Race Before the Wind

Copyright © Jill Salkeld 1988

Part One: 1814-1815

The Poacher

Chapter Six

Tom's narrow escape from the keepers had disturbing repercussions. The morning after the incident, as he was starting a letter to the Vaillants, Jonah Wooldridge arrived, quoting his legal right to search the cottage without a warrant. He covered every inch of floor space and peered into every cupboard, while Tom with difficult nonchalance finished his letter and commiserated with Marie Elderfield over the gamekeeper's want of manners.

There was nothing conclusive for Wooldridge to find. Last night's mission had yielded only one prize, as Tom thought with inward laughter; and that was none of the gamekeeper's business. As Tom saw him politiely to the door, the man said for his ears alone, "You've been lucky, Elderfield, and we both know it. Sir Charles says to bear in mind that you pay rent like the rest of us, and he's lost too many pheasants this season. If you're the man we're after, you'll be out. Homeless. How would that affect your mother's health, eh?" Jonah Wooldridge raised his brows at Tom's impassive expression, and doffed his hat. "Good day to you," he said.

Tom was shaken as much by the man's complacency as by his threats. Wooldridge could afford to play a waiting game, for no poacher working night after night could evade capture indefinitely.

But though Wooldridge's threats made him careful, he was far more deeply concerned by Gaspard Vaillant's reply to his letter. The Frenchman, eight years older than Tom and the agent for a Lymington saltern owner, regretted that winter was his busiest time and he could not be spared; however he and his mother would be delighted to visit during the summer, and Madame Elderfield would naturally be most welcome to return with them.

This was all rubbish, since Tom knew quite well that the salterns only operated during the summer months. Thwarted and seething, he lost his temper at his mother's peevishness for the first time in years, slammed out of the house, and left Jessica to cope. After a reckless hour-long ride across country on the girl's new chestnut gelding, he apologised to his womenfolk with reluctant contrition; but his plans were no further forward.

Jessica stayed most nights at the cottage now, her only worry being that she was neglecting Mace; but the boy started turning up there at all house, offering his services as man of all work. Tom let him take care of the hens for a shilling a week.

"I couldn't be a farmer, though," Mace told him once, "I'm going to be a shipwright. The bloody best."

"What, twenty-five miles inland? You've been at Jess's elderberry again."

"Hellfire - I'm nearly twelve! I've decided - I'll move south one day, like you, and design a ship grander than Victory."

"In that case," Tom said, making an effort to take the boy's ambition seriously, "give us all tickets for the maiden voyage."

In fact he was very fond of Mace, liking the boy's bravado and irrepressible gaiety. At the beginning of March, when Boney escaped from Elba meaning to regain his lost empire, Mace had had to be physically restrained from running away to embark with Wellington's troops. Tom suspected that Mace would one day give Mr. Tandy more trouble than all the rest of his offspring together.

Buonaparte's renewed quest for glory was short-lived. In July the British and Prussian victory at Waterloo provided fresh cause for merrymaking, and Boney was sent into final exile on the island fortress of St. Helena.

With the disbandment of Wellington's army came disillusionment. Ex-soldiers came home looking for work, the new Corn Bill kept prices high, and the number claiming Poor Relief rose steadily.

National problems could not affect Tom deeply. The warmer weather brought some improvement in his mother's health, and he had Jess. Life was precious, the world was beautiful. Sometimes, waking in the dark to feel Jessica curled warmly against him, her body moulded to his, he was so overcome with love that he felt he would burst for sheer joy. Even when, around the time of Waterloo, the girl lost their first child only seven weeks after its conception, his sorrow was for her sake, and was tempered by guilty relief.

Towards the end of July, Tom wrote again to Gaspard Vaillant, reminding him of his promise. This time the answer came promptly; and the Frenchman and his widowed mother arrived the day after their letter.

The carriage alone - a gleaming, hooded, green and black affair, drawn by two high-stepping horses - drew Hatchley folk from their homes to stare. Jessica and Mace, involved in a frenzied spring-cleaning of the cottage, followed Tom outside to greet his guests; and with disbelief saw him kiss not only Madame Vaillant but also her son - on both cheeks.

Tom stood back to inspect his childhood friend, who had taught him to ride, box and swim, all before Tom's fourth birthday. In the three years since their last meeting, Gaspard had not changed. Tom guessed in amusement that the padded chest, beringed hands and rouged cheeks must place his manhood in doubt for the simple villagers. There were no dandies in Hatchley.

"Mon cher, but you are taller than I," said Gaspard, studying him with the aid of glinting monocle. "Insupportable. I declare I shall feel quite inferior."

Tom was prevented from replying by the force of a second embrace from Madame Angelique Vaillant, whose huge bosom butted him in the stomach. "My little Thomas, it is so good to see you." Then, in a stage whisper, "So distressing about last winter, but Gaspard will explain, indeed he will, in his own good time. Do not be angry with us."

"Me? Angry?" he said, grinning and hugged her with affection.

The visitors were conducted to their rooms to unpack. Jessica had been right; Madame seemed not to mind sharing a bedchamber with her long-time friend and Gaspard chuckled at the prospect of sharing with Tom. "How diverting. I have acquaintances who will be green, truly green with jealousy when I tell them," he drawled, and then smirked at Tom's outraged look. "Only teasing, mon cher. Forgive me, or I shall be wretched."

Tom warned Jessica not to take seriously anything that Gaspard might say, but she struck up an easy, bantering camaraderie with the Frenchman, and spent only the nights at her own home.

"Alas for me," he told her in private. "Thomas has snared the most exquisite creature I have yet seen on either side of the Channel."

"Second only to yourself, I assume," she countered.

"And I am to be married in November, he added, with a sigh. "How fortunate for my fiancée, and for Thomas, that we did not meet a year ago."

"And how fortunate for you, m'sieur, that these eggs are needed for lunch, or I would certainly break one over your head."

Tom kept a tolerant if wary eye on Gaspard, but he had schemes of his own afoot. In a recent county singlestick match, the prize for Hampshire had been won by a gypsy called Ayres. Rob Hanson had been unfit to compete due to a concussion suffered in a tavern brawl, and was now eager to challenge Ayres for the championship. Mr. William Cobbett, locally as famous for his patronage of the sport as for his radical journalism, would permit the title to be contested in the grounds of his house at Botley, in the south-east of the county. The purse would be fifteen guineas plus a gold-laced hat.

"Sir Charles is allowing everyone the day off work. Hanson being a Hatchley man," Tom told Gaspard. "It's a fair distance, we'd be up at dawn, but I reckon it'll be a good day out. Jess will be coming, and maybe her brothers."

Gaspard was remarkably keen. It would make a change, he said, from betting on duels and prize-fights. In the even, the three were joined by Amos and Mace, borrowing the Tandys' haycart to accommodate everybody. Obadiah, declining to travel with "Elderfield and that painted Frog." Rode with Hanson's cronies.

The journey was long, hot, and - since the carts drove in convoy - tediously slow.

"I imagine you will advise me to bet on his Hanson fellow," said Gaspard, taking his turn delicately with the ale flagon.

"He can't lose." Said Amos sourly, giving the horse an unnecessary flick of the whip. "Been champion for four years running."

Tom said nothing; but when Jessica realised that he was drinking only water she eyed him suspiciously, and he wondered how much she guessed.

They reached Botley House to find a splendid feast laid out on long tables by the river. The ring was already roped off, in the centre of a wide, sloping lawn, above which the red brick farmhouse and walled garden gave the Cobbetts some privacy.

The man who stood to welcome the visitors was tall and broad-shouldered, rather stout from recent prosperity, and clearly pleased by the arrival of so many spectators. Tom returned his greeting with respect; he had read Mr. Cobbett's weekly news-sheet, and knew that the farmer had spent two years in Newgate goal for his outspoken opinions.

The match between Hanson and Ayres began at noon, by which time the stables were full, the road lined with carts, and the crush of spectators at the ringside meant that only those squashed against the ropes had a decent view. Tom hoisted Mace on to his shoulders and the boy relayed loudly every detail of the action.

Ayres was young, skilful and agile, but Hanson had ten years' experience behind him and he was heavier and basically stronger than the gypsy. Within fifteen minutes, after only four rounds, Hanson was being presented with the purse and hat by a beaming William Cobbett. The veteran singlstick player was not even out of breath.

Sware of the crow's disappointment at this antclimax, Mr. Cobbett injected some drama into the proceedings. He lifted Rob Hanson's arm above his head and declared triumphantly, "Gentlemen - ladies - I give you Mr. Robert Hanson, undisputed Champion of the County!"

Now that the moment had come, Tom found he was sweating from more than the heat. Hanson's strength, and his tendency to bend the unwritten rules of fair combat, were legendary. Setting Mace down, Tom pushed his way to the ringside and ducked under the rope to address William Cobbett.

"I dispute it, sir! I challenge his right to the title."

"Great heavens" Your name, sir?"

Tom enlightened him.

"Mr. Elderfield, I owe you an apology." Cobbett pumped his hand with enthusiasm. "I doubted there was a man present who would prove his mettle against Mr. Hanson here."

The crowd agreed with him; there were murmurs of growing interest. Tom shot Hanson a look of calculated arrogance. "Rob won the purse fair and square. Maybe he wouldn't like to risk losing it so soon."

Hanson took the bait. "Risk?" he asked softly. "What risk is that? Though I can't promise you the sport of an equal match, Mr. Cobbett. When a boy pits himself against a man!

William Cobbett narrowed his eyes at the champion. "We will commence immediately, Mr. Hanson, unless you require time in which to recover your strength."

By way of reply Hanson kicked Ayres' discarded weapon across the grass towards Tom, who beckoned Amos and a dubious Gaspared to act as his seconds. Following Hanson's example he stripped to the waist, and Cobbett signalled for play to begin.

If the discrepancy in weight between the players was due partly to Hanson's massive shoulders and two inches' extra height, it also owed something to a thickening waistline.

Chapter Seven

Click here to
download SEO Elite!
the Search Engine
Optimiser
we would recommend

Discover this Incredible Secret System To Making Money Online Within 10 Days!