Tavington: The Legacy: Chapter Twenty-One: "The Commission"
The three inseparable friends fought for the prime listening space near the keyhole. Karenna Carrenworth angrily shoved Thomas Ridgeford Thompson out of the way.
"It's my bloody dad, cockney!"
"Sorry, miss," Thompson whispered, more than a little disappointed that he was going to be the one giving up his spot at the door.
Karenna elbowed the cockney and put her own ear to the keyhole.
"Bloody hell! It is my dad! What's he doin' here?"
"Of course it's your dad," William spat. "Why would I lie about something like that?"
"Because you're a real bloody bastard sometimes," Karenna retorted.
"I assure you that you've done nothing to displease me, in fact, quite the opposite. The education my daughters have received at your school is quite on the level they would receive had I chosen to educate them myself."
The Duke of Fairenvail stared down his long nose at Morganna Tavington. The headmistress was dressed in the same plain, dark blue dress that William remembered from their first meeting. He had come to suspect that it was the only one she owned.
"You flatter me. I suppose," Morganna answered uncomfortably, her Tavington instincts demanding that she call him a 'bloody, arrogant, bastard.' Morganna had learned long ago to subjugate her nature, to make it the slave of her intellect and reason.
Karenna hadn't seen her father in over six years. She had changed. He hadn't. As always, he was eternally ageless, impeccably dressed, and wearing that foolishly gaudy necklace in the shape of a golden dragon. The girl watched through the keyhole. The woman sitting beside her father was unfamiliar. She was tall and dark with small black eyes to match her raven hair. Her left hand clutched the hand of a girl, about six, with brown hair and green eyes. In her right arm she cradled a tiny, red-haired infant.
"I understand that you are an old acquaintance of my wife, my second wife that is. Isn't that right, dear Virginia?"
"Second wife?" Karenna nearly screamed, "What's happened to mum?"
"Surely you remember me, Morganna," the woman whispered, smiling. Her voice had a slight French accent.
"Yes, Ms. Demain, I remember you," Morganna managed, barely able to control the rage building inside her.
"Now, Ms. Tavington, I have come to collect my daughters."
Morganna lowered her eyes. "Yes, I suppose I'll never understand men and their wars. Karenna, you can come in now. I know you're out there."
"I don't want to go!" Karenna cried, bursting into the room like some rogue tornado. "I won't! I like it here!"
"I know, my dear," her father answered quietly. "But I'm afraid it's not your decision to make."
She was gone that very night, both her and her sister Anna. A sense of profound loss settled across St. Agnes'. Thompson, normally capable of eating several dinners, barely touched food that night. He wiped tears away from his large, blue eyes at regular intervals.
"Do pull yourself together, Thomas," Morganna reprimanded. "Try to act like a gentleman."
"Oi cain't!" Thompson wailed. "Oi miss Karenna!"
"How can you miss her?" one of the girls asked. "She was always ordering you about and hitting you."
"Oi, but she was moi friend."
After the students were safely in bed, and once she was sure there was no one about to eavesdrop, Morganna Tavington called her nephew to the library.
"Sit down, William."
William wondered what his aunt wanted. She seemed to have become determined to ignore him except when it came time for the girls' dancing lessons. Thompson occupied most of her time. He was something of a pet project.
His family, what was left of it, lived in a rundown shack not far from the school. One morning Thomas Thompson had shown up at the door, poor, starving, and seemingly alone. Morganna had taken pity on the boy and allowed him to come live in the school, despite the protestations of the other teachers. Her design was a bold one. She would turn this Thompson, a low, common cockney, into a proper gentleman.
"William," Morganna began. Her voice trailed off and she found her gaze wandering to the portrait above the fireplace, the only picture of her father she could bring herself to display.
"Yes, Aunt Morganna?"
Silence.
"If this is about Thompson falling down the well, I had nothing to do with it."
"William, I'm sending you away."
The boy had half-expected this response.
"But Aunt Morganna. I'll never do it again!"
"Pack your things. You leave in the morning."
For years Tavington had assumed that his aunt sent him to boarding school because he had tricked Thompson into climbing down the well.
"It's where she keeps the pies, Thompson."
"In the well?"
"Naturally."
"But. whoi?"
"To hide them from you, of course."
Now he understood. She had only been trying to protect him from Lord Carrenworth, who had finally discovered his whereabouts. Morganna had actually cared about him.
"Gen. Tavington?"
The Frenchman toyed anxiously with his hat, his gray eyes fixed on the saber the dragoon was holding. Talleyrand deeply regretted not having taken his sword fighting lessons more seriously. He could image himself being slice clean in half.
"Go on."
"Yes, well. As you are no doubt aware, Victor Alexander Carrenworth VI, Duke of Fairenvail, spent several years living in France. In that short amount of time. he was able to cause a rather severe problem in the French governmental system. More specifically, he."
"What?"
". Seduced the queen."
Tavington's eyebrows rose slightly, his interest was heightened. Leave it to that Carrenworth to seduce Marie Antoinette. Then again, if Mooreville was as knowledgeable of foreign affairs as he claimed then seducing women in France required no real talent.
"There are rumors that he plans to do away with Louis XVI and marry the queen."
"Surely the house of Bourbon is built on a stronger foundation than that?" Tavington sneered mockingly. "One man can bring France to her knees? One, British, man? Why are you telling me this anyway? I'd think this would be the sort of thing you French would like to keep secret."
"Under normal circumstances, it would be," Talleyrand continued. "But this is different."
"How is it different, M. Talleyrand?"
"You, sir, are the only one who can get rid of. Vic."
Tavington smiled. Being the only person the French thought capable of a task was bound to go hand in hand with some kind of reward.
"If we were to utilize the might of the French army we would no doubt bring about another war between our two nations. This must be done quietly, privately. It must look like an accident, a duel, something. It cannot look as though France is involved."
Talleyrand pulled a letter from one of the pockets of his uniform and handed it to Tavington. The paper was thick, expensive parchment. It was sealed with the very seal of the King of France.
"That is a commission from His Majesty, King Louis XVI of France. He offers you a most generous reward in return for your services."
Tavington tore the letter open and scanned its contents, a basic military order masked by nearly impenetrable flowery court language. If he could kill Carrenworth, he would become one of the richest men in Europe, and, if Mooreville was correct, he would remain the sole heir to the House of Carrenworth. What did it matter that he planned to kill the man anyway. This was just icing on an already tasty cake.
"My services as an assassin," Tavington thought, intrigued by the idea.
The Frenchman nodded.
"I accept," the Grand High Dragoon said. "Within the next six months, dear Vic will be dead. one way or another."
For the first time in several years, Tavington found his life almost worth living again. Now, he felt like his old self. One's family name could be easily redeemed with a title and half the money in Europe.
~END OF BOOK ONE~
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I would like to thank everyone who has stuck with this long story. Hopefully, you've enjoyed reading it just as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Look for the sequel. coming soon. "Tavington: The Legend"
*AND go to http://pub34.ezboard.com/bthenewlegionrpg to join the British Green Dragoon Role-Playing Game!
The three inseparable friends fought for the prime listening space near the keyhole. Karenna Carrenworth angrily shoved Thomas Ridgeford Thompson out of the way.
"It's my bloody dad, cockney!"
"Sorry, miss," Thompson whispered, more than a little disappointed that he was going to be the one giving up his spot at the door.
Karenna elbowed the cockney and put her own ear to the keyhole.
"Bloody hell! It is my dad! What's he doin' here?"
"Of course it's your dad," William spat. "Why would I lie about something like that?"
"Because you're a real bloody bastard sometimes," Karenna retorted.
"I assure you that you've done nothing to displease me, in fact, quite the opposite. The education my daughters have received at your school is quite on the level they would receive had I chosen to educate them myself."
The Duke of Fairenvail stared down his long nose at Morganna Tavington. The headmistress was dressed in the same plain, dark blue dress that William remembered from their first meeting. He had come to suspect that it was the only one she owned.
"You flatter me. I suppose," Morganna answered uncomfortably, her Tavington instincts demanding that she call him a 'bloody, arrogant, bastard.' Morganna had learned long ago to subjugate her nature, to make it the slave of her intellect and reason.
Karenna hadn't seen her father in over six years. She had changed. He hadn't. As always, he was eternally ageless, impeccably dressed, and wearing that foolishly gaudy necklace in the shape of a golden dragon. The girl watched through the keyhole. The woman sitting beside her father was unfamiliar. She was tall and dark with small black eyes to match her raven hair. Her left hand clutched the hand of a girl, about six, with brown hair and green eyes. In her right arm she cradled a tiny, red-haired infant.
"I understand that you are an old acquaintance of my wife, my second wife that is. Isn't that right, dear Virginia?"
"Second wife?" Karenna nearly screamed, "What's happened to mum?"
"Surely you remember me, Morganna," the woman whispered, smiling. Her voice had a slight French accent.
"Yes, Ms. Demain, I remember you," Morganna managed, barely able to control the rage building inside her.
"Now, Ms. Tavington, I have come to collect my daughters."
Morganna lowered her eyes. "Yes, I suppose I'll never understand men and their wars. Karenna, you can come in now. I know you're out there."
"I don't want to go!" Karenna cried, bursting into the room like some rogue tornado. "I won't! I like it here!"
"I know, my dear," her father answered quietly. "But I'm afraid it's not your decision to make."
She was gone that very night, both her and her sister Anna. A sense of profound loss settled across St. Agnes'. Thompson, normally capable of eating several dinners, barely touched food that night. He wiped tears away from his large, blue eyes at regular intervals.
"Do pull yourself together, Thomas," Morganna reprimanded. "Try to act like a gentleman."
"Oi cain't!" Thompson wailed. "Oi miss Karenna!"
"How can you miss her?" one of the girls asked. "She was always ordering you about and hitting you."
"Oi, but she was moi friend."
After the students were safely in bed, and once she was sure there was no one about to eavesdrop, Morganna Tavington called her nephew to the library.
"Sit down, William."
William wondered what his aunt wanted. She seemed to have become determined to ignore him except when it came time for the girls' dancing lessons. Thompson occupied most of her time. He was something of a pet project.
His family, what was left of it, lived in a rundown shack not far from the school. One morning Thomas Thompson had shown up at the door, poor, starving, and seemingly alone. Morganna had taken pity on the boy and allowed him to come live in the school, despite the protestations of the other teachers. Her design was a bold one. She would turn this Thompson, a low, common cockney, into a proper gentleman.
"William," Morganna began. Her voice trailed off and she found her gaze wandering to the portrait above the fireplace, the only picture of her father she could bring herself to display.
"Yes, Aunt Morganna?"
Silence.
"If this is about Thompson falling down the well, I had nothing to do with it."
"William, I'm sending you away."
The boy had half-expected this response.
"But Aunt Morganna. I'll never do it again!"
"Pack your things. You leave in the morning."
For years Tavington had assumed that his aunt sent him to boarding school because he had tricked Thompson into climbing down the well.
"It's where she keeps the pies, Thompson."
"In the well?"
"Naturally."
"But. whoi?"
"To hide them from you, of course."
Now he understood. She had only been trying to protect him from Lord Carrenworth, who had finally discovered his whereabouts. Morganna had actually cared about him.
"Gen. Tavington?"
The Frenchman toyed anxiously with his hat, his gray eyes fixed on the saber the dragoon was holding. Talleyrand deeply regretted not having taken his sword fighting lessons more seriously. He could image himself being slice clean in half.
"Go on."
"Yes, well. As you are no doubt aware, Victor Alexander Carrenworth VI, Duke of Fairenvail, spent several years living in France. In that short amount of time. he was able to cause a rather severe problem in the French governmental system. More specifically, he."
"What?"
". Seduced the queen."
Tavington's eyebrows rose slightly, his interest was heightened. Leave it to that Carrenworth to seduce Marie Antoinette. Then again, if Mooreville was as knowledgeable of foreign affairs as he claimed then seducing women in France required no real talent.
"There are rumors that he plans to do away with Louis XVI and marry the queen."
"Surely the house of Bourbon is built on a stronger foundation than that?" Tavington sneered mockingly. "One man can bring France to her knees? One, British, man? Why are you telling me this anyway? I'd think this would be the sort of thing you French would like to keep secret."
"Under normal circumstances, it would be," Talleyrand continued. "But this is different."
"How is it different, M. Talleyrand?"
"You, sir, are the only one who can get rid of. Vic."
Tavington smiled. Being the only person the French thought capable of a task was bound to go hand in hand with some kind of reward.
"If we were to utilize the might of the French army we would no doubt bring about another war between our two nations. This must be done quietly, privately. It must look like an accident, a duel, something. It cannot look as though France is involved."
Talleyrand pulled a letter from one of the pockets of his uniform and handed it to Tavington. The paper was thick, expensive parchment. It was sealed with the very seal of the King of France.
"That is a commission from His Majesty, King Louis XVI of France. He offers you a most generous reward in return for your services."
Tavington tore the letter open and scanned its contents, a basic military order masked by nearly impenetrable flowery court language. If he could kill Carrenworth, he would become one of the richest men in Europe, and, if Mooreville was correct, he would remain the sole heir to the House of Carrenworth. What did it matter that he planned to kill the man anyway. This was just icing on an already tasty cake.
"My services as an assassin," Tavington thought, intrigued by the idea.
The Frenchman nodded.
"I accept," the Grand High Dragoon said. "Within the next six months, dear Vic will be dead. one way or another."
For the first time in several years, Tavington found his life almost worth living again. Now, he felt like his old self. One's family name could be easily redeemed with a title and half the money in Europe.
~END OF BOOK ONE~
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I would like to thank everyone who has stuck with this long story. Hopefully, you've enjoyed reading it just as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Look for the sequel. coming soon. "Tavington: The Legend"
*AND go to http://pub34.ezboard.com/bthenewlegionrpg to join the British Green Dragoon Role-Playing Game!