Duchess at Hazard: THE CHADLINGTON CHRONICLES, #2

By V.J. MANSFIELD

DUCHESS AT HAZARD

Duchess at Hazard is the second book of the Chadlington Chronicles, spanning from 1812 to 2007 and from the Seventh Duke to the Twelfth.

In 1812 a young officer watched as his friend and brother-in-law lay dying in the breach at Ciudad Rodrigo, eventually, he ends his suffering. A few weeks later he finds that his father has died and that he has become the Duke.

A bizarre set of circumstances results in him gambling for an unknown prize. The outcome forces him to return to the Continent, along with his sister and the lovely but seemingly naive, Lady Chelmsford. Their travels throughout Europe involve many adventures, including a dual, a naval engagement with Moorish slave traders and clashes with bandits.

Unexpectedly the young Duke finds himself at Waterloo with his mentor and friend, the Duke of Wellington. At a crucial juncture, he takes command of a British 'square'.

Returning to England, now with a Duchess, he settles down to what should be a long and happy life. Twin sons ensure that there will be an heir for the duchy but all is not well. George, the younger of the twins, is engaging and outgoing. His elder brother, Albert, is very different. He is sadistic, depraved and a sexual predator.

George returns from a voyage to find that his beloved Natalie has been forced into an engagement with Albert. The only solution is an elopement.

As scandal follows scandal, the Duke decides that Albert is unfit to succeed but before he can take action he and the Duchess are murdered. The new Duke institutes a reign of terror and forces a marriage with Natalie's sister. The young Duchess is demeaned, slighted and beaten. In particular, she is badly beaten for not having become pregnant.

The few who care for her are convinced that Albert is infertile; extreme measures are necessary. By the end of the second month of their marriage, she can inform the Duke that she is pregnant. A son results, followed by a second son and a daughter.

When the Duchess tries to prevent Albert from raping a young maid, she is beaten and told that she will be sent away and will not see her sons again. Once again, extreme measures are necessary and by noon the following day, the Duke is dead. His successor marries and in 1871 has a son, only then does he discover the secret of his birth but he can take no action without destroying his mother and his siblings.

During the following years, the wealth of the duchy grows but the demands of Empire and two World Wars take their toll. In WWI two of the Tenth Duke's sons die on the Western Front but his eldest son survives being sunk at Jutland to inherit.

The Eleventh Duke loses two sons in WWII. One died in the Battle of Britain; the second on D Day. The Duke is killed during a V2 attack on London and at the age of four, the Twelfth Duke inherits.

George and Natalie found a home in New Zealand but, following George's death, all contact was lost with the family in England and along with it, any memory of the family being related to a noble house. The first World War also took its toll on the New Zealand branch, four of the family died at Gallipoli.  When young George Bartholemew graduated from university, in 1973, no one in either branch of the family, was aware that his father was the rightful duke.

When the Twelfth Duke's son is killed in Iraq, a search is on for an heir. It takes four years to find one, the Duke is greatly relieved but is murdered before he can meet the presumed Thirteenth Duke.

• Language: English
• Publisher: V.J. MANSFIELD
• Release date: May 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215090428

V.J. MANSFIELD

Val Mansfield was born in, New Zealand but left in 1968 after graduating as a Civil Engineer and never returned, except on holiday. He spent three years in Australia, twenty-two years in Hong Kong and thirty years in Thailand. Before retiring, in 1998, he was the Project Director for the Bangkok Transit System. His retirement didn't last, his skills were in demand and he worked as an Independent Consultant in Malaysia, India, the Middle East, Pakistan, South Korea, Mongolia and Vietnam. Covid brought an end to his consulting work. Professionally he had written extensively and had also produced many books of his travels to over eighty countries, so he decided to try fiction, utilizing his love of history. He now lives in Chiang Mai, in Northern Thailand with his stepdaughter. Another of his daughters is currently working in China and two are in New Zealand, his son is in London.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Ciudad Rodrigo, Spain

January 1812

The three men were just inside the walls that had held then at bay for almost two weeks.  Two of them had no right to be there, the third had every right but he was lying on the hard cold ground dying whilst the other two crouched beside him.

On the seventh of January 1812, Viscount Wellington had besieged the fortified town of Ciudad Rodrigo.  The French, under General Jean Léonard Barrié, had resisted.

In 1812, General the Right Honourable Viscount Wellington was 43 and commanded the British and Portuguese forces in the Peninsula.  A controversial figure, derided by some as a 'Sepoy General' because of his early service in India, Wellington was an aloof man who protected his troops whenever possible and believed in using overwhelming force when available.  Believing that Marmont was sending troops to relieve the fortress, Wellington had acted quickly, ordering a successful attack on the Grand Teson redoubt on the night of the eighth.  On the night of the thirteenth, the fortified Santa Cruz Convent was attacked, that attack was repulsed but a daring escalade the following night succeeded and the siege guns could begin their work.

By the afternoon of the nineteenth, the British guns had opened the inevitable breach, one that Lieutenant Colonel Sir Richard Fletcher, Wellington’s Chief Engineer, considered practical.  A second smaller breach had also been opened and it was decided to launch a diversionary attack on it to distract the defenders.  That night, Wellington launched almost eleven thousand men against Barrié's two thousand, a totally inadequate force for the defence of the fortress.

A Forlorn Hope had been sent into the original breach but it had been detected, a mine had been sprung and two hidden cannons had wrought dreadful carnage on the attacking troops; they had gone on regardless.  Scores had died in the larger breach but the diversionary attack on the smaller breach had succeeded in scaling the walls without being discovered as, following the detection of the Forlorn Hope, the French had redeployed most of their troops to the larger breach.  The troops who had taken the smaller breach had been led by the man who was now lying on the ground.  One of the few remaining defenders had fired a small cannon at him, it had not hit him straight on but had passed from left to right and he now lay on his back with his intestines coiling out and his lungs and heart visible through his shattered ribs.

He was Major, the Earl of Sleaford, Collin Stanford of the Light Division, which had already distinguished itself by taking the Grand Teson, he was twenty-nine.  Nearby, also mortally wounded, lay his commanding officer, Major General Robert Craufurd.  The two men kneeling beside Collin were Major Charles Bartholemew, second son of the Duke of Chadlington and Major Calito Marcelino, son of the Marquess of Porto.  Charles was twenty-two and had been in the army for five years, Calito was three years older.  The three were close friends and Collin was married to Charles' sister, Marion.

The two younger men had no right to be there, they were attached to Wellington's Staff and had no reason to be in a breach.  On the battlefield, one of their duties was to take messages from the commander to his sub commanders, a demanding and dangerous job but they were not expected to take an active role in sieges.

Collin was gripping Charles' hand so hard that it hurt.  He was obviously in dreadful pain but he would not cry out and shame himself in the presence of his troops, several of whom stood around looking helpless.  Between spasms, he managed to gasp to Charles, 'Give Marion my love.  She is well taken care of but tell her to marry again if she can marry for love.'  He broke off as the pain racked him.  'Dear God it hurts, I pray it won't take long.'

At those words, Charles looked enquiringly at Calito who nodded grimly.  Charles reached down and from his boot extracted the Sgian dubh that his Scottish mother had given to him.  The blade was Damascus steel and it was sharp enough to shave with.  He held it low and when the next spasm of pain hit and Collin arched his back he slid it into the beating heart.  He felt an unexpected resistance and then it slid home and Collin relaxed.  As Charles withdrew the blade, warm blood spurted over him.

He wiped the blade on the grass, slid it back into its sheath and stood up.  Looking around he asked, 'Who's in charge, Sergeant?'

'Captain Hays sir, he's gone ahead.'

'Very well, we'll catch up with him.  Can you leave some men to guard the body, we'll bury him properly tomorrow.  He won't be the only one.'

'Yes sir, I'll see to that.  We'll let you know when.'

Without another word, Charles and Calito headed into the city.  With British troops in the city and behind the defences the battle was won but the British troops had suffered dreadful losses and were in no mood to accept a surrender.  They stormed on, any Frenchman was killed on sight and many Spaniards also, although they were, at least in theory, allies.  The rape and plunder would continue for most of the night.

There was little that Charles and Calito could do to stop the carnage but when they came across an elderly civilian, sword in hand, facing five British soldiers in an attempt to protect the three women huddled behind him, they decided to take a hand.

Drawing their swords, they stepped in front of the attackers and aligned themselves alongside the Spaniard.  One of the soldiers moved forward but hesitated as Charles, ignoring the fact that he was already facing naked blades, rapped out, 'Draw a weapon on us and it's mutiny you’ll be charged with.  You'll get death.'

The soldiers looked at each other, decided that there was easier prey elsewhere and scuttled away.

The Spaniard turned to them, 'Gracias caballero, your arrival was most opportune.  Do your soldiers not know that we are allies?'

Charles replied, 'Most do I believe but losses have been high and many are blood crazed.  Can we escort you to a place of safety?'

'Thank you, our home is just around the corner.  I would be grateful if you would stay for as long as you can, I doubt that there is anywhere safe in Ciudad Rodrigo tonight.'

He led them to a spacious house that was, as promised, just around the corner.  The door was intact so it had so far avoided the looters.  When their host hammered on the door and cried out, it was opened by a very nervous butler. 

Their host led the way in and the three women immediately disappeared upstairs where they were welcomed by excited feminine cries.  'Please come this way.  My wife and daughters are grateful, but it is not our way for ladies of quality to speak to men they do not know, a legacy of the Moorish occupation.  My name is Ortega, my family has lived here for many years.  If British troops are to be billeted here, I would be glad to offer you hospitality.'

'Thank you Señor.' replied Charles, 'But I do not believe that we will be staying.  The Viscount will have another target in mind.'

'Very well,' replied Ortega, 'but please have a drink.  Is that blood on your uniform?'

'Yes, but not mine.  There was a lot of blood around tonight.'

As Ortega poured some brandy, he turned to Calito and asked, 'Señor, your uniform is, I believe, Portuguese.  I hadn't realized that there were Portuguese troops with this army.'

'There are,' replied Calito, 'but I am attached to the Viscount's Staff.  I am Calito Marcelino, son of the Marquess of Porto.'

'Interesting, for how many generations does the title run?'

'It runs for three, my father is the first.  I shall be the second.'

'I'm sorry.' interrupted Charles, 'I don't understand.'

'Portuguese titles,' Calito explained, 'are not hereditary in the way they are in England.  Your grandfather was a duke, your father is, your brother will be and his son and so on.  In Portugal, many titles are only conferred for life.  Sometimes for two or three lives, but that is unusual.  I will succeed to my father's title, as will my son, should I have one.  But any grandson will have to get one for himself.  Only royalty is hereditary.'

'Interesting, I never knew that.'

'To have obtained a grant for three generations, your father must be an outstanding man.' remarked Ortega, 'I would like to meet him one day.  I have two unmarried daughters.' he pointedly added.

By early morning, discipline had been restored and Charles and Calito were able to return to headquarters where their absence had been noted and Wellington cuttingly informed them that getting themselves killed without his permission was not part of their duties.

At ten, a messenger came from the Light Division to say that Collin would be buried at eleven.  Both Charles and Calito attended the internment and Charles arranged for the grave to be marked with a heavy stone, promising a more permanent marker in the future.  Neither then nor later, was any mention made of Charles' involvement in Collin's death.

Once back at headquarters, Charles wrote to his sister, sparing her the worst details but including Collin's last words.

CHAPTER 2

Badajoz, Spain

April 1812

Wasting no time, Wellington marched the one hundred and fifty miles to Badajoz.  Arriving there on the sixth of March he immediately began the investment of the city.  Badajoz had far stronger fortifications than Ciudad Rodrigo, fortifications that including a curtain wall with many strong points and bastions.  The garrison was five thousand strong, with General Armand Philippon in command.

It took until the seventeenth of March for all of Wellington's troops to arrive and it wasn't until the twenty-fifth that the bombardment began.  By the sixth of April, three breaches had been opened in the curtain wall and with Wellington believing that Marshal Soult was marching to the relief of the town, an attack was ordered for that night.

Still thirsting for revenge for Collin's death, Charles approached Wellington and asked to lead the Forlorn Hope.  Wellington brusquely refused him, telling him that it was no place for a Major, no place for a duke's son and no place for a young idiot.

Despite which, when the main Forlorn Hope, there was a second one, went in Charles and Calito were waiting with the 4th Division who were to be the next into the breach.  As the Hope passed them, Charles whispered 'Good luck.' to the Lieutenant leading it and received a cheery grin in reply.  If he lived, the Lieutenant would be a Captain by morning.

Whilst they lay there a sergeant approached, 'Beg pardon Major, but General Wellington requires your presence at once.'

'The devil he does!  Sergeant, you have not found me, you can find me in the morning.  Do you understand?'

'If you say so Major but he was most insistent.'

Just then the first Forlorn Hope was spotted by a French sentry who raised the alarm.  The ramparts were suddenly filled with French soldiers, pouring a lethal hail of musket fire into the Hope and the waiting troops at the base of the breach.  This was accompanied by grenades, barrels of gunpowder and bales of burning hay, to provide light, along with anything else that could be thrown.

The slaughter lasted for around two hours during which two thousand British troops were killed or wounded but they and their Portuguese allies pressed on.  The 3rd Division managed to reach the walls but they found themselves in the castle, unable to enter the town and relieve their comrades.  Wellington had been on the point of calling the attack off when heard that the troops had reached the castle and he ordered the gates to be blown and the attack to continue.

The 5th Division was ordered to attack the San Vicente bastion, they succeeded in reaching the top of the curtain wall, with the loss of six hundred men.  The first through the breach was the future Field Marshal, Lord Raglan and he led the attack that secured one of the gates, allowing British reinforcements to enter before the French could counter attack.

When the 3rd and 5th Divisions linked up, the town was lost.  Seeing that the British and Portuguese soldiers had the advantage, General Philippon ordered the withdrawal of all French troops from Badajoz to the neighbouring fortress of San Cristobal, leaving the town to its fate.

And a dreadful fate it was.  In comparison, the excesses at Ciudad Rodrigo paled into insignificance.  The victorious redcoats disintegrated from a disciplined force into an unruly mob, looting, drinking and seeking revenge.  Again their wrath fell on their supposed allies; homes were broken into, property vandalized or stolen and Spanish women of all ages and social classes were raped.  Several of the officers who tried to restore order were shot by their own men.

The carnage continued for over fifteen hours until Wellington issued an order that the sack of Badajoz should cease and ordered detachments to restore order.  Despite which, it took three days to completely restore discipline.  Retribution followed, floggings were imposed and a gallows erected in the main square, though it remained unused.

Charles and Calito had attached themselves to the 3rd Division led by the controversial Major General Sir Thomas Picton, whom led the charge on the castle.  He was wounded in the engagement but refused to leave the ramparts.  His wounds were such that he was unable to personally continue the attack after the gates were blown and Charles and Calito were among the officers who led the troops into the town, outflanking the French forces.  With resistance at an end, they attempted to prevent the loss of discipline that followed but without success.  They were reduced to adopting the role that they had played at Ciudad Rodrigo, in this case, extending their protection to a single Spanish family, that of a local banker, Señor Ramirez.

It was in Señor Ramirez's house that the persistent sergeant found them around midday on the eighth and repeated the summons from Wellington.  Things were quietening down so, leaving the sergeant with Calito, Charles made his way to headquarters.

CHAPTER 3

Wellington’s Headquarters

April 1812

Shortly after two on the afternoon of the eighth, Charles was ushered into Wellington's tent.  Wellington, now an Earl, was as abrupt as ever.

'I know what you have been up to, totally against my implied, if not direct, orders.  However, you and young Marcelino did well.  I have also received a letter from Señor Ramirez, praising the two of you for saving his family from rape or worse.  He is an important ally so, in the circumstances, I'll say no more.  You were not the only members of the Staff to get involved, FitzRoy Summerset was also there and performed brilliantly.

'I'm sorry to tell you that your brother was killed in a hunting accident in early March.  That means, of course, that you are now Major, the Lord Bartholemew, heir to the Duke of Chadlington.  As such, you must resign your commission and return to England at once.'

'I'd much rather remain here, sir, I don't like leaving a job half done.'

'And I would like you to remain, you show considerable promise but we cannot have the heir to one of the oldest duchies serving in the front line.  It is against all custom.  Delay your departure until tomorrow, dine with us tonight and in the morning I will give you dispatches for Horse Guards.  A post-chaise to Porto and there you will find a dispatch brig.  With luck, you could be in London by the twenty-fourth and home a week later.  I'm sure that your father will be anxious to see you.  He is evidently in a bad way, your sister, Major Stanford’s widow, wrote to me.  An enterprising lady who writes clear understandable English, I could do with her on my Staff.

'When, in due course, you take your place in the Lords remember your old comrades and do what you can for them.  I lost more men than necessary last night because I lacked the heavy guns that would have made the breaches less defensible.  Also, the way that ex soldiers, particularly those that cannot continue working because of wounds, are treated in nothing less than a disgrace.  It may be that you can do more good there, than risking your life here.  I can find many gallopers, but peers sympathetic to the army are rare.

'Off with you, you will have arrangements to make and I have a dispatch to finish.'

Charles could say nothing other than 'Thank you, sir, it's been an honour to serve with you.'  As he left he thought it typical of Wellington that he had made him wait until he was leaving to hear his first words of approval.

He made his way to his tent and called for his orderly.  When he arrived he asked, 'Farrell, I am being ordered home and into civilian life, my brother is dead and I am now heir to the Duke.  Would you like to come with me, or continue in the army?'

Farrell did not hesitate, 'With you please, Major.  I'm not cut out for a fighting soldier, I'd do much better as your valet.'

'Then I shall arrange for your discharge.  Do you know anything about horses?  Can you drive a post-chaise?'

'Yes, Major, both.  I worked in a coaching inn.'

'Fine, so get everything packed, we will only have a post-chaise, so abandon anything too big.'

Charles returned to the house in the city and explained to Calito that he was leaving and the reason for it.  Calito replied, 'I understand that you must leave but I shall miss you.  You are certainly needed at home, not just for the duchy but for your sister who must be suffering terribly, having lost a husband and a brother within a month.  When all this is over, I would like to visit you and meet her.  Collin always spoke of her with such affection that I think she must be a very special lady.'

'Marion?  Yes, I suppose she is.  Theirs was certainly a love match.  I wonder whether she can find another, as Collin suggested.'

'And now you must find a wife.  You need an heir.'

'I guess you're right, I certainly wouldn't want my uncle, or my cousin, succeeding me.  Damn George for breaking his neck!  I would much rather be here.'

'Maybe one of Señor Ortega's daughters?'

'No chance, I think he's saving one for you!  No, an openly Catholic duchess would not go down well.  I shall see you tonight at dinner.'

Dinners following battles are either raucous affairs, as a victory is celebrated, or subdued ones as losses are remembered and empty chairs counted.  On this occasion, there were plenty of empty chairs.  British and Portuguese losses, dead and wounded, were put at four thousand eight hundred.  Among the wounded were seven Generals and four battalion commanders had been killed.  Despite which, there was a sense of achievement amongst the diners, who knew that the way was now open for Wellington to advance against Marshal Marmont at Salamanca.

All of those present knew that Charles was leaving.  There was no criticism, they all knew that it was not his decision.  After the final toast, many approached him asking him to carry letters back to their families, something that he was happy to do, even though it would delay his return home.

The following morning, Charles called on Wellington to collect the dispatches.  'I can't show you all of this,' remarked Wellington, 'but before I seal my dispatch I want you to see and note this passage.'

He laid a paper in front of Charles who read, The storming of Badajoz affords as strong an instance of the gallantry of our troops as has ever been displayed.  But I greatly hope that I shall never again be the instrument of putting them to such a test as that to which they were put last night.

'That is the message that I would wish you to support at home.  We are sadly lacking in siege experience, we should have had specialized sappers available and our engineers lack training in military matters.  We need a school for military engineering.  These are the areas where your future help, or your father's if you can persuade him, would be invaluable.  Now, farewell and a safe journey.  I'm sure that our paths will cross in the future.'

After a handshake Charles left, Farrell was waiting outside with a loaded post-chaise, Charles' days in the army were over.  Many clustered around to bid him farewell, the last to shake his hand was Calito.

Charles took the reins himself and with Farrell beside him on the box, they set off for Porto.  They would be using the same two horses for the entire journey, so Charles was not going to push them unduly, they left Badajoz around ten and arrived at Alpalhao at five.  Charles decided that was enough for the first day and took a room in the local inn.  Farrell slept on a truckle bed alongside him.

The second day they were away at nine.  It was a harder drive as the terrain became hillier, they shared the driving and Farrell showed himself to be very competent.  It was almost seven when they arrived in Penela.  Their third day took them over the coastal range and onto the plains.  They stopped for the night at Albergaria a Velha, arriving there shortly after four.  Charles considered pushing on to Porto but decided that he preferred to arrive there in daylight.

The horses had held up well and on the final day they left Albergaria a Velha at nine and were in Porto in time for a late lunch.  Charles stopped at an inn that he had used previously and engaged a room.  Leaving Farrell there to do some laundry, he drove the post-chaise to the army depot and handed it over and then visited the Port Admiral who turned out to be an elderly Captain.  Charles was in luck, a dispatch brig had arrived the previous day and would be leaving again on the thirteenth.  He arranged accommodation on it for himself and Farrell and returned to the inn.

There he enjoyed a proper bath for the first time in weeks and changed into a fresh uniform.  Giving Farrell some money for a meal, he set off to a secluded villa on the outskirts of the town.  He had his fingers figuratively crossed, he knew that he was not the only friend that Isabella entertained but he hoped that he would find her alone.

His luck was in and she was alone, apart from her maid.  She squealed with well simulated delight, 'Charles, how lovely!  How did you get here?  Why aren't you fighting those horrible French?'

'It's a long story.  I'll tell you over dinner.  But first I've been missing you!.'

'Oh yes, Amor and I have missed you and your big friend.  Come through.  Camila, dinner in two hours.'

Isabella, Charles had never known her other names, was just over five foot but was deliciously proportioned.  She had hair the colour of a good burgundy and green eyes that any cat would have been proud of.  She was wearing a dark red dress that was open at the front to show a pure white underdress with gold embroidery at the hem.  The sleeves ended just above the elbow and the bodice was cut low enough to reveal the tops of her breasts.  It was closed by an elaborate arrangement of laces and rosettes but Charles knew from experience that she could shed it, without the aid of a maid, faster than he could shed his uniform.

As they entered her bedroom she closed the door and at the same time threw herself into his embrace, thrusting her tongue into his mouth.  After a moment she disentangled herself, stepped back, reached behind her and started to shed her dress.  Charles was still fumbling with his trousers when she was lying, unashamedly naked, on her bed.

As he finished undressing and stood naked before her, she whispered, 'Come here Querido, let me see your big friend.  Ah yes, he is big and eager but I think with encouragement he can still increase.'

Charles settled beside her, capturing one breast in his mouth, caressing the other and reaching between her legs to massage her sex.  She had his penis in a grip that was as knowledgeable as it was pleasant.  When she was satisfied that he had grown to match her specification, she rolled over and guided him into her.  She was ready for him and he slid his full length in and began to move within her.

Within minutes she was squirming beneath him, demanding that he bring her but he insisted on prolonging the foreplay, pulling out until he almost left her and then plunging halfway in, alternating between left and right strokes.

'Come,' she cried, 'don't provocação me!  I need you, please fazer sexo me, I want all of your o penis inside me.  He complied, stopped teasing her and as requested, fucked her thoroughly, repeatedly pushing all of his cock into her.  They climaxed together.

There was time for another satisfying bout before their dinner was ready.  Charles pulled on his trousers and shirt and was pleased to see that Isabella slipped into a light housecoat, a sure sign that she expected another bout after dinner.

Dinner, or Jantar, consisted of a Caldo Verde, vegetable soup to which had been added sliced sausage, the main course was of salted cod cooked in milk and to finish there was a barriga de freira or nun's belly, prompting Charles to remark that he preferred Isabella's.

During dinner, they chattered and Charles explained what had happened to him.  'So you will now be a duke!  Is that not more important than an English lord?' 

'Yes, it is.  I am now a lord but it is what is called a courtesy title.'

They did enjoy a third bout and after they had finished Isabella went with him to the gate where she farewelled him, 'It is so sad, we shall not meet again.  You have a wonderful life ahead of you and I am left here all alone.  Tonight and for many nights I shall cry myself to sleep, I am so sad.'

Walking away Charles hoped, with some confidence, that the fat purse he had discreetly left beside the bed would, to some extent, temper her sadness.  Visiting Isabella had been an unforeseen bonus, when he had last left Porto he had not expected to see her again, he had thought that when the time came for him to return to England it would be from some French port.

The next day he visited the brig and introduced himself to the captain, Lieutenant Grey, a man of around his own age.  He invited Grey to the inn for dinner that evening and also arranged for some wine and delicacies to be sent aboard the brig for the trip, which he understood could last a week or more.

The following day they sailed, leaving at the top of the tide so that the falling tide would help them downriver.

They had a quick trip through the often temperamental Bay of Biscay and moored in Portsmouth Harbour on the afternoon of the twenty-fifth.  It was too late to leave for London, so Charles booked into a hotel, recommended by Lieutenant Grey, for the night.

At dinner, his was the only army uniform, being outnumbered by naval officers of all ranks.  Once it was known that he had come from Wellington's army he was surrounded by officers demanding news and pressing drinks on him.

Next day they were away later that he had intended but they arrived in Guildford at four and Charles decided to stop there for the night and make an early start the next day.  He took a room at the Angel Hotel, a busy posting house on the High Street.

CHAPTER 4

London

April/May 1812

Next morning, the twenty -eighth, they were away at five and were at Horseguards by eleven.  Charles found the officer on duty and announced that he had dispatches from General Wellington.  An hour later, much to his surprise, he found himself handing the dispatches and the covering letter to Field Marshal HRH Prince Frederick, Duke of York.  The Field Marshal took them, thanked him and then asked that he wait outside in case there were some questions.

An hour later he was summoned and invited to take a seat, the Field Marshal had several senior officers