by Mary Nichols
‘O’Keefe wants more genuine coins, but I can hardly rob myself again,’ Harry told Ash the next morning. They were sitting at the table in their usual meeting room at Trentham House, waiting for the rest of the Piccadilly Gentlemen to arrive, and Harry had been updating his friend on the progress he had made, though he had been careful not to mention Max. That was something he would have to sort out himself. ‘And until I provide them, he is not inclined to take me to the farm.’ He paused. ‘Would you object if Gus Housman robbed you?’
Ash laughed. ‘Not at all. But surely they trust you now and you can simply say you have done it without having to make a theatrical performance of it?’
‘No, they are a cagey lot, and I need someone to witness it and describe the robber, which is why I wear that ridiculous spotted neckerchief.’
‘You are laying yourself open to arrest, you know that, don’t you? And then what would your wife say?’ He regarded Harry with his head on one side. ‘Or is that of no consequence?’
Harry looked sharply at him, wondering if his friend had guessed that his relationship with Rosamund had grown from where it had started to something deeper and far more important than simply getting her with child, but decided not to comment. ‘I have to risk it, just once more. I am close to being admitted into the gang.’
‘On your head be it,’ Ash said. ‘When and where do you propose to do the deed?’
‘It will have to be done at night because I have to creep out of the house without Rosamund seeing me.’
‘Why don’t you tell her what you are doing?’
‘I cannot.’
‘Why not? I am sure she can be trusted not to blab about it. And she is no wilting violet, not likely to swoon, is she?’
‘No, she is not, but I have my reasons. Perhaps one day…’ His voice tailed off and he was silent for a moment, then, suddenly pulling himself together, added, ‘When will it be convenient for you?’
Ash roared with laughter. ‘I never yet heard of a robber asking his victim when he would like to be robbed.’
‘Be serious, Ash.’ But his own lips were twitching. ‘Tomorrow is Coronation Day and I am going to be at Lord Trentham’s ball in the evening.’
Ash stopped laughing. ‘Do it then. I am going to a celebratory reception given by the Admiral I served when I was at sea, at his house in Piccadilly. It is just down the road from here. I will point it out when we leave. When I arrive at precisely nine o’clock, I shall leave my purse on the carriage seat, but remember it and go back for it five minutes later. You will, by then, have taken it and be making your escape and I will make a hue and cry over it.’
‘Rosamund will be with me.’
‘You do not need to be at her side all the time, do you? It ain’t done to dance attendance on one’s wife, you know.’ He received no answer to this and went on. ‘His lordship will arrange for you to have somewhere to change and you can slip out and be back before you are missed. It will give you an alibi if O’Keefe should be sharp enough to twig who Housman really is.’
‘You may be right,’ Harry admitted, delving into his pocket and withdrawing a purse, which clinked as he put it on the table in front of Ash. ‘Take this. Don’t want you losing your own money.’
‘You should not have to lose yours either, my friend. How much has this quest cost you to date?’
‘It is of no consequence. I can bear it and it will be worth it to see O’Keefe hang.’
Ash put the purse in his pocket just as James arrived, followed by the other members of the Gentleman’s Club, including Lord Trentham, who said he was glad to escape from the turmoil the ball was causing in his household. They discussed the plan with him and then settled down to other business.
Rosamund was sitting opposite Mr Tetley again. She was relieved that Harry had not been to see him, but it left her wondering just what her husband was up to. She put that to one side as she explained why she had come. He was gravely courteous as he listened.
‘But, my lady,’ he said when she finished, ‘I cannot refuse to tell Lord Portman what he wants to know, an’ it is in my power.’
‘But you said you did not know any more than you have already told me.’
‘Nor do I, but if his lordship were to ask to see the documents relating to the shares, I cannot refuse him, can I? As your husband, he has a right.’
‘I know, but if you were to destroy them…’
‘My lady, why are you asking this? Have you discovered something about the Barnstaple Mining Company?’
‘No, nothing.’ She hesitated. ‘It is just a feeling I have that whatever we discover will not be to my father’s credit and I am afraid…’
‘You are thinking of those counterfeit coins?’
How sharp he was, she thought. ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I cannot help but think the two things are connected.’
‘But I understood Sir Maximilian had handed the coins to the Excise as I advised.’
She did not enlighten him. ‘But that does not absolve my father, does it? I am convinced he was duped, but I doubt I would be believed.’
He looked at her with his head on one side and she felt as if he could see right through her and could sense she was not telling him everything. ‘You do not wish me to continue my enquiries into Mr O’Keefe and the Barnstaple Mining Company?’
‘Have you been making enquiries?’ she asked in surprise. He had seemed reluctant to do so when she spoke to him previously.
‘Yes, my lady. If the law has been broken…’ He shrugged. ‘One must do one’s best to bring criminals to justice.’
She wished she had not come. Instead of ensuring Harry would learn nothing about that bag of coins, she had roused the lawyer’s curiosity. She thanked him and left, wishing she could throttle that brother of hers.
She climbed into her coach, unaware that Harry and Ash were strolling down the road towards her and had seen her leave the lawyer’s premises.
‘I am going to leave you here,’ Harry said. ‘I have a call to make.’
Those privileged to be at the abbey to witness the coronation were required to be in their places hours before the ceremony began and Rosamund was woken at dawn by Janet with her chocolate drink and hot water for her to wash. Early as it was, the crowds were already gathering; she could hear them in the street, calling to each other and cheering the little road sweeper who came to clean the road of ordure.
‘It’ll be a good day for it,’ Janet said, busying herself about the room, fetching out the clothes Rosamund was to wear.
Unable to break the habit of being frugal, even when Harry had told her to spend whatever she needed, she had bought a blue silk gown trimmed with satin bows and lace inserts. When she showed it to Harry, he had told her very forcefully it would not do. ‘It is nothing but an ordinary everyday gown,’ he had said. ‘I see I shall have to come shopping with you.’ And with that he had ordered out the carriage and taken her to one of the most expensive mantua makers in town, which had astonished the good lady, who had fallen over herself offering him a seat and bringing out bolts of silks, satins, brocades, gauze and lace in all the colours of the rainbow, striped, plain and flowered.
He had been at his most foppish as he fingered them all, talked knowledgeably about fashion and insisting on looking at patterns, commenting on each—this is not at all flattering, this will make you look too thin, this colour would not suit you, now this is better, but not rich enough—until Rosamund’s head was spinning. She wanted very much to please him and be a credit to him and he did seem to know what would suit her, so she had fallen in with his choice. Now, as Janet helped her to dress, she knew she had been right to do so, though the dress and its accessories had cost a fortune. The brocade gown, embroidered in silk thread with long swirls of silver, pink, palest green and sky blue, was worn over a panniered satin petticoat. The stomacher was of pleated net over cream satin. She could hardly breathe when she was laced into it.
‘Janet, for heaven’s sake, loosen
it or I shall swoon,’ she said.
Janet, smiling to herself, let some of the silk cord out and then helped her into the bodice, which was of the same material as the skirt and had a square neckline that was rather more revealing than she was used to, but a handkerchief swathed round her shoulders and pinned into the top of the corsage with a diamond-and-amethyst brooch, a present from her husband, made her feel a little more comfortable about it. The sleeves were straight to the elbow and ended in net ruffles.
‘Beautiful,’ Janet breathed. ‘Now for your hair.’
Rosamund suffered her maid to pull the front of her hair up over some wool stuffing to make buckle curls. The back was tied in a knot on top and the ends allowed to curl naturally over her ears. The whole creation was decorated with silk flowers and plumes. Looking in the mirror afterwards, Rosamund was confronted with a fashion plate that she was not sure she liked. At least it would allow her to look the part of Lord Portman’s wife, even if she did not feel like it.
Slipping into her satin shoes and taking up her fan and reticule, she made her way in stately fashion to the drawing room where Harry waited for her.
He was in cream silk: plain breeches, tied at the knee with red ribbons, his coat and waistcoat embroidered in gold and silver. Unusually for him, he was wearing a white wig with three buckles at each side and the back confined in a large ribbon bow. He swept her an elaborate leg and then examined her through his quizzing glass. ‘La, madam,’ he said in his macaroni drawl, waving the glass in a circular movement around her. ‘Stap me, if you won’t outshine the whole company.’
In spite of her nervousness, she laughed. ‘Harry, I wish you would not act the coxcomb. You are far too sensible and clever for that.’
‘Ah, but this is the public me,’ he said, mincing round her to inspect her from the back. ‘And today we are to be in the public eye.’
‘I prefer the private one.’
‘Do you, my dear? I am gratified.’ He was back facing her, the quizzing glass once more dangling from his neck. ‘But we shall keep that to ourselves, shall we? What would the ton make of me if I suddenly changed my ways?’
‘Would that matter? I had not thought you were one to mind what people thought of you.’
He was pensive for a moment. He could tell her the reason that he had started it was to disguise his hurt and guilt over Beth, but, as Rosamund had pointed out to him, habits were difficult to break. And since his involvement with the Piccadilly Gentlemen it was a good cover for what he was really doing; the fop could not be further from the dirty Gus Housman. He could have said all that and might have done, if he had not been plagued by his cousin’s revelations about Chalmers and the clipped guinea and the little he had learned from Mr Tetley, who had been decidedly cagey in answering his questions. He had to get to the bottom of that, which made his determination to inveigle his way into the counterfeiters’ gang doubly important. He prayed she was innocent. If she were not…He could not bear to contemplate the consequences.
‘They might think marriage had wrought the change,’ he said, a half-smile playing about his lips because it had—a big change. ‘And we cannot have that, can we?’
She did not answer, realising there were three Harry Portmans: the coxcomb who stood in front of her, the gentle, caring husband and father she knew at Bishop’s Court and the scruffy individual who crept about at night and gave her nightmares. She pulled herself together and smiled. ‘No, I can see it would be a dreadful blow to your pride.’
He did not answer. Instead he picked up her heavy velvet mantle and draped it about her shoulders before putting on his own, then offered her his arm. ‘Come, my dear, our carriage is at the door.’
The crowds, spilling into the road and lining the route of the procession, cheered every carriage that passed, regardless of whether they knew its occupants. Rosamund, stiff with nerves, hardly noticed them.
Arriving at the Abbey, they were conducted to their places and prepared for a long wait. Many of those around them had brought packets of food and bottles of drink and the whole place hummed with conversation and gossip waiting for the arrival of the king and queen. Rosamund filled the time looking about her at the glittering array of churchmen and nobility and asking Harry to identify them. He had a tale to tell about each and kept her entertained until the cheering outside rose in volume and a few minutes later the Royal couple arrived.
They made their way through the nave to the coronation chairs and the service began. The Archbishop presented the sovereign to the people who responded with a cry of ‘God Save the King!’ Then the king took the oath. His crimson robes were removed, leaving him in a plain white tunic and he was seated in the coronation chair to be anointed while the choir sang the anthem. This done, the king was dressed in cloth of gold and invested with the regalia and crowned with St Edward’s crown over the Cap of State. From there he moved to the throne and received the homage of the people, in strict order of hierarchy. Then the queen was crowned and silver coronation medals were thrown into the congregation. Harry, retrieving one, wondered how long it would be before these were counterfeited and being sold for genuine.
After Holy Communion, the newly crowned monarch and his queen went to St Edward’s chapel where he put on a purple velvet robe and then proceeded in state to the west end of the Abbey, carrying the orb and sceptre. It was over and the congregation filed out behind them to celebrate in whatever manner they had arranged. Harry and Rosamund returned to Portman House to eat a quiet meal together, while outside the noise of singing and cheering and the explosions of fireworks filled the air. On the surface they appeared content with each other, but both were nursing secrets that made ordinary conversation difficult and they separated to go to their rooms and rest until it was time to go to Lord Trentham’s ball.
Harry wanted to establish himself among the company so that he would not be missed when he later disappeared, and he had to make sure Rosamund did not come looking for him. Luckily most of the Piccadilly Gentlemen were there with their wives whom she had met on her wedding day, so she was soon in conversation with Louise and Amy. Amy rarely came to town, preferring to stay at their country home in Norfolk, but the coronation was a special occasion and so she and James were staying with Jonathan and Louise at Chaston Hall, a few miles out of town.
When the dancing began, they paired off; Rosamund was partnered by James and Amy by Jonathan. Harry swept Louise an extravagant leg and offered her his arm. They followed the others into the dance. Somehow he managed to make a wrong turn and drew everyone’s attention to him as he endeavoured to get back into the set. ‘My apologies, Lady Leinster,’ he said loudly in the high voice of the fop. ‘Don’t know what I was thinking of.’
She smiled. ‘Your lovely wife, I should imagine.’
‘She is lovely, ain’t she?’ he murmured.
‘Does she know?’
‘That she is lovely? I doubt it. She is too modest.’
Louise laughed. ‘No, I meant about the Piccadilly Gentlemen.’
‘No. Too dangerous.’
‘But I know and Amy knows,’ she said.
‘That’s different.’
‘Why?’
He paused, wondering how to answer her. ‘Because of the way her father died,’ he said with sudden inspiration. ‘Very smoky, that.’
‘Is that what you are investigating?’
‘Among other things,’ he answered enigmatically.
The dance ended. He bowed, she curtsied, then he took her back to Jonathan. He took a turn with Amy and then stood watching with tolerant amusement as Rosamund, smiling and relaxed, stood up with several youthful and not-so-youthful partners. He looked at his watch. It was time to go. ‘There is someone I must see,’ he said, to the company near him. ‘Beg to be excused.’ Flourishing a bow, he made his escape.
Looking about him to make sure he was not being watched, he dropped his lazy gait and hurried to the room Lord Trentham had set aside for him, which was at the rear of the
house on the ground floor and close to an outside door. Jack Sylvester was waiting for him with his Gus Housman clothes.
The valet did not bother to hide his disgust; the garments were even filthier and smellier that they had been and his lordship would not allow him to clean them. ‘Don’t know why you want to go out in these things,’ he said, trying to brush the coat down with his hand, as Harry threw off his white wig and began stripping off his finery.
‘Reasons, Jack, reasons you do not need to question,’ he said amiably, stepping out of his small clothes and into the disgusting fustian breeches. ‘I hope you remembered the make-up, I am not keen to rub real dirt over my face.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
Once the disguise was on, he dirtied his face and hands with make-up and put on the mouse-bitten brown wig. ‘Will I do?’ he asked, clapping a dirty black hat on top of it. ‘Haven’t forgotten anything, have I?’
‘Your own mother would not know you, my lord.’ It was said with a perfectly straight face. ‘But I fancy red heels are a little out of place.’
‘Good God!’ Harry, who had absent-mindedly slipped his feet back into his shoes after putting on the breeches, kicked them off again and replaced them with the down-at-heel footwear of Gus Housman, then looked at his fob watch which lay with his quizzing glass, rings and other accessories on a table, ready for his return. ‘I’m late. Don’t stir from here until I come back, I shall need you.’