to catch a glimpse of some mystical soft fog ascending the room and through the ceiling. She was at peace, now.
Trevor turned within himself; refusing everything: questions from the Constable and even his brother. Hours went by before he felt his father’s presence enter the room.
Trevor revived partially when he heard his father’s wailing. Still watching Mary’s body lying there as if she would wake up, his father’s lament seemed to crack the small world that he had built against the outside world. His blatant cry shattered Trevor’s private domain.
As devastated as he was, Lord Caldwell looked to his son and felt a chill. Gently, the Earl laid his daughter back down and circled the bed to greet his son. Trevor rose, as was customary even if the Earl was his father.
“Trevor, look at me,” he demanded, shaking his son’s shoulders. He received nothing but a stare that pierced through him. “Be seated.” Earl Caldwell left the room to consult with the doctor.
Trevor remained by his sister’s body, long after she was placed in the ground. Day and night, through the rain, he remained with her. The family and staff now worried for him. He became unreachable. Attempts to bring him into the house met a quiet but resolved resistance.
“Father, he’s still sitting out there talking with Mary. I believe he pauses as if listening to her answer. Has the doctor examined him completely?”
“Gus, his medical condition is a severe shock. He refuses medication, which could help temporarily. Trevor must feel he needs to suffer her hurt or see her into her next world. He is punishing himself, in a way, and there is little we can do to help him, perhaps for a very long time. I was never actually aware of the special relationship he had with Mary.”
“You weren’t here, Father. When you were, he would take her punishments for her. He taught her many things, he trained her to ride every horse we have, including his big Friesian. He pampered her, took her places, sang to her. The day she died, Trevor said how much he enjoyed watching her mature but didn’t like the idea of men crowding her. I think he felt like a father to Mary, more than a brother, being seven years her senior.”
“He did become her father, in essence. I knew he was standing in for her sometimes and allowed it to a point. But this! I find it hard to grieve for two people at once. In principle, we have lost Trevor, and there is no telling how long this remorse will last. You will have to assume his duties on the estate until he is stable once more. You and I have done all we can. No one can get through to him, not even the Constable or doctor.
Several days later, the door to the study unexpectedly opened, and Trevor walked in. “May I speak with the two of you about a matter which is important to me.”
“Of course, you can, Trevor. We are here grieving but still a family. What is it you want us to understand? You worry us too; you see?”
“That’s where I wish to start.” Trevor exhaled a long sigh and walked to the bar, pouring a drink before he began. “Anyone else?” he asked, holding up his glass.
“I think we all could use one of those.”
Trevor poured two more scotches, handed them around and began pacing before his family. “I know Mary’s death is as hard for you two as it is on me. I am finding difficulty in accepting it. I am ashamed of being weak. I know better in my mind, but in my heart, I feel I failed her.”
His father interrupted. “Trevor, you seem to want to carry the guilt of this. There certainly isn’t any weakness. No one can handle the death of a family member very well. There is no fault or shame here, and there is no guilt that you should bear.”
“Yes, I know that father. If you kindly wait until I am finished before speaking, Sir.” Trevor sighed and took another sip. “I know Mary is gone. I am sure you think I don’t seem to realize that, and you worry for me. Grieve for her and not me, or I shall be guilty of stealing her sympathy if you continue on this way. Gus, I know you’ve heard me speak with Mary. I do know I am doing that. I am under no illusions that she may be hovering above her own grave and watching over me. However, I do believe she is somewhere and can hear me. I am comforted when I talk to her. I am under no illusion that should the wind gust hard, or the rain pours down, that it is a sign from her. In time, it is likely that will end all too quickly. I am cognizant of the fact that both of you and perhaps the staff think I am going insane. I am not. However,” Trevor paused, gulped the last bit of his drink and refilled it. “I need to be away from this house for a while. I need to change my environment and find a new perspective on life if I ever want to assume the title. This perpetual cycle of mourning must be broken. I have been weakened to my very soul by the brutality of Mary’s death, and the thought that the man who did this is still free. I have given this a lot of thought and talked with Mary. When the detective is finished with me, I shall leave for, however, long it takes. I don’t know where I will go, but I will ride the train. I will buy the railway ticket and start where the tracks lead me. I will keep in touch now and then, but I must divest myself of all that has been around me for my lifetime. I want a different life for the foreseeable future. It’s as if I must start over. The old Trevor is an empty shell. My responsibilities here will not fill the void. Gus, Father, I hope you can one day understand and forgive me. I believe Mary has forgiven me.” Trevor finally sat.
Gus started to speak, but his father stopped him. “Son, you may do what you think is right for you. You do seem to understand what you are doing to yourself, and that gives us some comfort. I don’t want to lose you, too, so go and find yourself if that’s what you need. I have become quite aware that our title, honor, and history do not supersede family, unlike the way we have lived. I wish you luck my boy. If I can be of any help, allow me to do that. Gus will be here to tend to your duties. I will be in London. Please advise me if you are leaving England.”
“I do not intend to forgo Mother England, but I want to be lost to the world. I don’t wish people to know who I am. Perhaps, it will be just what a leader needs … to see the other side of life. Thank you, Gus, for what you will do for me.”
“May I speak?” Gus asked, looking at his father.
“Gus, please excuse me,” his father somberly spoke.
“Trevor, when Mary was barely alive, I asked you what type of man could do this, and you said, a dead man. To your knowledge at this time, is your intent revenge?”
His Lordship violently got to his feet. “Trevor, you are not thinking of hunting this man.”
“I haven’t decided father. Mary will lead me.”
“But Trevor, Detective Marshall is positive that it was no one who was visiting here that weekend.”
“So he says. I know that, too.”
But Mary knows. Trevor thought to himself.
“Affirm to me that you will not go looking for her killer.”
“I’m sorry, but I cannot make that promise. However, I will tell you that it is not an obligation that I have placed upon myself.” Trevor stood there, staring into his father’s face. “I am resolute in my decision.”
“I believe you, son.” Lord Caldwell sighed, sat down, not entirely convinced.
“If you will excuse me, I shall attempt to find Detective Marshall.”
“Trevor, he’s down at the ice house. Why not wait until he returns.” Gus admonished.
“I am not afraid to be where our sister fell. It was a part of her and so shall it be a part of me. Thank you, both for your understanding and support.” Trevor turned and left the room.
Trevor walked, rather than rode to the icehouse. Meeting the detective and his men, Trevor asked if there was any news other than the footprints made by worn boots.
“You can be proud of your sister. Lady Caldwell put up a valiant struggle. She did not give up. I’d say she learned that from her brothers.”
“How do you know this?”
The detective removed his handkerchief and slowly unfolded it. There in his palm was a human eyeball. “It seems she gouged out one of his eyes. It’s not uncommon for women to fight like that if they are on their back, but rarely are they successful in this type of attempt. Their nails and knees are two of their best defensive actions.”
Trevor looked at the brown eye. “Well done,” the inspector heard him say.
“Well done, Sir?”
“Yes, I was telling Mary, well done. Inspector, I will be spending some time away from this estate perhaps as early as tomorrow. Is there anything further you wish to ask me?”
“Where might you be headed?”
“I don’t know yet. If you do not mind, I may stop by the Met, on occasion, and speak with you about the case.”
“Any time you wish, milord.”
“Was there anything else you’ve discovered?”
“We did find a set of hoof prints that do not match any of the shoes that your horses wear. I see yours are forged with your family crest. I never knew nobles did that. This was a worn shoe missing a nail in two feet. Definitely, not from your estate, but fresh just the same. Be well on your journey. Contact me if you discover any news.”