“From a page boy. I expect Colonel McMahon gave it to him. And there’s more news, Pronto,” she added, and told him about Moira Morton. “It’s a pity to have to get Dick out of bed at this hour when he has a headache, but he will want to see Mrs. Fitzherbert,” she said.
“Headache? Dash it, he... Of course he’ll want to go,” he said, pulling himself up short.
“I mean to go with him,” she said very firmly.
No amount of deducing showed him the proper way out of this tight corner. He had to fly free and invent his own course. “Well, you’re too late, for he’s already gone,” he told her.
“How did he know Mrs. Fitzherbert was there?” she asked, disappointed that Dick had bested her again.
“He didn’t... That is, he wasn’t sure,” he said, his cheeks coloring up in that telltale fashion that announced as clearly as a sign that he was lying.
“If he didn’t know she was there, why did he go to the inn?” she asked sharply.
“Because of the rumor. I already told you,” he declared, turning rosier by the minute. “He just wasn’t sure which inn,” he invented recklessly.
“You’re a terrible liar, Pronto,” she said bluntly. “He didn’t know Mrs. Fitzherbert was there at all. Why did he go? And letting on to me that he had a headache, the wretch!” Her paramount emotion was anger that Dick had tricked her. She didn’t suspect anything worse yet.
“You may be sure it was for a very good reason,” he answered defiantly.
“What is the reason?”
“It’s—it’s private. That’s why he needed a private parlor. He hasn’t got a woman with him, Deirdre, so you can stop narrowing your eyes like your aunt.” He experienced a definite diminution of his love for Deirdre. A bit of a bad-tempered girl and suspicious beyond all reason, even if she was dead right.
“He doesn’t know anything about this, does he?” she asked, showing him the note.
“No matter, m’dear. He’s bound to see Fitz while he’s there, and there’s an end to it,” he said, taking the note and tearing it in two.
She grabbed the pieces and shoved them into her reticule. “I disagree. He won’t think to inquire if Mrs. Fitzherbert is there at all. Why should he? She’ll go off to London or Paris, and we’ll never know whether she is George’s mother. I’m going to see her myself.”
“No, you’re not!” he shouted, in accents much too loud and desperate for a prince’s party.
“Indeed I am, and I’m taking my aunt with me,” she told him as she knew that dame would insist on going along. The frightened, staring look in his eyes told her that Belami was up to something outrageous.
“Not the duchess! Deirdre, if you have a hope in the world of ever marrying Dick, you can’t take the duchess,” he said, weak with confusion and a terrible sensation that he had botched it.
“Why not? I can’t very well go alone.”
“I’ll take you,” he offered wildly, for anything was better than exposing Charney to such a scene of wild debauchery as would greet her eyes.
“I’ll have to tell her I’m going. I can’t rush off at such an hour without letting her know.”
“Write her a letter,” he suggested, incoherent.
“And post it after I get back?”
“She wouldn’t want to go. We’ll just nip out, the two of us.”
“You mean you don’t want her to go. In other words, Belami would dislike it,” she translated, becoming more curious.
“That too,” he admitted. Since she insisted on going, it seemed best to give her an inkling that what she might see was not what she might think she was seeing. “Truth to tell, it has to do with Gilham,” he said, wearing a frown to hide his shame for Dick.
“I knew it!” she exclaimed. “I had a feeling in my bones that hussy was wound up in it somehow. A private parlor, too!”
“It’s not what you think. Not a tryst at all,” he insisted.
“No, I suppose they drove all the way to the Red Herring and hired a private parlor for her to receive a package of money from him!”
“That’s it exactly! You’ve hit it on the head,” he said, grasping at a straw.
“Do you think I’m an idiot? You talk like one yourself!”
“And you’re getting to sound mighty like Charney. By Jove, I pity poor Dick, getting stuck with you.”
It was unfortunate that the duchess chose that moment to join her niece. She raked Pronto with a scathing grin. “What’s this, Belami wanting to call off the match?” she asked. “He won’t find any opposition in this quarter, and you may tell him so. ‘Getting stuck’ with Deirdre, indeed! We’d see about that. George Smythe as close to a throne as made no difference! We shall go home now, Deirdre, and write up Belami’s dismissal,” she said.
“No, no, Dick doesn’t want to call it off. You misunderstand,” Deirdre said. “It all has to do with this note.” She didn’t want to show her aunt the note, but to have her dismiss Dick was even worse.
“Where did you get this?” the duchess asked after piecing it together and reading it.
“McMahon sent it to Deirdre,” Pronto told her.
“We must leave at once,” she declared.
Pronto made a distracted effort to dissuade her, but she hardly listened. “Rubbish, I shan’t mind a short drive in a well-sprung carriage. I have a fur rug in mine. Kind of you to be concerned, Mr. Pilgrim. You will accompany us, of course, as Belami is gone home with a megrim.”
“I’ll go in my own rig. Faster,” Pronto said. With luck he might get to London and hide where Dick could never find him.
“Very well, we’ll all go in yours,” the duchess decided.
“Pray send word to the stable to deliver Lady Donwin home in my carriage and have your rig sent around immediately.”
It was done. There was never any point arguing with Charney. Pronto’s next concern was to see to it that Belami didn’t show his nose while the duchess was there. He had some hope of pulling it off if only Belami didn’t decide to cart Gilham home at the same time the duchess was arriving. Much depended on Deirdre’s discretion, and he was at pains to get her alone for a minute.
“If you say a word about Belami being there, you can say good-bye to any chance of marrying him” was what he whispered into her ear. She had come to realize it, and while she was almost too angry to care, she hadn’t positively decided to reveal his presence to her aunt. If she could just take a look around for herself and see that he was innocently employed, she might even forgive him. It was possible, for instance, that Gilham was on her way out of town forever—lovely thought!—and had ordered Dick to bring her payment to the inn.
The duchess chattered on about the prince’s party during the trip, occasionally wondering aloud why Mrs. Fitzherbert had stopped at the Red Herring when she knew dozens of people in Brighton who would have been happy to give her rack and manger. “No doubt she learned Prinny is there and wishes to avoid him,” she decided.
Pronto was out of the carriage almost before it stopped and helped the duchess and Deirdre down. He spoke to his groom before entering the inn. “If Belami’s rig is gone from the stable, let me know,” he said, hoping against hope that Belami had left.
The duchess strode purposefully up to the front desk and said, “I wish to see Mrs. Fitzherbert at once. You may tell her it is the Duchess of Charney here on a most important matter. Most important.” she repeated, nodding her feathered turban at him.
The innkeeper, a jovial, country soul, was intimidated but helpful. “I don’t have a Mrs. Fitzherbert here, ma’am,” he said.
“Idiot! Of course you have. I received written notice of her visit half an hour ago. Give me her room number, and I’ll go up unannounced. Come now, my good man, don’t trifle with me.”
“I ain’t trifling, your grace. Mrs. Fitzherbert isn’t here. She’s never been here,” he maintained stoutly.
The duchess considered this a moment and said in an aside to Pronto, “She isn’t using her own name in case someone slips the Prince Regent the word she is here. She wouldn’t satisfy him to arrive when he needs her.” She pulled the register around and squinted at it.
Mr. Harcourt was the last entry. “Who is this Harcourt person? Mr. Harcourt and friend, it says. No, that couldn’t be her. It will be two women, I should think,” she decided, looking higher on the page. Deirdre saw Pronto’s face turning a dangerous purple shade and had a fair idea who Mr. Harcourt might be.
“Harcourt—that’s a young lad and his, er, wife,” the innkeeper said.
“Wife, is it? So that’s the sort of establishment you’re running here. I’m very much surprised Mrs. Fitzherbert chose your place. Ramshackle, I call it. It ought to be closed down.” She read the day’s entries, but there wasn’t a pair of women registered, just couples.
“Maybe she’ll be along later,” the innkeeper suggested helpfully.
“My note said she is here,” the duchess informed him, tapping her foot in impatience. “We require a little organization here. Mr. Pilgrim, you nip out to the stable and see if her carriage is here.”
“I wouldn’t know it to see it,” he said, reluctant to leave.
“Idiot! Ask the stable boys if her rig is stabled. Someone will know her. She’s a byword in this town. I’m surrounded by incompetents.”
Pronto didn’t know how to refuse her and decided to leave and make a stealthy search of the premises for Dick. He met his groom in the hall and learned that Belami was still here. The groom had no idea whether Mrs. Fitzherbert was or not, but hadn’t heard it mentioned.
“We will have a private parlor and await her arrival,” the duchess decided. She was tired, she was cold, and, most of all, she was hungry. “Send along a bottle of wine—unwatered, mind!—and a plate of mutton,” she told the innkeeper. “Deirdre, come along.”
The innkeeper took them to his only free private parlor, closed the door and left.
“Open that door,” the duchess told Deirdre at once. “I must keep a sharp eye on the hall to see when Fitzherbert arrives. I’ll have a short rest here on the sofa if you will go fetch me a blanket.”
Deirdre was delighted to have an excuse to get away. She had a good idea that Pronto was looking for Dick, and she went after Pronto. She spotted his ungainly form slouching around a corner at the end of the hall and darted quickly after him. As she rounded the turn, he was scratching at a door.
Inside the chamber, Belami heard the sound and was happy for the interruption. Lady Gilham was bent on seducing him. He had dragged the dinner out as long as he could, but it was finally finished before he felt it safe to return the lady to North Street. He had told Réal to wait for an hour after the lights were out, and if the servants decided to amuse themselves once the mistress left, he wouldn’t be surprised.
At the time of Pronto’s arrival, Lady Gilham had got Belami cornered on the sofa, pulled off his cravat, helped him out of his jacket, and had thrown her own gown aside, revealing an elegant and provocative set of undergarments.
She sat on his lap with her two arms around his neck.
“Tell them to go away,” she said softly in his ear.
“Wouldn’t you like some more champagne?” he asked, a desperate note creeping into his voice.
“No, I want you,” she answered.
The scratching increased in intensity and Belami’s agitation along with it. The servants hadn’t scratched before. They’d knocked. Who would be fool enough to scratch at a door? Pronto was the only one... “Dick, it’s me!” Pronto whispered as loudly as he dared.
“Oh, my God!” Belami exclaimed. He opened his lips to answer, and Lady Gilham smothered him with a kiss. Pronto opened the door an inch and peeked in. The lights had been extinguished. The only illumination was the orange glow from the grate, which bathed the protagonists in its eerie, flickering light, lending an unreal touch to the scene. It was a scene to make Bacchus blush and even Pronto colored up. He opened the door wide and took one step inside. “Damme, Belami, get up out of there! You promised you wouldn’t!”
Deirdre saw him disappear and raced to the open doorway.
The stifled gasp that issued from Belami’s throat went unheard by them all. It was overridden by the scream coming from Lady Gilham, mingling with the heavy thud of Pronto’s advance, and the strangled “Ohhh!” from the doorway. Soon a harsher sound was added to the medley as the duchess thrust her gaunt, forbidding anatomy into the room.
“So this is what you are up to the minute our backs are turned!” the duchess exclaimed in accents of venomous delight. It was so fortunate she had decided to go after the servant to light her grate.
“You get out of here!” Pronto demanded. “Deirdre, didn’t I tell you to keep her out of here?” He didn’t know what he was saying, but he knew that in some fatalistic way it was all his fault. He’d botched it again.
Lady Gilham hopped to her feet and held her hands over her bosom, screaming louder and louder, loud enough to bring the innkeeper running. Belami struggled up and for once was speechless. He just glared at Pronto, and at the duchess, because he was afraid to look at Deirdre. Not till she had pulled her engagement ring from her finger and thrown it at him, hitting him on the chin, did his head spin in her direction. “Pig!” Deirdre said, loudly and coldly, then she turned on her heel and bolted out the door.
“Swine!” the duchess added, agreeing entirely with the sentiment, but using a more ladylike expression of it. “I need hardly say, Belami, the engagement is terminated.”
He gave her one short, fierce stare that would have frozen fire. She didn’t flinch, but she did feel a quiver of fear at the murderous expression in those black eyes. She inched closer to Pronto, watching Belami as a rabbit watches a snake. “The hell it is,” he said through clenched teeth, then he stalked out the door after Deirdre.
The duchess breathed a sigh of relief, but had soon recovered her composure. “Who is this trollop?” she asked Pronto, while her close-set, sharp eyes turned to examine Lady Gilham.
“All a misunderstanding,” Pronto muttered.
“Ladies, gentlemen, please!” the innkeeper implored. “You are disturbing my other guests.”
“I think I’m going to faint,” Lady Gilham whispered and slid daintily to the sofa. Pronto picked up the water jug and poured it over her white face, bringing her to sputtering consciousness, while the duchess nodded in approval.
The room was so cozy and the wine on the table of such a good quality that the duchess decided her first duty was to interrogate the damp lady, which she did, as soon as she had sent Pronto after Deirdre to bring her back. She then informed the innkeeper that she wouldn’t be needing her private parlor after all and didn’t intend to pay for it either, if that was what he had in his mind. She thought she had covered every base, but Lady Gilham was a jump ahead of her. She had slid her hand along the sofa and palmed Deirdre’s diamond engagement ring while the duchess was speaking to Pronto.