This is a different type of story that I thought I would try out. It may work, or it may not – doubtless you will let me know through your R&R! Original characters are mine, others, obviously, are not.

Introduction

This is the account of me, Silas Cromwell, a country gentleman. I have been asked to commit this history to writing to act as a warning to any others who may attempt what I am about to recall. I have written this account directly from my journal, so it will therefore follow each day's events in its presentation.

Being a country gentleman meant that, in common with many of my peers, I had a social status well beyond what my actual income allowed me to support. In times gone past I would have been termed 'Lord of the Manor' and held in utmost respect, but with the weakening of the established order by the passing of recent somewhat pernicious Acts of Parliament I now find myself somewhat hard pressed to enjoy what should otherwise be a comfortable and easy existence.

My seat was Cromwell Hall, a house of some historical significance situated on rising ground three miles south-east of Reigate in the county of Surrey. Here I managed nine hundred acres of best farmland with high yields of corn, barley and wheat, along with the villages of Great and Little Fontingford and their six hundred souls. My normal duties included such bastions of English life as presiding over the village fête and appointing the local vicar to the Parish Church of St Michael's and All Angels; acting as the local Magistrate in cases of minor felony; and of course seeing to the well being of those in my charge.

My wife, Sarah, had died some years prior to the events of this account, and my sons Henry and Albert – good royal names I trust the reader will note – were in their twenties at the time. Both were serving with Her Majesty's forces abroad, Henry (the elder) in Sudan and Albert in India. The Hall ran with a full complement of staff as befitted my position in local society, although perilously ruinous to my pocket. But it did mean that I was never alone, nor lonely – there was always much to do to ensure the smooth running of the estate. Butlers, Footmen, Housekeepers, maids, right down to the lowliest cook's assistant and lamp maid, I knew them by name and most I had personally appointed. Some stayed for years on end, like Legg the Head Butler; others in the very nature of their employment spent a little time with me and then as they developed moved on to other houses, near or far.

Of my staff, I especially valued my valet, Gibson, who had come to me after service as Butler to Lord and Lady Hevellyn at their seat in Kent, a servant and companion of indispensable quality. Having been with me for the past three years, he was one of those fortunate men able to see to the root of any problem or issue that may arise on the Estate, and suggest solutions – or at the very least, he knew someone of whom to enquire. Many was the time when by his advice I had been saved considerable inconvenience.

Which makes what followed so upsetting.

But I am getting ahead of myself. Hopefully you now have a picture of the sort of life I led – quiet, ordered, and responsible. I took my duties seriously. Although I have never served my country of the field of campaign – my ill health as a child precluded active service in the Armed Forces – I ensured that soldiers from the local garrison at Denningham were welcomed to local events and they were quite adopted by the villagers as 'their own' – as one or two subsequent betrothals demonstrated. I believe I was respected by those for whom I was responsible, and a steady stream of visitors on both official and unofficial capacity meant that a day was never dull.

It was panning out to be a quiet year – well, quieter than usual. It had started with the snow, of course, and I had been able to lend charity to some of the widows in the villages who were hard put to it in the conditions. Spring was late because of the long winter, but when it came the crops started to grow rapidly as if making up for lost time. All looked well.

So now I trust you have enough to be going on with, and you have formed a picture in your mind of an easy-going gentleman of moderate means, willing and ready to help where needed, a person respectable and law abiding. So why this account?

Because of what I have already stated: let what follows be a warning to every reader.

I will now recount the events of that fateful two weeks as they occurred.