by Beth Elliott
Sarah sat very straight. She plied her fan, looking at the dancers and willing Lord Percival to go away. She became aware that he was saying something. She glanced at him. ‘I beg your pardon?’
He leaned forward. ‘Did you feel no ill effects after helping your injured friend this morning?’
‘Oh,’ she exclaimed, ‘I had almost forgotten about it – except of course, I do hope the gentleman is not too badly hurt.’
‘Indeed,’ he said with a smirk. ‘That would be unfortunate for him.’ His voice was a purr.
How could he take such pleasure in someone being injured? Sarah looked at his cold eyes and a chill went down her spine, like an icy trickle of water. Then she realized just what he had said.
‘Why did you call the injured gentleman my friend, sir?’
‘I did not suppose you would go to so much trouble for a stranger.’
‘Of course – I would help anyone in such a dangerous situation,’ she exclaimed hotly.
He raised his brows in disbelief.
‘Surely you would do the same?’ she protested, but someone was calling his name and he turned his head away.
Another dandified gentleman strolled up to them. This person was indeed something out of the ordinary. The shoulders of his wasp-waisted jacket were obviously padded to emphasize his hourglass figure. His coat tails were very long and his pantaloons fitted him so tightly she thought he could not dare to sit down. His shirt collar was so high it reached his cheeks and his cravat was extremely intricate and large. He looked to be of a similar age to Lord Percival. He had a dissipated air, but lacked that vicious undertone that she was aware of in his friend.
‘George, you dog,’ drawled the newcomer as he reached them, ‘trust you to find the prettiest gal in the room and monopolize her. Pray introduce me.’
‘I was before you, Monty,’ replied Lord Percival. His tone was not cordial.
The other gentleman gave a shrill laugh. ‘Maybe, maybe, but if you will not, I shall just find someone else to do the job.’ He pulled out his quizzing glass and stood looking at Sarah, or more precisely, at her bosom, she noticed with indignation.
‘Miss Davenport, may I name my old friend, Lord Montallan,’ snapped Lord Percival.
‘Oh, by Jove,’ said the dandy, letting his quizzing glass fall, ‘you are the sister of young James Davenport. Fancy that!’ Sarah inclined her head slightly. She was trying to stifle a giggle at the man’s appalling lisp and his foppish air. The music stopped before he had finished his examination of her figure. Shortly afterwards, Lizzie arrived with Miss Keating and her brother. Lizzie greeted Lord Percival with a warm smile. It was obvious that she had already met Lord Montallan. Sarah decided she must have another word with Lizzie about suitable new friends. Perhaps they did need a chaperon after all.
After a quick look at these two dandies, John Keating bowed and escorted his sister away. Sarah wished that she could do the same. The next dance was announced. Suddenly, James appeared and was asking Lizzie to be his partner. Sarah faced the inevitable and allowed Lord Percival to lead her into the same set. Again she struggled with her revulsion at taking his hand in the moves of the dance, but she tried to keep her expression neutral. He was watching her keenly. She willed herself to show no emotion. That became more and more difficult as he made it plain he was inspecting her very thoroughly. Face, figure and dress, all were subjected to his keen scrutiny. It made her burn with frustrated anger.
In her turn, she examined him. She would be fair and admit all his good points – if she could find them. His fair hair was cut and curled into the windswept style. It was too florid for her taste, she preferred short, thick copper-coloured hair, brushed back neatly. His shirt was shining white but, again, his cravat was tied in a complicated way and his waistcoat was rather too bright. The man was a dandy. That was his choice, of course, but she did resent the amount of money he must have spent to appear in such expensive glory. Money he had won from James. She remembered how he had encouraged James to drink, while keeping sober himself. It brought a bitter taste to her mouth.
‘Your brother seems very taken with Miss Gardiner,’ he remarked, breaking the long silence.
Sarah glanced at them. ‘We have been friends since our schooldays,’ she said. ‘James used to consider us both to be a nuisance.’
He gave a snort of laughter. ‘You certainly could not say that now.’
She stifled a sigh. James was in no position to make up to any girl. He needed to bring some order into his life and then to restore Russeldene.
The following morning, General Gardiner kept giving Sarah puzzled glances when he thought she was not looking. He shook his head and gave the matter up when his sedan chair arrived to convey him to the Pump Room.
He had not been gone long when Lizzie came into the room with her arms full of sewing materials. She spread some new ribbons out on the table, ready to trim her blue muslin dress. She looked up from the task of smoothing out the ribbon. ‘Why have you braided your hair so severely? It makes you look like a governess.’ She pinned a length of ribbon to the neckline of the dress, adding, ‘And that grey gown is dowdy.’
Sarah was pleased. ‘Just what I intended,’ She peeped at her reflection in the mirror over the fireplace. No dandy would look twice at such an unfashionable creature. Or so she hoped.
‘Now what are you planning?’ Lizzie looked at her suspiciously. ‘Are you disturbed by Lord Montallan? I wager there is no harm in him.’
‘I would not be too certain of that. And most definitely, we must steer clear of Lord Percival.’ Lizzie pushed her sewing aside and clasped her hands together on the table. ‘Sarah, you keep giving me dark hints. Please tell me why you dislike the poor man so much. I find him handsome and charming, that is all.’
Sarah clutched at her head in dismay. ‘Can you not see how dissipated he is? There are many dark stories about his past life. It can do us no good to be in his company. He is a friend of my brother’s, but I try my best to avoid him.’ She sighed. ‘I do wonder if we ought to engage a chaperon: we are so unprotected.’
‘We are managing well enough so far,’ retorted Lizzie, ‘and we certainly do not want Aunt Augusta and her smelly pug to come here. Even if Uncle Charlie spends his days at the Pump Room, we can always rely on Greg to escort us.’
Sarah made no comment. She wondered if Greg was still waiting for his bruised face to heal and what he had told his father.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Greg examined his face in his bedroom mirror. He grimaced at the ugly bruises and cautiously felt his cheekbone. The flesh was tender but definitely less swollen. The grazes were healing as well. Perhaps he could go for a drive. His horses needed the exercise and he wanted a change of scene. He felt more cheerful at this prospect and suddenly knew he was hungry. The smell of fresh coffee wafted up the stairs and further brightened his mood.
He walked into the dining-room and stopped short in surprise. Richard was sitting there, devouring a large plateful of ham and eggs. Greg raised his brows enquiringly. Richard grinned his crooked grin and stood up to shake hands.
‘Came on the night stage,’ he said. ‘Nothing like it for giving a man an appetite.’ He picked up his knife and fork again as if he had not a minute to lose. Busy slicing up another generous mouthful, he glanced up. ‘What have you done to your face?’
Greg poured coffee and selected a more modest helping of food for himself. ‘Accident,’ he said briefly. He cast an amused glance at lanky Richard’s heaped plate. ‘I am surprised Lord Liverpool could spare you from your duties.’
Richard disposed of a mouthful of ham and mustard. ‘Ah, but I am here in the performance of said duties. He has charged me with a message for you. And I have a letter from Theo as well.’
In the act of swallowing some hot coffee, Greg choked. ‘Well, little brother, do not keep me waiting,’ he gasped, when he could speak again.
Richard left the table. He fumbled in a leather satchel thrown on to
a chair and produced a sealed letter. Greg seized it.
‘At last,’ he muttered, breaking open the seal. The note was short.
I am at Weston Parcombe for the moment and beg you to do me the honour of spending a couple of days here at your earliest convenience. T.W.
Greg’s breakfast was forgotten as he pondered the meaning of this bland message. Whatever Theo wanted to tell him, it was too important to commit to paper. His face took on the hard look that had disturbed Sarah. Richard glanced at him thoughtfully, but knew better than to interrupt his brother in that mood.
At last Greg recollected himself, downed his coffee and turned an enquiring gaze on Richard. He indicated the letter. ‘What do you know about this?’
Richard shook his head. ‘Nothing. Assure you. Theo gave it to me yesterday, just after Lord Liverpool had informed me I might come to Bath to see how you are doing.’ He got up to refill his plate. ‘He simply charged me to say he hopes you are recovering well. I expect he has a mission for you as soon as you are fit. Of course, he does not know about your latest accident.’ He set his plate down and added, ‘Can I get you something else?’
Greg glanced at the cold food on his plate. He pushed it aside. ‘Some more coffee, if you please.’ He looked at his brother and grinned. ‘You could do with a shave.’
The stubble rasped as Richard rubbed his chin. ‘By and by.’ He nodded towards the letter, ‘I hope I have not brought bad news?’
‘Not at all. But it means I shall be off to see Theo today. I shall be away overnight. Which means I shall have to entrust you with a few jobs.’
Richard looked horrified. ‘Do I have to go and drink the waters with Father?’
Greg chuckled. ‘Father has a very robust opinion about the waters. But he goes to the Pump Room to meet a wide circle of friends. It has done a lot to raise his spirits. You will also find General Gardiner and Lizzie in Bath, as well as her friend, Sarah Davenport.’
‘Now that sounds more interesting.’ But Richard could not stifle a huge yawn. ‘If you do not need me now, I think I will turn in for a couple of hours.’
Greg nodded. ‘I shall see you tomorrow evening.’ With a wave of his hand, Richard left the room. Almost at once Greg heard voices on the stairs. Shortly after that Sir Thomas came into the room. Greg stood up.
‘Here’s a surprise,’ exclaimed Sir Thomas.
‘But a pleasant one, sir. And Richard has brought me an invitation from Theo, who is at his home in Oxfordshire. It is just what I want. A curricle ride, fresh air and a good chinwag at the end of it. And by the time I return, these bruises will have faded.’
Sir Thomas looked from under his brows. ‘Have a care, my boy. No more accidents, if you please.’
‘Indeed, sir. I shall have Preston with me, of course.’
It was mid afternoon when Greg bowled up the drive at Weston Parcombe. The butler informed him that Theo was to be found at the Dower House, a short distance further on. Greg smiled as he considered the difference in his friend’s life since his marriage. Once the black sheep of the family, now Theo was the valued older son, learning how to manage the family estate. Just as he himself was now going to do, he realized with mixed feelings.
As he drove up to the front door of the mellow old house, Theo and Kitty appeared in the entrance to greet him. Grinning from ear to ear, Greg bounded up the steps to a warm welcome from both of them. They drew him inside and, laughing and talking, took him into the pleasant sitting-room.
‘How did you manage to get another black eye?’ Kitty asked him. ‘When last I saw you in London, you had a black eye then as well.’
Greg nodded as he recalled the evening at the opera and then being hit round the head by a spy. ‘Either I am prone to suffer accidents or I am constantly being mistaken for someone else,’ he joked. ‘I apologize, Kitty, for not looking my best.’ He looked from her to Theo. ‘But I must say how radiant you both look. It is a great pleasure to see it.’
‘Oh, you have not seen the best yet,’ smiled Theo. He beckoned forward the nurse who had just entered the room and took the little bundle from her arms. He advanced towards Greg and held the infant out to him. Greg backed away a step, his expression alarmed.
‘No, really, old fellow, never done this in my life….’ Gingerly he received the baby and held him at arm’s length.
‘He will not break,’ said Theo, grinning. Master Arthur Weston considered Greg solemnly from large blue eyes. Greg looked down in silence at the tiny human being in his arms. He drew the baby closer and smiled at him.
‘That is better,’ encouraged Kitty. ‘You look very well like that.’
Greg gave her a glance of awe. ‘Miraculous,’ he murmured.
She held out her arms to take her son. ‘I know you must be anxious to exchange all your news with Theo, so we will leave you in peace now.’
In the library, they settled in armchairs one each side of the fire. Theo leaned forward. ‘Now, old man, what is the true story of this accident?’
Greg told him about his attempt to question James Davenport and of that young man’s fear of Lord Percival.
‘So you are being warned off….’ Theo struck his fist against the arm of his chair. ‘It ties in with what I have discovered about the man.’
Now it was Greg’s turn to lean forward attentively. He listened to Theo’s account with painful eagerness.
‘Hazelwick was most reluctant to discuss the matter, but I told him I had also spoken with a couple of the other men who were in that hunting party. He only had to confirm what I already knew.’
Greg nodded and Theo went on, ‘It appears Henry did spend his evenings in the bookroom playing cards with George Percival. However, from Percival’s foul temper, Hazelwick assumed he had been the loser and was trying to win his money back. He said that James Davenport would know; he was always to be found near George. Obviously, Hazelwick feels badly about such a tragic accident to his friend, but he seems to have no suspicion of anything underhand.’
Greg considered this news. ‘Very well. Let us suppose that Henry won, rather than lost, a considerable sum of money. But is it … can it be’ – he swallowed, then forced himself to continue – ‘can it be connected to his death?’
They looked at each other. ‘Everyone I asked said the same thing,’ said Theo. ‘They were all spread out following a stag. A few shots were fired. Henry was in the act of leaping a fence when one gun went off. His horse panicked and Henry fell and broke his neck.’
‘Oh God!’ Greg dashed a hand through his hair. There was a long silence. Theo rose and poured out brandy. He set a glass down by Greg’s side and resumed his own seat.
Eventually, Greg said, ‘Each time I see George Percival, he strikes me as being wary. He is definitely hiding something, so I have to suspect the worst.’ His face was grimmer than Theo had ever seen it.
‘I am inclined to agree,’ replied the latter, after a short interval. ‘But I have more to tell you. Lord Liverpool sent your brother to Bath so that we could get you here and give you this information. I am afraid that, fully recovered or not, you are now officially on a mission.’
Greg took a large sip of brandy and nodded. ‘Fire away.’
‘It is generally known that George Percival buys the finest clothes and horses and is altogether a very expensive dandy. He frequents some of the highest playing gaming hells in London. He has both lost and won enormous sums of money and it is noted that he befriends young men of wealth and brings them to his gaming clubs, where they mostly lose their money to him.
At least two wealthy women have disappeared from Society after their names were linked to his – and there are rumours of duels with their husbands. One source says Percival has twice killed his man.’
Greg tossed off the rest of his brandy and set the glass down. ‘I assume this information is leading up to some other matter…?’
‘Of course,’ nodded Theo, ‘but it shows the man’s character and why he might be desperate if he l
ost money. Now, this is the matter that concerns you. For a number of years, the government has been losing huge sums of gold bullion and other valuable goods. This happens when it arrives by ship at certain ports. Someone is selling information about the movements of such cargo – and with the war continuing, it is becoming critical to stop this loss of revenue. You and I both know that Wellington is careful of every penny, but it costs a fortune to keep the army going.’ He scowled very much in his old style. ‘The money that would help him win the war is being lost before it even reaches government coffers.’
‘So’ – Greg stared frowningly at Theo – ‘are you saying that George Percival is involved in stealing government funds?’
Theo sighed. ‘From our enquiries he is definitely a suspect. He is friendly with two Cabinet ministers, one of whom is Lord Dalbeagh – and you know how he hates Wellington. It is certain that George Percival is fearfully extravagant but he is never without funds. He has much more money than his estates can produce. And his lifestyle bears witness to his ruthless streak. We have been investigating him – as well as others – but we are now satisfied that he is the most likely one.’ He paused and savoured his brandy.
Greg picked up his own glass. ‘But just how does he carry this piracy off? It must require a lot of men to steal sacks of bullion and then store them secretly.’
Theo went to stoke up the fire. When the new log started to blaze, he straightened up and brought the brandy decanter over to refill both their glasses. ‘We have placed an agent in the village of Seldon, not far from Bath, on the Bristol road. His name is Josiah Whitby and you will find him at the Three Bells hostelry. There is a convoy of ships due to arrive from the Americas laden with tobacco and gold.’ He raised his brows. ‘If George Percival is our man, I feel sure we will see him attempt to get his share from such a tempting cargo.’