The Poisoner's Game

Chapter 18

A.

After yesterday, I wondered again if I should involve Margaret. The immense sadness that had escaped from her eyes, made me wish I could take it all away. Pain sadly wasn't like that. It had killed my mother. At one time, it had threatened to kill me.

"You look comfortable," Margaret said, flushing red. The sadness from yesterday only just tinged her brows.

"You know, I am. It's like being in the Navy again. At least when we get far out to sea. We can wear white tunics and brown trousers. The lighter the clothing the faster it dries, and it was always so bloody hot." I forgot Margaret wasn't a sailor. Not that she looked anything like one, she just made me comfortable. "Excuse my language. Otherwise, we wear our undress uniforms. We do, however, wear our epaulets on all occasions. It's not like the clothes in London."

She smiled at me for a second, before shaking her head and looking away. "Where to first?"

"First..." I paused, pulling a pistol from a hidden compartment in the carriage, "I need to teach you to use one of these."

I handed her the pistol, and Margaret took it gingerly as if it were a snake.

"The trigger is thinner than I imagined," she whispered.

"It's not loaded." I took the pistol from her again. "See, the chamber is empty." Margaret looked at the empty slots as I handed it back to her.

The silver barrel gleamed in the light juxtaposed to the grip of the gun, a dark walnut. On one side of the barrel, it read in capital letters, "Holland & Holland 98 New Bond St London."

"It's a Webley Kaufman Double-Action Revolver. For your use, I'll purchase you a Derringer or British Bull Dog revolver. They're smaller and more suited for self-defense."

"I don't think I could ever fire one." She warily handed the revolver back to me, holding it by the tips of her fingers.

"Even so, I'd like you to know how to." I placed the revolver back into its hidden compartment.

"Where are we going?"

"Syon Park in Isleworth, we have use of the grounds, as they are closer to London than any of my family's residences."

"But..." Her nose scrunched.

"I have everything arranged."

Syon House rose before us in three stories of fawn-colored Bath stone. In the distance, past the house, I could just see the glass dome of the Great Conservatory. The sun sparkled off the glass, and I imagined I could see palm trees swaying against the top. Behind the house, the river Thames bisected between the property and the Royal Botanical Gardens.

The carriage turned away from the house, down a dirt lane into the woodlands and stopped in a field. The coachman set down a medium sized chest and then bowed to us, returning to his seat on top of the carriage and drove back up the dirt lane. I picked up the chest and indicated for Margaret to follow me. We walked further into the field until the lane all but disappeared from sight. I placed the chest on the ground, my jacket's sleeves were both a tad short and too tight on my arms.

In green velvet laid a revolver like the one in the carriage, surrounded by some tools for maintenance and a small wooden case labeled "ammunition."

"Margaret, come closer." I waved her over, but she stood as far away as possible. I sighed loudly, "You're perfectly safe."

Margaret reluctantly moved forward until she was looking over my shoulder.

"This is also a Webley revolver," I showed it to her. "I'm going to show you how to load the cartridges." I handed her the small wooden case. "Please, hold this."

Opening the case, I pulled out a golden-colored cartridge. "First, half-cock the revolver, that's the first click. Then, release the gate. Last," I pointed to the empty slots in the cylinder, "these are called chambers. In this revolver there are six chambers, fill each of them, but the first, with a cartridge by sliding it in, as so." I showed her, rotating the cylinder.

Margaret inched away again.

"A bullet won't leave the barrel until you put down the hammer completely." I pushed down a latch on top of the revolver. "To fire the gun, you need to pull the trigger." I looked back at her. She looked delicate with her arms wrapped around her frame. "I'd cover your ears, at least this first time."

She put her hands over her ears, and I nodded and pulled the trigger. The blast reverberated through the clearing, sending some birds flying from the trees. Margaret's face went ashen.

Carefully I walked up to her. "Now, I'd like you to try."

"Must I?" she asked.

"It's for your safety."

Margaret mulled it over, chewing her bottom lip. "All right."

I guided Margaret through loading the single cartridge. "We'll leave the hammer down on the unloaded chamber, as a safety measure." I then stood behind her. "Hold it with your hand as high on the grip as possible, your thumb should be exerting pressure inwards." I adjusted her hands upward.

Nothing but professionalism.

"Your pointer finger will be on the trigger, but for now keep it outside of the trigger guard, and your thumb will point toward the muzzle. The rest of your fingers should clasp the grip." I adjusted her stance. "Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart. Use your left hand to support your right, by securing it around the grip, as well. Extend your arms straight out in front of you, but don't lock your elbows. Bring the revolver up to eye level and check to make sure no one is down range."

She nodded, her hands trembling slightly as she stared down the barrel to the empty field.

"Are you all right?" I asked. Perhaps, I had pushed her too fast.

She nodded in response and breathed heavily.

"Push down the hammer one last time. You will hear the second click." The click sounded, and I continued, "Once you pull the trigger you will feel a recoil, keep a firm grip and stance. You don't want to incur a black eye. Whenever you are ready." I stood back.

She took a deep breath, once more looking down the barrel of the gun. She pulled the trigger. The sound blasted, ringing in my ears. Margaret's body jolted back. She readjusted her stance as the last remnants of the blast disappeared from both the clearing and her body.

"Excellent work. You have more strength than I expected, better than some cadets." A flush of pride infused me.

Her arms remained in their locked position, and she seemed to stare unseeingly down the field.

"Would you like to try again?"

With that, her arms fell heavy to her side, as she vigorously shook her head. "No."

"As you wish." I took the revolver from her and walked back to the chest. With practiced ease, I took out some tools and began to clean the revolver. "If someone is coming at you with one of these, shoot them in the pelvis. They will not be able to pursue you, and it might not kill them. It slows them down faster, in some cases than shooting them directly in the heart. I could recommend aiming at their feet or kneecaps, but for an inexperienced marksman that would be quite difficult. Otherwise, always shoot for the center, which is a large and steadier target."

"Oh." She flushed again.

"If you don't have a weapon and you are fighting a male assailant." I paused and returned the revolver to the chest. "Excuse my crudeness, kick them in their prodigious engine," I bit back a grimace, "if you understand my meaning?"

"You mean their masculine bits?" She nodded, with a barely hidden smile.

"Poking someone's eyes can demobilize them quickly."

Margaret squeezed her eyes shut briefly and nodded. "I understand."

I patted her on the back. Why'd I do that? She's a lady. I stared at my offending appendage.

"Then we're ready to leave. I'll purchase you a derringer, as soon as I can find the time. The best thing you can do in a situation, like the ones I have described, is to run in a zigzag pattern. Find a place to hide or a public space with law officials. My hope was that you'll never have to use anything I've taught you today."