Usually Admiral Fussington and his wife spent mealtimes at opposite ends of the long dining table in awkward silence. Tonight, the Iron Duke was sitting in between them, slurping tomato soup and dabbing his moustache with one of Mrs Fussington’s better napkins.
“Would one care for some bread, sir?” asked Wodehouse, the Fussingtons’ butler.
“This one would.” The Iron Duke grabbed two rolls from the basket and dropped one into his soup. Bright orange spots splattered across the tablecloth.
“I say, didn’t you have a child the last time I visited?” he asked.
“That’s right. Penelope.” Mrs Fussington tried not to stare at the stained tablecloth. “But, in this household, we believe children should be seen and not heard.”
“Talking of which, when did you last see Penelope?” asked Admiral Fussington.
“I’m not sure,” replied his wife.2
“Which is exactly as it should be,” the duke announced proudly. “My father refused to say a single word to me until I turned sixteen. Even then it was only to tell me to take my feet off the table.”
Wodehouse coughed quietly.
“Yes?” said Admiral Fussington.
“One apologizes, sir, but there is a messenger here.”
“Blast it, man! In the middle of dinner?” exclaimed the Iron Duke. “Tell him to go away.”
“One did say words to that effect, sir, but apparently he has an urgent message from the king himself.”
The Iron Duke spat out a mouthful of soup. “Well, what are you waiting for? The admiral and I will see him at once. Sorry, Mrs Fussington, but this is men’s business.”
“That’s quite all right,” she replied. “Wodehouse, show the messenger into the drawing room then be a good chap and fetch a damp sponge and some soap.”
The Iron Duke and Admiral Fussington retired to the drawing room, where they found a young man with socks pulled up to his knees and shiny buttons on his jacket. He carried a bronze bugle over one shoulder and a lute over the other.
“Good evening,” he said. “My name is Ralf and I will be your messenger this evening. Please hold.”
He picked up the lute and started to play. The duke and admiral looked at one another in confusion.
“Hold what?” snapped the duke.
Ralf stopped playing, pulled out an envelope from his pocket and handed it to the duke. “Please hold this. It’s the message.”
The duke snatched the envelope and tore it open, then read the letter inside.
“What does it say?” asked Admiral Fussington.
“It says that the Steampunk Pirates are planning to rob the Tower of London and that we are to capture them.”
“Thank you for holding,” said Ralf. “Please leave your message after the beep.”
“What beep?” demanded the duke.
The young man lifted the bugle and blew a high note. “That one,” he said.
“Honestly. What nonsense! I can’t be doing with these modern messengers,” said the duke.
“Message reads: Honestly. What nonsense! I can’t be doing with these modern messengers,” said the messenger.
“No, blast you, man. That’s not my message.”
“No, blast you, man. That’s not my message,” repeated Ralf.
The duke grabbed the messenger by his collar and spoke through gritted teeth. “Tell the king that we will gather our men and go to the Tower at once.”
The duke released the messenger, who checked his instruments were undamaged then brushed himself down. “If you would like to revise your message you can press this button.” He pointed to one of the buttons on his jacket.
“Get out!” cried the duke. “Now, Admiral Fussington, we have an appointment at the Tower.”
2. The last time the Fussingtons had seen their daughter was at the king’s birthday party, just before she ran off with the Steampunk Pirates and adopted the name Pendle.