The Redemption of Sir Edward Denham - A Return to Sanditon Novella

Two

Well, that was not the response he was expecting, thought Edward. What the devil was going on and who the devil was he speaking to? It was apparent from the fellow's clipped tones that he was educated, yet his appearance was that of a labourer or farmhand. With unkempt, dirty blonde hair and full beard, he considered the fellow carefully. Eyes alert; this man was no lackwit. What would an educated Englishman be doing in northern France, dressed as a ruffian in this godforsaken hole?

"You seem to know who I am, sir. Perhaps you would do me the courtesy of stating your name and business?" Edward asked cautiously, keeping his voice low.

"I am Carlisle." The man replied. "And the conversation we must have, unless you are content to rot away in this hell hole, must be in private." Replied the man softly, but with purpose.

"Ho, ho. I am not wandering down some alley with a stranger, sir. Do I look like I'd appreciate my throat being sliced?" Edward scoffed. "I've found the ladies love this throat." He added with a roguish grin.

"Denham. I am not here to slit your throat or to cause amusement. There is an offer that I have been sanctioned to make and that cannot be made in a back-alley tavern where every Tom, Dick or Francois can overhear." The man growled. "I have a carriage in the yard, and propose we step out from this place to converse. On my honour, no harm will befall you."

"Honour?" Edward considered the man sceptically. "You are a gentleman ... or are you? I'm not quite certain what you could possibly know of honour."

The man stood quickly, knocking the table and unsettling Edward's half-empty glass of red wine. Quickly checking the room to ensure they had not drawn undue attention, he leaned over and spoke menacingly, "Question my honour again and you will feel the slide of steel through your ribs." he pierced Edward with a glare. "As I understand it, Denham, you need us more than we need you. Join me or don't, it's of no concern of mine." He turned and stalked to the tavern's side entrance and stepped out into the evening chill.

Edward sat and watched the man leave before curiosity overwhelmed him. He stood and quickly followed the man into the alley and was relieved to see him standing next to the open door of a closed carriage, conversing quietly with its occupant. He turned as he heard Edward approach and glared.

Edward moved towards him cautiously, raising his hands in supplication, "I believe we may have gotten off on the wrong foot." He spoke in a conciliatory tone. "I have come to listen to your proposal."

The man, Carlisle, grunted and motioned to the carriage. "Then get in, we don't have much time."

Edward stepped into the darkened carriage to find another man cloaked in shadows. With a bravado he didn't feel, he introduced himself. Carlisle hoisted himself in after Edward and took the seat next to his mysterious companion.

"You must be wondering why we have approached you, Sir Edward?" came an accented voice clearly belonging to the shadowed man. "Your name and location have been known to us for some time. It is not every day that we find a titled Englishman living in such squalor. I can only assume that fate had been unkind to you, mon ami."

Edward startled slightly as the carriage jolted into motion. He swallowed, unsure whether he had just been incredibly foolish. He regarded the two figures before him with unease. "Perhaps we can start with some introductions? Particularly as we seem to be fast becoming travelling companions." He spoke with an indifference he didn't feel.

As the carriage moved through the streets of Lille, a gaslight illuminated the inside of the carriage for a moment before darkness shrouded them once more. The man was raven-haired with a peppering of grey adding a distinguished air, and sharp angular features, but most noticeable of all was a scar that ran down the whole of the left side of his face, slightly distorting the shape of his eye and continuing down to his jawline. Edward suppressed a shiver at the sinister visage. Who were these people?

"Where are my manners? You are quite right. I assume you have been introduced to my friend here, Monsieur Carlisle, yes?" he drawled, "I am Claude Dujardin."

Edward dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Now, perhaps you can tell me why I am here?"

Dujardin paused for a moment, and Edward suspected that some hidden communication had just taken place between him and Carlisle. Obviously deciding that Edward was worthy of furthering their conversation, he began. "You have been here in France for a number of years now, yes?" he asked. At Edward's nod, he continued. "Have you been keeping abreast of the political situation in your homeland during this time?"

Edward, unsure of where this conversation was leading, spoke cautiously. "I have heard things. News travels across the channel even to the less salubrious quarters."

"Of course." Dujardin murmured. "The past five years have been difficult for your government. Since your Regent's ascension to the throne, he has been called to account over his imprudent spending whilst much of the country is crippled with taxes and poverty. The corn laws have made bitter men out of loyal countrymen. This is never good for the stability of the realm. I should know, I lived through the terrors here in my own country." He shuddered at the memory of such brutal times. One must be of noble blood to be thus affected, Edward thought sympathetically.

"Alas, with the ill health of our King here in France, our political landscape and the mood of the people is once more changing like the sands in the great deserts. So, too is the fabric of your homeland. There is a determined movement, currently small in numbers, but dedicated nonetheless, who feel that the balance of power in England is unjust, and those who have fought for their countries and have worked each day to keep the cogs of the nobility turning, cannot remain unheard. The undercurrent of civil unrest is gaining momentum." He moved forward in his seat and Edward once more glimpsed the face of a man who had clearly faced innumerable threats in his own lifetime.

Dujardin continued gravely. "But there is a small cell of men who are hell-bent on causing more than unrest; they wish to maim and cauterise those that stand in the way of reform. These men have plotted here, in France, where they believe their plans will go unnoticed. Their aim is to cause bloodshed at the very heart of London, and their targets include those amongst whom you have a connection. London Society reconvenes next month for the reopening of parliament. As is tradition, there will be balls and soirées almost every evening. Targets such as these appeal to revolutionaries."

Edward stared at the man in front of him. If what he said were true, there would be anarchy in England. Although shocked by the news, he was still unsure why they were telling him. What did they want from him?

"That is disturbing indeed, Monsieur Dujardin." He spoke earnestly, "But I truly do not see what any of this has to do with me. I can hardly stroll into a ballroom and tell the good lords and ladies to go home, now can I?" he laughed uneasily.

Carlisle spoke for the first time since entering the carriage. "In the tavern; you questioned my honour. I am still trying to decide if you possess any." The jeering remark was like a splash of cold water to Edwards's face.

"Touché." He replied sardonically. "I am as much a patriot as any man. However, I am without funds; without connections," he grimaced "Or at least connections who would admit to knowing me. I am as much use as a carriage without wheels."

Dujardin regarded Edward shrewdly before continuing. "Carlisle here, believes we have made a mistake in seeking you out. He believes you to be nothing more than a wastrel. I am not blessed with such quick judgement. I sense that you are not yet rotten to the core. Am I wrong?"

"That, monsieur, is for you to judge." Edward bristled.

"Very well." Dujardin rapped on the roof of the coach, and it drew to a halt.

Edward peered out of the window somewhat surprised to see that, by some circuitous move, they had stopped outside of his lodgings. He turned an incredulous gaze upon his two companions and asked, "That's it? You have judged me as dishonourable and expect me to forget this conversation ever happened?"

Dujardin laughed. "After the efforts, we have gone to. I think not." He pointed to the building, "No, Sir Edward, you have ten minutes to collect your belongings. Carlisle shall assist. Then I will tell you what you will do for us."