“No, it is not. Bow Street’s suspicion of Petersham grows by the minute,” I said striding into the bookroom. No sense telling him the investigators also had me under their magnifying glass.
Chakkri sat tall in the exact center of my desk. I seated myself behind the desk and nudged him out of the way. He did not want to move, though. The minute I took my attention from him to draw a sheet of paper from the drawer, he resumed his original position.
He gazed at me with his keen blue eyes. “Reow.”
“Get down from here, you rogue, and let me write this letter.” I picked him up and deposited him on the floor. The cat stalked from the room, hopping over the threshold as is his odd custom. I heard a rumble of paws on the stairs and assumed he had retired to my bedchamber.
“I need you to get this message to Scrope Davies at White’s, Robinson.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I have to change clothes for the evening. I shall be attending a dinner party at Lady Hester Stanhope’s, and she does not tolerate her guests being late. Have Ned and Ted ready outside the door with my sedan-chair.”
“What time does Lady Hester expect you?”
“Eight o’clock,” I said, scrawling a line of apology to Scrope and telling him I might be at the club later in the evening.
I looked up to hand the folded vellum to Robinson. The fussy valet was staring at the tall-case clock in horror.
I took a steadying breath. “I know we have but a mere hour for The Dressing Hour, but it will have to do. Ready some hot water for my shave.”
“Yes, sir,” Robinson replied in heavy tones.
Upstairs, I selected a Spanish-blue coat from the wardrobe. The minutes flew as Robinson shaved me, arranged my hair, and helped me into my clothes. I knew the valet burned with curiosity as to what had happened at Carlton House to put me in such a temper. His next words confirmed it.
“Sir, might I be of any assistance to you in your investigation?”
“Not unless you know anything about the smuggling business in Brighton.”
“The smug—”
A loud crash from the direction of the dining room interrupted us. Grabbing my dog’s head stick, I crossed the hall and hurried into the dining room, Robinson behind me.
My rosewood teapoy lay on its side on the carpet, the lid open and the contents emptied across the floor. Chakkri stood beside it, lashing his tail from side to side, not the slightest bit of remorse about his catly demeanor.
“Dear me,” Robinson chirped in a voice that clearly said, “I told you so.” No doubt he was enjoying this confirmation that Chakkri should not remain in our household.
“What are you doing?” I asked the cat. “What is this fixation you have developed for tea? Get away from there.”
The cat retained his air of supremacy. He walked past me, tail in the air, back into my bedchamber. When I followed him to fetch my greatcoat, I could hear a furious scratching coming from behind the lacquered screen that concealed Chakkri’s sand-tray.
Robinson handed me my hat, and I made for the stairs, noting Ned and Ted had only fifteen minutes to convey me to Lady Hester’s.
“Do not wait up for me, Robinson. I may not return this evening.”
“Where will you be after Lady Hester’s?”
“White’s.”
“And after that?”
“Somewhere.”
The valet looked mutinous. “Sir, you never tell me where you are going on these evenings you stay out all night. I know you say they are private, but what if I needed to reach
you . . .”
“Then you would not be able to. Open the door,” I said.
Robinson obeyed, his lips pursed. Then his mouth gaped in surprise.
For outside the door, one gloved hand raised ready to knock, stood Lydia Lavender. With her other hand, the Bow Street man’s daughter held the hood of her cloak tightly under her chin. Cold air rushed in through the doorway.
“May I come in?” she asked me when I did not immediately invite her.
“Er, please do. Robinson, you may go,” I said, seeing the disapproving expression settle over the valet’s face. It is not proper for an unmarried female to call upon a gentleman at his residence. Miss Lavender, though, is not one to care for the conventions as Robinson does.
She crossed into the black-and-white tiled hallway, allowing the hood of her cloak to fall about her shoulders. Her auburn hair gleamed in the candlelight. “I wanted to speak with you about the Frenchwoman you left in my care.”
“How is she?” I inquired, closing the door.
Miss Lavender looked past me toward the bookroom. “Might we discuss it in your bookroom?”
“I am sorry, but I am late for an important dinner party. May I call on you tomorrow when we can talk at length?”
“No, I need to speak with you now. And isn’t it fashionable to be late to dinner parties?” Miss Lavender inquired, all innocence.
“Not at Lady Hester Stanhope’s house.”
“I’ve heard of her. She’s known to be different from the useless Society women one normally hears about. Lady Hester won’t mind your tardiness if you explain that you were looking after a female in difficulty.”
“But—”
Miss Lavender paced the floor. “What do you know of the woman you gave over to me? Do you understand the extent of her frenzy? I can hardly get her to eat anything. I’ve been afraid to leave the shelter lest she do herself an injury. She doesn’t cry. I sometimes wonder if it wouldn’t do her good to cry, but she only continues in a dazed state that alternates with fear at the sight of men. I have been forced to draw the curtains at all times to keep her from seeing any man passing in the street.”
“Hmmm. I do not know what to say. I told you all I know that day at the Perrys’. Have you not been able to learn even the Frenchwoman’s name? Where she comes from? Who her family is?”
“No. Call me incompetent if you must,” Miss Lavender retorted. She ceased her pacing to stand in front of me, her green eyes stormy.
“You are anything but incapable.”
“My happiness at hearing you say so knows no bounds,” she said sweetly, if sarcastically.
I pulled out my pocketwatch and glanced at it. Ten minutes to eight. “Look here, I shall call on you first thing in the morning—”
Miss Lavender’s hands formed fists which she rested on her hips. “Meaning two in the afternoon!”
“How about one?”
She drew a deep breath. An action whose charm was not entirely lost on me. “The Frenchwoman has started talking. Just bits and pieces, but it’s something about a fine house near the sea. Perhaps Hove. I think she was held captive there by a man.”
“Held captive?” I asked in disbelief. “Miss Lavender, have you by chance been reading Minerva Press novels?”
Outrage spread across her face. “You think I am dramatizing events? Oh, you insufferable man! Go to your party, then!” she said, marching toward the door. “I’ll take care of this on my own,” she fumed. Before I could say another word, she was out of the house, the door swinging back on its hinges.
Dash it! What had put her in such a temper? I walked out the door and down the front steps. Miss Lavender was nowhere in sight.
“Uh-oh, Mr. Brummell. You’re in trouble with that there female,” Ted said. The twins were waiting on the pavement with my sedan-chair.
Ned said, “That reminds me of the time—”
“We must go at once,” I said, cutting off another one of Ned’s stories. I entered my chair and leaned my head back on the white satin lining, thinking I would have to rise and present myself at Miss Lavender’s shelter at an indecently early hour. Noon, even.
Tonight I would finally have my opportunity to get to know Arthur Ainsley. And just how badly he wanted that place in the peerage.
However, when I was shown into Lady Hester’s house, it was to find the company just sitting down to dinner. A lively bunch had gathered, including, to my surprise, Victor Tallarico. He and Lady Hester were engaged in a conversation about Italy, a country Lady Hester had visited on one of her many travels.
Even Mr. Ainsley seemed in high spirits, most unusual for him.
We did miss the company of one person. Mr. Pitt, Lady Hester announced, sent his apologies, but could not come down to partake of the meal, feeling too weary. No doubt with the weight of the war on his shoulders, the Prime Minister would sometimes prefer a solitary meal in his room than a table full of people eager to share their opinions.
After dinner, Lady Hester led everyone to the drawing room, forsaking the custom of separating the ladies and gentlemen for a space of time in which they might gossip with their own sex. I walked over to Mr. Ainsley, who lingered in the doorway.
Before I could speak to him, he addressed the room in general. “I should like to remain, but I must attend my
fiancée
.”
A murmuring of surprise went around the room.
The embrace I had witnessed last night at the St. Clairs’ flashed through my mind’s eye. Of course, a gentleman did not kiss an earl’s daughter that way unless he meant marriage.
Mr. Ainsley chuckled. “The announcement will be in all the papers tomorrow morning, so I can tell you. Lord St. Clair’s daughter, Lady Prudence, has made me the happiest of men. I would have been able to make the disclosure weeks ago, but Lady Prudence insisted she have a betrothal ring first. You know how women are.”
A smattering of laughter met this remark.
“The settlements were made by the first of the month, but there was a delay while we followed the Prince to Brighton, then I had to ride out to my family home and obtain a betrothal ring. Now that the ring is safely on her finger, I am free to speak.”
Amidst congratulations, Mr. Ainsley took his leave.
“Well,” Lady Hester said, appearing at my side. “Ainsley will get his Parliament seat now, George. God knows Lord St. Clair has enough influence with my uncle, and if not, I’m sure Lady Prudence comes with a large dowry. Enough money that now Ainsley could campaign to be elected to the House of Commons.”
“Lady Hester, will you forgive me if I leave as well? I do not wish to be rude . . .”
Her ladyship patted my arm. “Go ahead, do. I know you are searching for clues in that ugly matter involving the Prince.”
I smiled at her ruefully. “Searching, but finding things I did not quite expect.”
Leaving the house, I gave orders to Ned and Ted to carry me to White’s. All the while, my brain raced. Ainsley and Lady Prudence had been engaged for weeks! Ainsley knew they were getting married
before
coming to the Pavilion. This slashed any possibility of his having a motive to kill the Prince. Whom did that leave as a suspect?
No one. That the poison was intended for Sir Simon was clearer than ever.
I alighted at White’s, saying to Ned and Ted, “You might step around to the nearest public house and have a drink, but then await my orders.”
Delbert greeted me at the door. The cheerful deportment he normally wears was absent. “Good evening, Mr. Brummell. ‘There’s nothing in this world can make me joy: Life is as tedious as a twice-told tale vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man.’“
I stared at him as he accepted my coat, hat, gloves, and walking stick. “
King John
. Now, Delbert, what has brought you low?”
The footman looked at me. “May I tell you, sir?”
“Of course you may.”
“Well, it’s like this. I don’t want to be a footman all my life. Not that I don’t enjoy waiting on fine gentlemen like yourself,” he added hastily.
“You have other ambitions?” I asked.
Delbert nodded. “I want to be an actor, and perform in the great Shakespearean plays. I want to speak aloud in front of an audience all the words I know by heart and love well.”
“Have you been around to the theatres?”
“Yes, but no one wants to hire me. I’ve no experience, you see.”
“And you cannot get any if they will not hire you.”
Delbert looked at me sorrowfully. “That’s it exactly, Mr. Brummell, sir.”
“I know Sheridan and his crowd and shall mention your name to them. I make no promises, mind you,” I said, seeing the glow of hope cross the footman’s face. “All you can expect is a trial performance. Then the matter is in your hands.”
“Thank you, sir. You’ve raised my spirits.”
I turned to go, but Delbert called me back, “Sir, Mr. Davies has been waiting for you, but if I may be so bold to say, he is quite in his cups. There is one who needs your company more.”
“Oh, who might that be?”
“Lord Petersham, sir. He’s in the coffee room, and I have never seen him look this cast down.” Delbert shifted uncomfortably. “I have not been impertinent in speaking, have I?”
“Indeed not,” I said, dropping a few coins in his hand and making for the stairs.
Petersham sat slumped in a high-backed chair by the fire, a bottle at his elbow.
“Care to share a glass of whatever that is with a friend?” I asked, sitting in the chair next to him.
He looked up, a mournful expression on his face. “How can you be sure I won’t poison you next?”
“Poison me? Do you want Robinson for your valet that badly? Before you resort to drastic measures, I must warn you he tries to play the tyrant,” I said, signalling a footman to bring another glass, then changing my order. Best make that another bottle. The contents of this one were alarmingly low.
“Bow Street thinks I tried to poison Prinny,” Petersham said incredulously, as if the idea were completely new.
Ah, I thought, something has finally pierced his confidence. “What happened?”
The viscount downed his drink. “That fellow from Bow Street, what’s his name . . . er, Mr. Purple came to see me.”
“Mr. Lavender?”
“He’s the one. Pointed his finger at me. Literally,” Petersham said, affronted.
I knew the finger-pointing gesture all too well. “What did he say?”
“He went on asking me questions about how I came to know the Prince, how long we had been friends, what my feelings were about his Royal Highness, all sorts of boring stuff. Then Munro came in the room.”