The Bloodied Cravat

by Rosemary Stevens

  I must get that letter back. I passed a hand over my brow. “Sir?” Robinson said, coming to stand next to me. “Are you quite well?”

  Two chairs stood near the empty fireplace. I angled one toward the other. “Sit down, Robinson.”

  The valet did as he was told, his eyes bright with curiosity and, I think, concern for my well-being.

  His expression changed when I lowered myself to the chair and a bundle of cat fur named Chakkri jumped into my lap. “Reow,” the feline said, reaching up a paw to my chin.

  “Good afternoon, old boy. Well, that is not precisely true, by God.” The cat settled down, content to have me stroke his fawn-coloured back as was only his due in life.

  Robinson sat, his lips pursed. He was no doubt gauging the number of cat hairs he would be forced to remove from my clothing.

  “Look here, Robinson, I am in a bit of a fix. When the highwayman stole our valises, he got away with my blue velvet book. You know the one I mean?”

  “Yes, I do sir,” Robinson replied, distracted from Chakkri by the question. “I have seen you placing sketches and such in it.”

  “That is correct,” I agreed, wondering how much to tell him. I did not want to widen the number of people who were aware of the nature of the letter by even one. And that included my trusted valet, who liked to imbibe spirits and chatter at The Butler’s Tankard in London. “Recollect that I was very upset when our things were stolen. The true reason was that I had placed a certain letter in the book for safekeeping. A letter which could prove, er, embarrassing if it fell into the wrong hands.”

  “Reow!” Chakkri shrieked. The cat stood up in my lap, his tail bristling. I stroked him from neck to tail, and after a moment, he settled down.

  I, on the other hand, felt a sudden chill at the tone of the cat’s cry. You may think me fanciful, but that feline understands every word I say.

  Robinson leaned forward in his chair. “Was the letter from a young lady, sir?”

  He is always trying to discover the details of my amours, and, as you might imagine, I thwart him at every turn. I raised my right eyebrow by way of censure. “I need your help, and I wish you would ask as few questions as possible.”

  “Very well, sir,” Robinson said on a sigh. “Have they caught the highwayman? Does he have the book?”

  “No, they have not caught him, but I have reason to believe his identity is Lord Kendrick.”

  “Lord Kendrick!” Robinson exclaimed, gripping the arms of his chair. “Sir, that was no member of the Nobility holding a pistol on me, I assure you.”

  “I believe you. The marquess has a partner or an accomplice, if you will, a paid ruffian most likely. Before you ask me why Lord Kendrick would stoop to robbing people on the road, let me say that the reasons people do evil things are numerous. To speculate at present would only cost us precious time. Let us just say that, as usual, money is the root of most evil.”

  Robinson thought this over. “Already there has been talk of his lordship in the servant’s hall.”

  “Oh? What kind of talk?”

  “When I returned from London this afternoon, I went to the kitchen to get a bite to eat. Everyone was angry and upset, especially Cook. It seems Lord Kendrick forced his attentions on one of the maids last night, Cook’s niece.”

  Robinson and I looked at one another, a silent message of contempt for Lord Kendrick’s behaviour passing between us. Housemaids are routinely accosted, make no mistake, but the frequency of a wicked activity cannot make it the slightest bit more acceptable.

  “Look here, Robinson, what I must do is search Lord Kendrick’s bedchamber. I would like to go straightaway, but I cannot see how at present. I must cool my heels until after dinner. I need your help.”

  “How can I serve you, sir?”

  “Find Thompson, Lord Kendrick’s valet, strike up a conversation, a friendship. Convince him to take a drink with you downstairs, go for a walk in the cooler evening air, whatever comes to mind. That way, while Lord Kendrick is gathered with the guests after dinner, I can search his room. Send word to me when the way is clear. If Thompson questions you as to why you must apprise me of your whereabouts, tell him I keep you on a very short leash.”

  Robinson nodded. “I shall do it. After dinner, when the servants are clearing the table and washing up, I should be able to distract him then.”

  “Good man.”

  A sound like a snort came from Chakkri.

  Robinson narrowed his eyes at the cat.

  “Pour me a drink before we begin the Dressing Hour, Robinson.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I possess a good appetite, thankfully one yet to show itself on my lean frame. Little causes me to neglect my food. Tonight proved an exception. Somehow when one is placed down the table, well away from the object of one’s affections, the result modifies the consumption of food. Not drink, only food, you understand.

  As is the custom, after the covers were removed, the gentlemen were left to their port while the ladies retired to the drawing room. The Prince of Wales had departed Oatlands before the picnic, leaving the Duke of Derehurst the highest-ranking gentleman present. He would be the one to give the signal to rejoin the ladies.

  He could, that is, if he would ever stop droning on about the pack of hounds he had carefully bred into the best fox-hunters in the south of England. Evidently he viewed sporting subjects the only suitable topic for conversation. The Duke had not earned the sobriquet “Stuffy” for nothing. I sat, resigned to adding boredom to my current list of frustrations. Fox-hunting is one of the few popular gentlemanly pastimes I eschew, judging it only one better than shooting helpless birds out of the sky.

  I had all I could do to keep from drumming my well-manicured fingers on the table, though I noted Lord Kendrick listened intently to every word the Duke said. Smirking sycophant.

  At last the Duke rose. I swallowed the remainder of my port and was the first to exit the room. Crossing into the drawing room moments later, I saw that card tables had been set up. A pair of doors were opened, revealing a large gallery. A trio of musicians enticed couples to dance.

  There had been no word from Robinson yet, so it was not time to search Lord Kendrick’s chamber.

  My gaze swept the drawing room until I found Freddie. I suppressed a groan. She sat on a small sofa with the garrulous Lady Crecy, Humphrey snoring away at their feet. Smart dog.

  Though Lady Crecy’s tongue ran on, I approached. I wanted to tell Freddie I would have the letter back that very night—I hoped—and I would most humbly beg her forgiveness for having kept it and propelled us into this mess.

  I bowed before the two. “Ladies, I am pleased to see we have the privilege of dancing again this evening. May I solicit each of you for a dance?”

  Yes, I was prepared to lead Lady Crecy onto the dance floor. No sacrifice was too great just now for a few minutes with Freddie. And I could not walk up and ask only one of them to dance.

  “Oh, Mr. Brummell!” Lady Crecy simpered. “I should like to dance with you above all things. I remember how gracefully you danced with my Penelope. Such ease of movement, such dignity, such refinement.”

  Such ridiculous toadying.

  Freddie’s gaze turned to me for the briefest of moments. She was clad in an elegant royal blue silk gown. Sapphires sparkled at her wrists and neck. “I am afraid I must refuse you,” she told me, while motioning to a footman. “I think I twisted my ankle this afternoon walking in the grass. I shall not be dancing this evening.”

  I stood amazed. What poppycock! Freddie loves the outdoors and is as sure-footed as a doe. I looked at her, willing her to meet my eyes, but she occupied herself with one of her dogs. Sparkles, named for his bright personality, took the opportunity to have his mistress pick him up and place him in her lap. Where was Georgicus? I wondered. Exiled as I seemed to be?

  “Oh, dear Duchess, your poor little ankle!” Lady Crecy cried. “We must cancel our plans to visit the ruins tomorrow. We cannot have yo
u traipsing about with an injured ankle.”

  Freddie asked the servant who appeared at her elbow for a footstool. “Do not fuss, Lady Crecy, I shall be fine by morning. We shall gather at noon and make the short journey to view the ancient crumbling stones on the other side of Weybridge, never fear.”

  “Well, if you are certain,” Lady Crecy said doubtfully.

  “Quite certain. You go ahead and dance with Mr. Brummell.”

  The footman returned with an embroidered stool. Freddie busied herself with the placement of her foot and arranged her skirts, avoiding my gaze. Lady Crecy rose, curtseyed to the Royal Duchess, and offered me her arm. I could do nothing other than make Freddie a bow and lead Lady Crecy into the gallery. I did not escape without hearing Lord Munro titter at my predicament from where he and Petersham sat at a card table.

  Fortunately a spirited country dance was just starting up. The dance would be one which separated its partners frequently. I observed a bored-looking Roger Cranworth lead Lady Ariana to the floor. The pale girl actually had a glimmer of happiness in her eyes as she took the dashing Mr. Cranworth’s arm.

  Cecily Cranworth sat alone, biting her fingernails in the corner of the room. Where, I thought, was Doctor Wendell? Thankfully, it was past the Squire’s bedtime so Miss Cranworth would not have to suffer his attentions.

  Lady Crecy proved to be a lively dancer. Her exertions did not prevent her from a steady stream of conversation. “Oh, look. Dear Signor Tallarico has joined the Royal Duchess on the sofa. He is the most engaging man, do you not think so, Mr. Brummell?”

  “I doubt he will ever allow himself to be trapped into an engagement,” I muttered. Lady Crecy did not hear me and smiled adoringly in the Italian’s direction. Another conquest for Tallarico! Apparently age was no barrier to his achievements. When it came to the females, Victor Tallarico brought a whole new meaning to the word victor. Devil take the man, I thought, watching him hold Freddie’s hand to his lips.

  “What is that you say?” Lady Crecy eventually asked.

  The steps of the dance parted us. When we were in front of one another again, I said, “I saw Signor Tallarico helping Lady Penelope with her archery.”

  Lady Crecy’s lips spread into a wide smile. She edged closer and snapped her fan open. Behind it she stage-whispered to me: “I think the dear man helped Penelope with more than her archery! Only look how marked Lord Wrayburn’s attention is to my little dove. By the end of the Season, I expect my gel to be preparing to become a countess.”

  My gaze travelled briefly to where Lord Wrayburn handed Lady Penelope a glass of lemonade, then assisted her to a seat near one of the tall windows.

  Lady Crecy snapped her fan shut in one fluid motion as if snapping closed the leg shackles of marriage around Lord Wrayburn’s ankles.

  Keeping an eye on Freddie while listening politely to Lady Crecy’s chatter, I suddenly noticed a footman at the edge of the dance floor watching me and trying to catch my attention.

  “Once my little Penelope is wed, perhaps I will try my skills at matchmaker somewhere else,” Lady Crecy said, nodding in the direction of Lady Ariana. “My Penelope says the gel is quite without prospects. The naughty marquess is too busy pursuing his own interests to secure a husband for his cousin. Lady Ariana is making eyes at Mr. Cranworth, but surely a titled lady can look higher.”

  I listened to these plots and plans with every indication of attention, waiting for a chance to make my escape. Finally, the dance ended. After extricating myself from Lady Crecy, I crossed to where the footman stood. “Mr. Brummell, sir,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “Mr. Robinson desires me to say,”—the footman cleared his throat and recited—”The bird has left its cage.”

  “Er, thank you.”

  Mentally, I smiled. This must be Robinson’s idea of the lingo of a spy.

  As quickly as I could without attracting notice to myself, I left the gallery and slipped up the stairs. Counting backwards from my bedchamber, I located Lord Kendrick’s room. Before the cat could lick her ear—or in this case before the dog snoring in the corridor could raise his head—I entered the marquess’s room.

  Not knowing how long Robinson could keep Thompson away, I made quick work of the contents of the wardrobe, the bedside table, his lordship’s portmanteau, the desk, and—with great distaste—the bed. Then I methodically looked in, around, and over every piece of furniture in the room, growing more anxious as the minutes passed. I even moved a chair in front of the wardrobe, and climbed up on it in order to see the flat surface of the top. After all, a letter in such a place would not be seen by the casual eye.

  Lord Kendrick’s bedchamber did not contain a dressing room for his valet as mine did, merely a cot in the far corner. Thus, when I had completed my search, I had nowhere else to look. Standing in the middle of the chamber, I tried to think of any stone I might have left unturned.

  I heaved a sigh. There was none. Damn and blast, Lord Kendrick must have the letter on his person for safekeeping. Hmmm. Would not that be more dangerous, though, than hiding it?

  Just then, I heard Robinson’s voice, pitched louder than normal, in the hallway.

  With a coolness I was far from feeling, I opened the door to the bedchamber and stepped briskly out into the hall.

  A plump, white-haired man in a black coat walked in front of Robinson. When he saw me, he started, then gave me that universal stare of the intimidating butler or manservant.

  Hah! He had picked the wrong victim for this manoeuver. I raised my quizzing glass in his direction for the merest of moments before addressing Robinson. “Mingling with country servants, Robinson? I cannot fathom you falling so low. Step along and fetch me another handkerchief. I have lent mine to a lady. All these blessed doors are the same on this hall and I mistook my chamber. Once I was inside, and saw the smallness of the room, I comprehended my error.”

  This was said before the outraged Thompson could even voice a question as to why I was in his master’s room. Robinson and I were down the hall and through the door to my chamber before Lord Kendrick’s man could draw breath.

  Robinson closed the door. “Did you find the letter, sir?”

  “No.”

  “I am sorry, sir.”

  “So am I. You did your part, though. Now I must get back downstairs before my long absence is noted.”

  “If there is anything more I can do—”

  “I shall tell you at once,” I said, leaving the room.

  Entering the drawing room while adjusting the sleeve of my coat, I looked to the sofa that Freddie had been seated on with Victor Tallarico. In her place, the Italian now flirted with Lady Ariana. Freddie was nowhere to be seen. Instead, I watched Lord Kendrick dance attendance on Lady Deidre.

  “What a murderous expression you have on your face, Brummell,” crooned Sylvester Fairingdale at my side, about as welcome as the plague.

  I did not reply.

  “You don’t care for Kendrick, that’s a fact,” Fairingdale said in a more conversational tone. “You didn’t fool me this afternoon with that story about his coat needing adjustment, and you’re not fooling me now.”

  “You are fool enough all by yourself.”

  “Tsk tsk. What can this all be about? Do you want Lady Deidre for yourself? I wouldn’t put it past you to think you could become the son-in-law of a duke?”

  “Why do you not fly away, Fairingdale? You look like a bee in that yellow and brown costume and are twice as annoying.”

  Fairingdale leaned closer and narrowed his eyes. “Mayhaps you already have a lady. Society thinks you feel no ordinary woman is good enough for you. Are they correct? I think they are. I don’t think a lady, even a duke’s daughter, will do for you ... only a princess.”

  I yawned behind my hand, strongly suppressing a desire to swat Fairingdale. “Pity I find your opinions about as worthy as that of the bee you so resemble. Now go take your stinger and place it—ah, Old Dawe, just the man. I am going above
stairs for the night. Is there a spare bottle of port about?”

  Leaving Fairingdale with a calculating look on his face, I quit the room and waited in the hall until Old Dawe returned with a decanter on a tray.

  “Sir, I am sorry. I would have brought it up to you.”

  “No need. Tell me, has the Royal Duchess retired for the evening?”

  “I believe she has, sir. She seems especially fatigued tonight.”

  “It has been a long day. Thank you for the port.”

  Too irate at Lord Kendrick’s monstrous nerve in blackmailing Freddie and too exasperated by Freddie’s avoidance of me to be tired, I climbed the stairs to my bedchamber only to pace.

  “Do you want me to help you get ready for bed, sir?” Robinson asked, sending a look of animosity toward the bed where Chakkri already slept.

  “No.” I lifted the stopper on the decanter.

  “We could work on your hair, then. With just a few snips of the scissors, I could restore it to—”

  “No.” I put the port on the table between the chairs. There might not be anything more I could do about Lord Kendrick tonight, but I was damned if I were going to wait until morning to see Freddie. I would see her now, no matter what her Prussian behemoth of a maid said.

  “Go to bed, Robinson,” I said curtly, then exited the room leaving the valet with his mouth hanging open. I advanced down the corridor to Freddie’s sitting room, my need to see her increasing with every step.

  I gave only the briefest of knocks before entering. It was empty. I heard sounds coming from Freddie’s bedchamber.

  Never in all my visits to Oatlands had I been in there.

  Impulsively, I knocked, then opened the door and strode into the room. I had a brief impression of shades of blue, before several of the dogs draped on chairs and sprawled on the floor woofed and growled at me.

  Ulga paused in the act of brushing her mistress’s hair. Her eyes grew wide, outrage at my intrusion in every feature.

  Freddie sat at her dressing table, attired in a robe of exquisite white satin trimmed with tiny diamonds and fastened in front with a large diamond clasp. She hushed the dogs, then spoke to me. “What can have prompted this unprecedented action on your part?”