Next, he opened the little flask and measured out a small amount of gunpowder, which he tipped into the muzzle end of the pistol. He added a ball of lead shot encased in paper from the little box, and pushed the whole lot down the pistol with the ramrod. ‘The gun is now loaded but not primed,’ he told the girls. ‘It is still safe.’
He then opened the flash pan lid on the top of the pistol and tipped a little more gunpowder onto the pan, before closing the lid. ‘And now it is primed. But it still cannot fire in this half-cocked position. The cock must be fully back in order for the trigger to work. If fired, the trigger releases the cock, which causes the flint to strike the frizzen – look, this piece here. That causes a spark, which ignites the gunpowder in the flash pan. The flash passes through a hole into the barrel, igniting the main gunpowder and thus discharging the gun.’ He looked at the two girls as though to see if they had followed all this.
Rebecca was not sure she understood how the mechanism worked, but she knew she’d seen enough. ‘Thank you, Spencer, that was most informative. I think perhaps you ought to unload the weapon now, and we should put it all away.’
‘No, Rebecca, don’t be a spoilsport. I think we should all go outside and Spencer should fire the gun. It doesn’t look as though it is possible to get the shot and all the gunpowder out unless the pistol is actually fired. Isn’t that right, Spencer?’ Sarah stared at the butler, and Rebecca thought she saw her wink.
‘Well, the shot should come out if you tip the gun upside down, and the flash pan is easy enough to empty. But you are right, not all the gunpowder can be extracted from the combustion chamber. I do not think Mr Winton would be very happy if I fired his gun, however.’
‘Mr Winton isn’t here so won’t ever need to know. Come on, Spencer, look, the rain has eased off so we could go outside and fire it? Please? Dearest Spencer, I would so like to see it fired, just once!’ Sarah was in full persuasion mode again, Rebecca noted, and it was working. ‘And now that it is loaded, you might as well. You can’t put it away like this, for that certainly wouldn’t be safe.’
Spencer sighed, and then smiled indulgently at her. He put the other pieces back in the box, but kept the loaded pistol out. Handing the box to Sarah to carry, he led the way out of the servants’ dining room, along a corridor and out through a side door. This led into the kitchen gardens, which they skirted round and left through a gate, emerging into the wide open parkland. Spencer stopped about twenty yards from a large spreading oak tree. ‘I shall discharge the weapon at the tree,’ he said.
Rebecca gasped. ‘But what if someone gets in the way?’
‘Miss Rebecca, look, there is no one in the way now. You and Miss Sarah shall stand behind me, a good distance back. No one can possibly approach without us seeing.’ He stood sideways on, raised his arm and pointed the pistol at the tree. With his other hand he cocked it and then fired, before either girl had a chance to say anything more. There was a flash, then an enormous bang, and a shower of bark fragments flew from the tree. A crow flapped frantically away cawing loudly and a pair of pigeons followed, from higher in the tree. Rebecca couldn’t stop herself from squealing and clasping her hands over her mouth, while Sarah was jumping up and down clapping her hands. There was a sharp, acrid smell and a puff of smoke rose and dispersed on the breeze.
‘There, my ladies. I have defended your honour and fired my pistol. The tree is injured, though not mortally so, but he will not dare cross me again!’ Spencer’s face was flushed, and Rebecca realised he’d enjoyed the feeling of holding and firing a pistol again. Perhaps it was the first time since Waterloo, almost twenty years earlier.
‘Thank you, dear Spencer! Thank you! What a wonderful loud noise it made. It was simply thrilling!’ Sarah flung her arms about the butler to his astonishment.
‘Miss Sarah, this is no way to behave! I must remind you I am still holding the pistol and it must now be cleaned and returned to its case. Come along now, and watch this part of the proceedings too. And then I really must return to my duties.’ He extricated himself from her embrace and picked up the case that she’d put down on the ground, tutting over the water marks from the wet grass. ‘I hope those don’t show when it’s dry or we shall all be in trouble.’
He set off back to the house, and Rebecca followed him with relief. That was quite enough excitement for one day. She hoped after the pistols were put away Sarah might settle to some quiet reading or embroidery, or some other occupation more suited to young ladies.
April 2015
Gemma was first to arrive at the coffee shop where she and Nat always met, in town, around the corner from the museum. She picked a table near the window from where she would see Nat approaching, and ordered two lattes as usual. She felt strangely nervous. After Nat’s reaction to her news on the phone that morning, she wasn’t sure how things would be between them. Hopefully it had just been due to her bad timing with the phone call, and Nat’s hangover. Nat would breeze into the coffee shop, embrace her in a huge bear hug and squeal with excitement about the engagement. As she sat staring out of the window and stirring her coffee, she convinced herself that was what would happen.
When Nat arrived, perfectly made up and stylishly dressed in a loose silk shirt over jeans, Gemma’s first thought was that she’d been right. Nat smiled broadly, kissed Gemma on both cheeks and sat down with her latte.
‘Well, Miss Sneaky-Pants, you’re finally going to make an honest man of our lovely Ben, are you? You never told me you were planning on getting hitched. Would have been nice if you had mentioned it.’ Nat winked, giving the lie to her words, and sipped her latte.
‘It was Ben who proposed! It was a surprise – I really wasn’t expecting it. And I did tell you, first thing this morning,’ Gemma protested. She wasn’t a hundred per cent sure whether Nat was upset or not.
‘Ha, yes, when I was in the bath and hung-over.’
‘I thought if I waited till now to tell you you’d have been upset, so I told you first. Haven’t even told Mum and Dad yet. I’ll ring them this evening.’
Nat looked pleased to have been told the news before Gemma’s parents. ‘They’ll be delighted their baby girl is getting wed. They’ll offer to pay for half of it, you mum will turn up in a huge hat and your dad will grin from ear to ear as he gives you away. You have no idea how lucky you are, Gem. God, if it was me, my mother wouldn’t care unless it meant free booze for her at the wedding, and my father would say, “That’s nice, sweetheart,” but of course he wouldn’t come, Australia being too far away and a daughter’s wedding being not enough of a reason for him to exist for a moment in the same country as Mum, let alone the same church.’ Nat shook her head as though in despair at her family. Her tone was jokey but Gemma thought she could detect an undercurrent of seriousness. She had a point. Gemma’s family were certainly more conventional than Nat’s. As a rebellious teen she’d envied Nat’s chaotic home life, but as she’d matured she’d come to properly appreciate her close, supportive parents.
‘I’m sure that’s not right. Your dad would fly over if you were getting married, and your parents would surely be able to be in the same room for one day.’ Gemma was about to say something about limiting the supply of drink to Nat’s alcoholic mother, but thought better of it.
‘Yeah well. It’s not me getting married, is it, so no point discussing it. I’ll probably never marry. I’ll end up a bitter and twisted old spinster living in a house that smells of cat wee. You’ll bring your kids on duty visits, and they’ll say, “Oh no, not batty old Aunty Nat,” and you’ll sit there drinking bitter coffee with me and wondering how soon you can leave. Oh, I can see it now. All our years of friendship will come to nothing once you’re all cosily married up.’
Again, although Nat laughed