“Never mind that now,” I said, keeping Freddie’s hand in a tight grasp and looking down into her precious china-blue eyes. “You have come to Brighton at last. When did you arrive?”
She smiled up at me. “Last night, while everyone was at the Johnstones. I had to come. I had to give you your present and could not count on your coming soon to Oatlands.”
I gave her my best look of reproach. “Present? I do not need any gift other than your company. But you wound me. Almost nothing could keep me from your weekend house parties, as you well know. Now that you are here, there will be no need for me to travel to see you. You will be staying through the weekend, will you not?”
Freddie cast a look behind her where her maid, Ulga, stood at a respectful distance watching us. Gently, she tugged her hand from mine. “Oh, I cannot say, George,” she said. “We will see how the Brighton air agrees with me.”
What she meant was that she would have to see if her blackguard of a husband, the Duke of York, found out she had ventured away from the country estate he rarely visited, Oatlands, to travel to the Pavilion. If he did, he might decide to join her, with mistress in tow.
Yes, yes, I know the Duke is highly regarded in some circles, being the Commander in Chief of England’s land forces, but he is not highly regarded in the circle of my brain. Gentlemen should be true to their marriage vows, and if they cannot be, they should at least be discreet. The Duke of York is neither.
“Will you not introduce me to your escort?” I bantered, wishing to see the smile return to Freddie’s face.
“His name is Humphrey, but wait a moment before shaking his paw. Let me give you your present first, George, before someone wanders along and finds it.” Freddie walked over to a nearby tree. The dog and I followed.
With the flourish of a conjurer at Southwark Fair, Freddie reached behind the tree and produced a walking stick. She smiled and handed it to me. “I had this made up especially for you, dear, to thank you for your help with that recent nerve-rattling incident regarding Miss Ashton.”
I stared down at the ebony cane in surprise and pleasure. Beautifully carved, it is topped by an elegant silver dog’s head. The canine’s eyes are sapphires. Such a gift would remind me of the Royal Duchess every time I carried it. “Freddie, it is handsome to be sure, but you need not have given me anything.”
“Nonsense, George,” she proclaimed roundly. “If not for you, Miss Ashton would be in Newgate, my reputation would have suffered, and God only knows what else. I simply desired to show my appreciation for all you did in recent weeks.”
I wanted to tell her that I would do anything for her, cross raging rivers, slay dragons, rescue wounded puppies, whatever was required, but she is a married woman and I am an honourable gentleman. Dash it!
“Thank you, Freddie,” I replied gravely. “This shall be the only stick I carry from now on.”
“George, do not say so! I know you have a marvelous collection of canes. You must not limit yourself to just this one,” she insisted. But I thought there was a spark of pleasure in the depths of her eyes even as she denounced my plan.
“Freddie, I choose to carry only this walking stick,” I said in a tone that stated the subject was closed.
A hint of colour on her cheeks, she took the cane back from me. “Well, if you do carry it, it will afford you a measure of protection. Here, if you twist the silver dog’s head like this,” she said, suiting her actions to her words, “you have a remarkably sharp swordstick.” A gleaming blade snapped out of the bottom of the cane. Freddie handed the cane back to me.
“Excellent,” I said, turning the head back, causing the mechanism to retract the blade, leaving me with an innocent-looking walking stick.
“Now let me tell you about Humphrey, George. I received a petition from him—well, actually his master—who was forced to leave England. Not being able to take the dog along, he feared for Humphrey’s future.”
I looked down at the animal and he gazed back with the most melancholy grimace I have ever seen. He is a short-legged creature, and his long droopy ears and wrinkled jowls almost touched the ground.
“His master begged that I might give Humphrey a home, stating that with sufficient carrots and grated parmesan cheese, the poor darling would be quite content.”
“Carrots?” I asked, casting a disbelieving eye at the animal’s stocky body.
“Indeed,” Freddie confirmed, nodding her head. “Well, George, I need hardly tell you that I offered the dog a home at once. I have not regretted the decision for a moment; Humphrey is such a loving soul. Considering that he has recently been separated from the only master he ever knew, I felt it incumbent upon me to bring him along on this trip to Brighton, so he would not feel abandoned in any way. He must know he is among friends. Will you not pet him, dear?”
With a touch of reluctance born from a mental image of Robinson’s disapproving expression when I handed him gloves covered with dog hair, I knelt down and stroked the top of Humphrey’s head.
“Look, George, he likes you!” the Royal Duchess exclaimed.
Did drooling equal affection? If so, the dog was positively in love with me. I inched my buckskin-clad knee discreetly away. Robinson was skilled in his work, but I doubted he included a drool-remover in his cache of valet equipment. I looked up to reply to Freddie’s statement, when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a movement at the window of my bedchamber. Focusing my gaze, I perceived a startling sight.
Two eyes blazed at me, the orbs glinting red. A tail snapped repeatedly against the pane of glass.
Chakkri saw me petting Humphrey. Chakkri was angry.
Rescue came from an unexpected source. At that moment, Lady St. Clair, accompanied by her daughters and their maid, headed our way. I could cease my attentions to the dog without offending Freddie.
I rose, then bowed as the ladies joined us. They sank into deep curtseys for Freddie.
“Good morning, Lady St. Clair,” Freddie said regally. “It is a fine day for a walk, is it not?”
“Quite so. We are honoured to have your Royal Highness amongst us. If it pleases your Royal Highness, may I present my daughters, Lady Chastity and Lady Prudence?”
There followed another series of curtseys and pleasant remarks.
Lady Chastity noticed Humphrey. “I’ve never seen a short-legged dog like that before, your Royal Highness.”
“Chastity,” Lady St. Clair said swiftly before Freddie could reply. “Do not be overly familiar with the Royal Duchess.”
Lady Prudence shot her sister a pious look.
Lady Chastity pouted prettily, but did not defy her mother. Lady St. Clair’s command had been gentle, but with a hint of steel underneath.
“It is quite all right, Lady St. Clair,” Freddie said. “The dog’s name is Humphrey, Lady Chastity. Would you like to pet him?”
Humphrey looked up hopefully.
Lady Chastity made a move forward, but her mother’s words, soft but effective, stopped her. “You are very kind, your Royal Highness, but we would not keep you,” Lady St. Clair said. I felt sure she did not approve of her daughter touching the dog, though nothing in her cordial tone indicated it. “The girls and I are taking our morning exercise and will continue to the Steine, if you will excuse us?”
Freddie nodded.
Lady St. Clair and her daughters curtseyed. “Good morning to you and Mr. Brummell, your Royal Highness. I hope you and Humpty have a nice stroll.”
With that, Lady St. Clair moved stiffly away, daughters and maid in tow. I glanced at Freddie who was gazing after them.
“Lady St. Clair did not remember Humphrey’s name correctly,” I remarked.
Freddie said nothing. She is the type of lady who does not like to speak ill of others. A little prompting would be necessary if I were to find out her opinion of Lady St. Clair. And I wished to learn as much as I could about all of Prinny’s guests. “Shall we take Humphrey for a walk on the beach?”
“Good idea, Geo
rge. He will enjoy it. And you can tell me all of what has transpired since your arrival in Brighton.”
Freddie motioned for Ulga to follow. We began walking at a slow pace around the house. To get to the beach, we needed to walk past the grassy area known as the Steine. Neither of us wanted to appear as if we were following Lady St. Clair and her daughters. I said, “Though I have met Lord St. Clair before, I only met his lady and his daughters last night.”
Freddie stepped onto the footpath bordering the Steine. The park-like area was crowded with people promenading. “Lord St. Clair is a respected man in Parliament. When he inherited his estate, Edenberry Grove, it had fallen into disrepair due to his father’s excessive gaming.”
“Horrid what gaming debts can do to a man. I vow I shall never be brought low by them.”
Freddie gave a gentle tug on the leash as Humphrey had paused to sniff the ground. “See that you do not, George. As for Lord St. Clair, he eventually made the estate into one of the finest in the county. His lordship made a fortunate choice in wives. Lady St. Clair has done a great deal to help bring the estate to rights.”
Translation: Lady St. Clair was the one with the money.
“The daughter of a neighbouring estate owner?” I asked casually, reaching down and moving the animal’s front quarters in order to get him to move along. He finally complied.
Freddie smiled her thanks. “Prior to marriage, Lady St. Clair was Miss Euthenia Beale, the daughter of a London silk importer.”
Translation: Lady St. Clair was the daughter of a Cit, the common term used for City Merchant. This explained her air of being Beyond Reproach. In an effort to cover her undistinguished parentage, Lady St. Clair took pains not to make a single social misstep.
Neither Freddie nor I spoke for a few moments as we gazed out to the sea. The waves were rough, pounding against the shore with wrathful intensity. A bit farther down from where we were, the sea-bathing machines stood without customers. Only a few fishing boats braved the heaving water.
I glanced over at Freddie, thinking she might not wish to stroll on the beach on such a day. Indeed, as I looked around, I observed only a scattering of people about. But Freddie loves unfettered nature and would not be deterred.
I grasped her cherished arm firmly and guided her down the steps. Ulga followed behind. Humphrey seemed excited, his snout raised in high anticipation of a good romp.
“Should I release him from his leash, George?” Freddie asked uncertainly.
“Yes, do. He seems eager for some exercise. I daresay he could use it.”
Freddie bent and unhooked the length of leather from the dog’s collar. He moved quickly for a fellow so close to the ground, his tail up and the tip wagging a bit as he traversed the pebbled ground.
“Perhaps I could ask your advice about Chakkri, Freddie,” I said, taking her arm and placing it through mine. We began to walk down the beach, the sound of the waves crashing in the background.
“Of course you can, dear.”
“Chakkri has been most unhappy since our arrival. He misses home.”
“Have you brushed him lately?”
“Yes, I have an ivory-handled ladies’ hairbrush I employ on him. He makes a game of it, though, walking away and then crying for me to continue.”
Freddie laughed. “I should like to witness that.”
“I would not say this to anyone else, but I know you will understand.”
Freddie nodded her encouragement.
“I daresay it is more a sense of impending doom that is disturbing him. I know I feel it, too.”
“The threats against the Prince? He wrote to me about them,” Freddie’s brow creased in concern.
“Yes. They are serious. And Prinny is feeling the strain. He stepped on Chakkri’s tail yesterday. When the cat yelled, enough guards to repel Napoleon rushed the room, all pointing their weapons at me. It took me some minutes and a few glasses of cherry brandy to soothe Prinny.”
Freddie made sympathetic noises.
“Besides foreign threats, the Prince has made a muddle of certain things here. A woman named Mrs. Davies is said to be carrying his child.”
Freddie’s lips were firmly closed.
“And there is one young man, Arthur Ainsley, who feels cheated out of a peerage he says Prinny promised him. Now he has revenge in his eye,” I told her. “Furthermore, the Prince argued in public with your brother-in-law, the Duke of Clarence, last night at the Johnstones. And Prinny has employed a food-taster.”
Freddie’s blue eyes widened. “A food taster? Great heavens, here in Brighton?”
“Yes, and the man is a cad. Sir Simon, a local baronet. Do you know him?”
“No.”
“An ugly fellow. He made a coarse remark about Lady Perry, and Lord Perry called him out. It took Lord Perry’s cousin, Signor Tallarico, and me to talk him out of it, though Tallarico had pulled a knife on Sir Simon.”
Freddie gasped.
“Perry finally let Sir Simon go, but not before promising to kill him if he so much as mentioned Lady Perry again.” I heaved a weary sigh. “Other than that, things have been dull. Petersham has a new blend of snuff he has promised to let the Prince try this evening, so we have that to look forward to.”
“George! You are making up all these calamities!”
“Upon my honour, I am not.”
“This is dreadful. What can happen next?”
Before I could answer, our attention was caught by a deep woof from Humphrey. His jowls flapped as he raced toward an object being washed up on shore by the angry waves.
Freddie gripped my arm. “Oh, dear God, George. Look! It is a body.”
Chapter Six
“You must not look,” I commanded, grasping Freddie’s left shoulder and turning her closely toward me, shielding her from the tragic sight.
Freddie’s blue eyes were wide with shock and her body trembled. “George,” she whispered in an anguished voice, “there is no hope that she might still be . . . if there is any possibility . . . “ Her voice trailed off, and her gaze went past me, back to where the girl lay.
I placed a gentle finger on Freddie’s soft cheek, applying pressure to turn her toward me again. “I do not think so, my princess, but if you promise not to look at her again, I shall make certain there is nothing to be done.”
Freddie swallowed, then gave a shaky nod.
I turned and found Freddie’s maid standing some ten feet behind us, staring at the body and clutching her shawl tightly about her shoulders. “Ulga! Come here at once and see to the Royal Duchess.”
My authoritative tone snapped the maid out of her trance. She came forward. After urging them both to keep their eyes averted, I walked over to the young woman.
Humphrey woofed at me.
“Yes, boy, you found her. Good dog. Now, let me see.”
Upon closer inspection, I judged the girl to be hardly more than eighteen or nineteen years of age. She appeared to be a lady of quality, if the fineness of her dress was any measure. To add to the impression of wealth, there was a gold cross suspended from her neck. The chain was heavy, and emeralds graced the ends of the fleur-de-lys.
There was no doubt in my mind she was dead. Even so, I kneeled down and forced myself to edge away matted strands of her flaxen hair. I placed my fingers at her throat in search for a pulse. None could be found there, nor at her wrist.
Part of the skirt of her dress had crept up around her knees. I leaned over and tugged the soaked material down to modestly cover her cold limbs. Then my gaze shifted, and I noticed that the side of her head, toward the back, sported a lump about the size of my pocketwatch.
About to examine the spot, the sound of Humphrey’s barking called my attention back to Freddie. The canine had responded to her call. She crouched down, hugging the excited dog close. A few people had gathered around, whispering and pointing.
Deciding there was nothing more I could do for the young girl, I walked back to Freddie. Addressing Ulga, I s
aid, “Remain here. I shall escort the Royal Duchess back to the Pavilion and summon help.”
“Yes, sir,” she responded crisply, seemingly recovered from the shock. She did not look at the body again.
“Come, Freddie, there is nothing more we can do other than get Doctor Pitcairn and some men down here. The Prince’s doctor is in residence, I am told. He will see to this.” I knew the magistrate would also have to be informed, but I kept the thought to myself.
Freddie rose slowly, her face drained of every drop of colour. The wind blew a curl across her face. She reached up to tuck it under her hat, her hand shaking. I was sure to keep myself between her and the sight of the body. With the dog loping along beside us, we made our way back to the Pavilion.
* * * *
“Freddie, have some tea,” I said. “The footman just brought it, so it is nice and hot.” She had not regained colour in her cheeks since we had returned to the house. Dismissing Ulga after charging her to take Humphrey upstairs, the Royal Duchess allowed me to lead her to a quiet room and ring for tea.
We sat in the circular drawing room known as the Saloon. A great round Axminster carpet, featuring a sunflower in the middle, fit the room beneath our feet. Golden rays like those from the sun spread from its center. A border of dragons chasing one another completed the design. Six wall panels in Chinese wallpaper rose to meet the ceiling, a painted summer sky. Eastern scents wafted from the magnificent perfume burner, making me feel we were thousands of miles away from the awful scene on the Brighton beach.
“Yes, tea would be just the thing,” Freddie pronounced, reaching over and pouring us both a cup.
However, before we could taste the brew, the doors swung open, and the Prince of Wales entered, followed by Lord Perry with his cousin Victor Tallarico and Lord and Lady St. Clair. A half-dozen armed footmen filed in behind the Prince and arranged themselves at attention by the door.
Freddie and I rose from our chairs. I bowed to the Heir Apparent, while the Royal Duchess curtseyed to her brother-in-law.
The Prince looked nettled. “Brummell, what’s this about a body on the beach? We had just sat down to a game of whist when I was informed you’d sent for Pitcairn.”
The Tainted Snuff Box Page 5