Carrenworth: The Vengeance: Chapter Twelve: "With the Morning Comes the
Reaffirmation"
In a brocade dressing gown that was so thick and large it seemed to be consuming his slender body, Victor Alexander Carrenworth leafed through the collection of financial documents and record books that contained all of the figures related to the Carrenworth estate. As much as the late Victor Alexander Carrenworth V had prided himself on exactitude, his son found his record keeping to be somewhat lacking. There were even unpaid debts, most of them to the owners of houses of ill repute located in the seedier districts of London. Victor rolled his blue eyes; certainly a man like his father could afford to indulge his vices in classier establishments, the sort Victor himself had been known to visit.
"Your tea, your lordship."
De Fleur, his new manservant, set a tray containing an impressive silver tea service on the edge of the massive desk.
"Does your lordship require anything else?"
Victor filled a cup with cream, to which he added a few drops of tea.
"More cream, perhaps?"
The duke took a small sip of his drink, and finding it satisfactory, replied, "That will be all, de Fleur."
"Very good, your lordship."
The assassin bowed, and was gone.
Victor had never seen an assassin before, and had only speculated as to what one might look like. He imagined, like most would, a man dressed entirely in black with seven or eight knives hidden about his person. De Fleur was a pleasant surprise. Though tall, slender, and lithe in the way one would assume an assassin to be, he wore very uninteresting clothes in the fashion of servants and powdered his hair. He looked exactly like a manservant, not like an assassin at all, and for that Victor admired him. Going about in black, armed with numerous knives would demonstrate an incredible lack of common sense, a lacking of the sort of tactical common sense that Victor liked.
He also served tea promptly and prepared bathwater that was neither too hot nor too cold. Who could ask for more? As a manservant and as an assassin he would do nicely.
The door to the study opened. Victor didn't bother to look up. He knew it would be Gen. Howe.
"Good morning, your lordship," Howe said cheerfully. He didn't seem so nervous. A good night's sleep had done him a world of good.
The fat general seated himself in one of the carved wooden chairs set before the desk. He remembered only a month previous when he had sat in the same chair, receiving orders from Victor the Fifth.
"Please, help yourself to some tea, my dear general."
Howe did, black with three lumps of sugar.
"I take it you have come to apologize for declining my invitation to tonight's party. No doubt you have business in London, doing whatever it is you do when there is no one for your army to kill. And there is dear Lady Beatrice."
Howe felt a slight shiver down his spine. There was something wrong about Victor. It was like he could reach inside one's head and pull out the thoughts that suited him at the time.
"Yes, that was most of it." Howe drank some tea. "I also came because I want to know what you intend to do now that you have returned to England, once you've finished celebrating your father's death with most untimely parties."
Victor flipped through a few more papers, opened a thick book, and compared several figures. After re-dipping his quill he made a few quick marks.
"Your lordship?"
"I heard you, Howe!" Victor snapped. "It's my lungs that trouble me, not my hearing."
"Yes, your lordship."
He pulled out a scarlet handkerchief and coughed slightly, then took another sip of "tea."
"First I intend to make sense out of my father's accounts. He has left them in a most dreadful state. I owe twenty pounds to a man in Whitechapel. Whitechapel, Gen. Howe!"
Howe scratched the back of his neck. He was well away of the late duke's love of women, particularly women of a lower class.
"Then, I suppose I shall do what every dragoon is sworn to do, serve my king and my country. I have always fancied a foray into the world of privateering. I would invite you to join me, general, but I doubt that anything of that sort would interest a man such as yourself."
Howe was dumbstruck.
"Piracy, your lordship?"
"Of course not! I mean to raid the French and the Americans in the name of England. That, my dear general, makes it privateering, not piracy. You need not worry. Should the king ever be in need of my services as a dragoon, he need only ask. My rapier is always well-sharpened."
The general finished his tea and replaced the cup on the tray.
"Are you sure about this, your lordship?"
Victor's eyebrows contracted in annoyance. "You serve me, general. I will not have you questioning me more than I believe necessary. You may go now."
And so the general left.
"Look after him, de Fleur. Waiting two years? Letting Tavington regain his strength? It's madness! What good what purpose will a dashing display serve if he loses?"
It took nearly six months for Victor to put the family accounts in order, so it wasn't until early 1782 that he set out on his latest campaign. Like most of his brief and passionate dedications, he enjoyed it thoroughly, and was somewhat disappointed when he received a letter from Gen. Howe in early 1783.
Dear Victor,
Your services as Grand High Dragoon of His Majesty's Golden Dragoons are required for the preservation and protection of the British Empire.
Sincerely yours,
Your humble servant, Sir William Howe
In a brocade dressing gown that was so thick and large it seemed to be consuming his slender body, Victor Alexander Carrenworth leafed through the collection of financial documents and record books that contained all of the figures related to the Carrenworth estate. As much as the late Victor Alexander Carrenworth V had prided himself on exactitude, his son found his record keeping to be somewhat lacking. There were even unpaid debts, most of them to the owners of houses of ill repute located in the seedier districts of London. Victor rolled his blue eyes; certainly a man like his father could afford to indulge his vices in classier establishments, the sort Victor himself had been known to visit.
"Your tea, your lordship."
De Fleur, his new manservant, set a tray containing an impressive silver tea service on the edge of the massive desk.
"Does your lordship require anything else?"
Victor filled a cup with cream, to which he added a few drops of tea.
"More cream, perhaps?"
The duke took a small sip of his drink, and finding it satisfactory, replied, "That will be all, de Fleur."
"Very good, your lordship."
The assassin bowed, and was gone.
Victor had never seen an assassin before, and had only speculated as to what one might look like. He imagined, like most would, a man dressed entirely in black with seven or eight knives hidden about his person. De Fleur was a pleasant surprise. Though tall, slender, and lithe in the way one would assume an assassin to be, he wore very uninteresting clothes in the fashion of servants and powdered his hair. He looked exactly like a manservant, not like an assassin at all, and for that Victor admired him. Going about in black, armed with numerous knives would demonstrate an incredible lack of common sense, a lacking of the sort of tactical common sense that Victor liked.
He also served tea promptly and prepared bathwater that was neither too hot nor too cold. Who could ask for more? As a manservant and as an assassin he would do nicely.
The door to the study opened. Victor didn't bother to look up. He knew it would be Gen. Howe.
"Good morning, your lordship," Howe said cheerfully. He didn't seem so nervous. A good night's sleep had done him a world of good.
The fat general seated himself in one of the carved wooden chairs set before the desk. He remembered only a month previous when he had sat in the same chair, receiving orders from Victor the Fifth.
"Please, help yourself to some tea, my dear general."
Howe did, black with three lumps of sugar.
"I take it you have come to apologize for declining my invitation to tonight's party. No doubt you have business in London, doing whatever it is you do when there is no one for your army to kill. And there is dear Lady Beatrice."
Howe felt a slight shiver down his spine. There was something wrong about Victor. It was like he could reach inside one's head and pull out the thoughts that suited him at the time.
"Yes, that was most of it." Howe drank some tea. "I also came because I want to know what you intend to do now that you have returned to England, once you've finished celebrating your father's death with most untimely parties."
Victor flipped through a few more papers, opened a thick book, and compared several figures. After re-dipping his quill he made a few quick marks.
"Your lordship?"
"I heard you, Howe!" Victor snapped. "It's my lungs that trouble me, not my hearing."
"Yes, your lordship."
He pulled out a scarlet handkerchief and coughed slightly, then took another sip of "tea."
"First I intend to make sense out of my father's accounts. He has left them in a most dreadful state. I owe twenty pounds to a man in Whitechapel. Whitechapel, Gen. Howe!"
Howe scratched the back of his neck. He was well away of the late duke's love of women, particularly women of a lower class.
"Then, I suppose I shall do what every dragoon is sworn to do, serve my king and my country. I have always fancied a foray into the world of privateering. I would invite you to join me, general, but I doubt that anything of that sort would interest a man such as yourself."
Howe was dumbstruck.
"Piracy, your lordship?"
"Of course not! I mean to raid the French and the Americans in the name of England. That, my dear general, makes it privateering, not piracy. You need not worry. Should the king ever be in need of my services as a dragoon, he need only ask. My rapier is always well-sharpened."
The general finished his tea and replaced the cup on the tray.
"Are you sure about this, your lordship?"
Victor's eyebrows contracted in annoyance. "You serve me, general. I will not have you questioning me more than I believe necessary. You may go now."
And so the general left.
"Look after him, de Fleur. Waiting two years? Letting Tavington regain his strength? It's madness! What good what purpose will a dashing display serve if he loses?"
It took nearly six months for Victor to put the family accounts in order, so it wasn't until early 1782 that he set out on his latest campaign. Like most of his brief and passionate dedications, he enjoyed it thoroughly, and was somewhat disappointed when he received a letter from Gen. Howe in early 1783.
Dear Victor,
Your services as Grand High Dragoon of His Majesty's Golden Dragoons are required for the preservation and protection of the British Empire.
Sincerely yours,
Your humble servant, Sir William Howe