“You brought the magistrate out into the woods at night? How did you manage that?” Frederick asked bewildered.
“He was a friend of your grandfather as well. His Lordship was a truly good man.”
“How did you figure out who the criminals were?”
“You sit in the tavern long enough, and you can learn anything.”
A gunshot split the air halting all conversation between them. “If we hurry, we can still catch them,” Mr. Smythe insisted as the magistrate came into view.
“Let’s,” Frederick agreed, and descended the rock to retrieve his mount.
Chapter 9
Frederick, Lt. Buckworth, and Mr. Smythe joined the magistrate as they rode as swiftly as they could toward the sound of the gunshot. The sight they came upon was much like the one they had witnessed before. Due to their previous encounter, Frederick knew that a few of the men held back, acting as guards. He motioned for the magistrate’s men to swing around, creating a wide circle to ensure that no one escaped. They closed the trap in on their prey then they moved forward. By the time the poachers realized they had been discovered, it was too late.
“By order of the King and the Prince Regent, you are under arrest. Lay down your arms and come peacefully,” the magistrate commanded. A shot fired, just missing the magistrate’s head, the bullet lodging itself in a nearby tree. Lt. Buckworth moved around to behind where the shot had been fired from and emerged moments later with two unconscious men lain over his saddle.
“Well done, lieutenant,” Frederick praised, looking down at the man. He was more than impressed with the young soldier’s abilities.
“Thank you, My Lord. I am pleased to have been of service.”
Seeing that they were out of options but to obey, the poachers laid down their arms and surrendered to the magistrate. Frederick moved forward toward the man who seemed to be the leader of the group. “Why?” he asked the poacher in an honest effort to understand. The man said nothing.
Once all of the masks were removed from the men’s faces, Frederick was able to make out a strong family resemblance. “Are you all brothers?” The eldest of the group nodded his head. “Why would you risk so much and go to such lengths for a bit of meat?” Frederick earnestly beseeched him to answer.
“We help those who cannot help themselves. There are many left starving and destitute, widows and orphans, from the Napoleonic Wars. It is the responsibility of those of us that returned whole to aid those who did not.”
“Why do you frequent my lands and only when I am not here?”
“Ask your mother,” the man answered. There was no anger or malice in his voice, no hatred in his eyes, simply resignation.
“My mother? What has she to do with any of this?”
“A great deal, my boy. A great deal.”
Frederick was shocked at the man’s claims. He was also quite surprised at the man’s familiar address. No one had called him “my boy,” except for his father, in his entire life. It was entirely too familiar a term to be used by a total stranger. Several of the magistrate’s men lit torches to better light the way home. The light from the fires flickered across the man’s face. There was something familiar about his eyes, but Frederick could not quite place it. It was as if he had seen the man before, but couldn’t be sure where.
“Fear not, My Lord. These men will be strung up in the green before you have finished your breakfast,” the magistrate promised.
Frederick expected to see fear in the poachers’ eyes, but instead, he saw acceptance as if death were an old friend and not the end of their lives. He had heard war had unusual effects on its soldiers, but he could not imagine remaining so calm when threatened with facing the gallows, no matter how much death one had seen. There was something more to this story, and Frederick felt an overwhelming need to find out what it was. He would not be able to do that if they were all dead.
In his heart, he could not bring himself to order their deaths. “No, thank you, Magistrate, but I believe I would like to see to this matter myself. My grandfather saw something valuable in Mr. Smythe all those years ago, and I see something in these men as well. I appreciate your help in apprehending them and would be most grateful if you could see your way to taking them to Pentford so that I might question them further.”
“Of course, My Lord. Clemency is within your gift to give, as it is your lands that were pilfered,” the magistrate replied. Frederick could tell from the look on his face that he did not agree with his decision, but would not have dared challenge the Marquess of Pentford, heir to the Chescrown dukedom. To do so would have jeopardized the magistrate’s career.
The band of men rode to Pentford Manor, and Frederick had Lt. Buckworth take the men into the library. There was not much they could do with their wrists bound with thick rope, so Frederick did not feel the need for the magistrate and his men to stay. He sent them on their way back to the village and paid them each well for their efforts.
The magistrate tried one last time to make Frederick see reason. “Are you sure you will not change your mind about the hangings?”
“I am sure,” Frederick promised, then showed the magistrate to the door.
Lt. Buckworth had lined the men up against the wall making them sit on the floor. He stood over them with his rifle at the ready. Mr. Hanson entered the room, and taking in the scene, grabbed another firearm from the cabinet and took up guard by the door next to Mr. Smythe.
“What is your name?” Frederick asked, coming to take a seat in the chair opposite the eldest brother. The man remained silent. “I have spared your life. The least you can do is tell me your name.”
“Evans, Llewelyn Evans,” he replied.
“You are Welsh?” Frederick noted, taking in the dark hair and eyes of each of the brothers.
