The Shadow of Tyburn Tree

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘May the devil take Charles Fox!’ cried Roger angrily. ‘Damn him and his filthy political intrigues.’

  ‘Oh, be sensible, m’dear. ’Twill prove well worth my while to render him this service, should I find that my own inclinations coincide with his interests.’

  ‘Surely you would lose nothing by postponing the issue for a while?’

  ‘There lies the rub. I fear one might lose everything. ’Tis said that these Russians are as proud as they are bold. After the avowals he has already made me he will come with high expectations. Should I not give him some encouragement he may think that I have deliberately made a fool of him, and the strength of his resentment might rob me of any future chance to develop his acquaintance.’

  Roger’s face hardened, ‘You must have known he was coming days ago, yet you told me nothing of it. ’Tis clear that you were already considering him as a possible successor to myself yet lacked the frankness to tell me what was in your mind.’

  ‘I thought of doing so but refrained, from an instinct that you would take it ill and behave towards me like a jealous husband; and rightly, so it seems.’

  ‘On the contrary, Madam, I should have packed my bags and relieved you of my presence; as I would this very afternoon were it not that Droopy is coming here at my behest. Since that renders my immediate departure impossible I feel that I have the right to ask that, whatever assignations you may choose to make with Vorontzoff for the near future, you will spare me the humiliation of allowing him to make love to you till I have left your house.’

  Georgina sighed. ‘Roger you weary me a little. I have been entirely faithful to you for these past five months; but now I invoke our pact. Before Athénaïs de Rochambeau gave you her heart you already loved her desperately; yet, as you have told me, you did not scruple to take mistresses for your amusement. Why then should you cavil so now if I elect to give something of myself to another, which will not detract one iota from my deep, abiding love for you. Besides, as I have already said, I may give the Russian no more than a few kisses.’

  ‘If you’ll promise that I’ll say no more.’

  Slowly Georgina stood up, shook out the folds of her voluminous red velvet gown and drew herself up to her full height. They faced one another only a yard apart; two splendid, strong-willed, passionate young people. Then she said firmly:

  ‘I had already told you, Sir, all will depend upon how much or how little he attracts me on closer acquaintance. I refuse to be dictated to, and I will promise nothing.’

  At that moment a coach-horn sounded in the distance, and she added, ‘There! That will be some of my guests arriving. I must hurry down to join Papa for their reception.’

  As she was about to turn away he seized her by the arm, and cried furiously: ‘I’m damned if I’ll let you tromper me under my very nose.’

  ‘About that we’ll see!’ she snapped back, her dark eyes blazing. ‘But please to understand that from this instant I forbid you the entrée to my private apartments; and that I’ll do as I damn well please!’

  Then, wrenching her arm from his grasp, she sailed regally from the room.

  2

  A Losing Battle

  As Georgina reached the top of the main staircase Roger caught her up. Below them her father, Colonel Thursby, who adored, spoilt and lived with her almost permanently although he had two houses of his own, had just come out of one of the four splendid reception rooms that gave onto the spacious entrance hall of the mansion.

  On catching sight of him Roger made Georgina a formal bow and offered her his arm. Laying her hand lightly on it she gathered up her billowing skirts with the other, and they walked down the broad, shallow stairs. By the time they reached the bottom not a trace of ill temper was to be seen on the face of either, although both their hearts were still beating with unnatural swiftness as a result of their quarrel.

  The front door was already open and a squad of liveried footmen were relieving the first arrivals of their wraps. These proved to be Lord Edward Fitz-Deverel and Mr. Selwyn. Both were members of White’s Club and it transpired that the former, learning that the latter was also going to Stillwaters for the week-end, had carried him from London in his curricle.

  Roger’s friend was some three years older than himself; an extremely thin but rather tall young man with pale blue eyes and a beaky nose. He had derived his nickname of Droopy Ned from his chronic stoop, but he was a great dandy; and under his lazy manner he concealed a quick, well-balanced and unusually profound mind.

  George Selwyn was nearly seventy, although he did not look it; and from his mild, benign face no one would ever have guessed that in his youth he had been one of the most notorious rakes in London. He possessed an enchanting wit, a most kindly disposition and friends without number, being equally popular with Queen Charlotte and Betty the flower woman of St. James’s Street.

  With the courtly manners of the day both the new arrivals made a gallant leg to Georgina, who curtseyed deeply in response; then, with hands on their hearts, they exchanged bows with Colonel Thursby and Roger, while the well-bred greetings echoed round the hall.

  ‘Your ladyship’s most humble.’

  ‘And yours, m’Lord.’

  ‘Your Servant, Sir.’

  ‘My duty, Sir, to you.’

  They were still uttering polite platitudes about the journey and the fortunate state of the weather when another coach-horn sounded, so they all remained in the hall until the next vehicle drew up.

  It contained Mr. Fox and Mrs. Armistead, and close on their heels came the Russian Ambassador. He had taken breakfast with them at her house, St. Anne’s Hill, on Fox’s suggestion that afterwards his coach could follow theirs and thus more easily find the way.

  The famous leader of the Opposition was then in his fortieth year. His big frame was still vigorous, but his swarthy countenance showed the marks of the dissipation in which he had indulged ever since his cynical father had taken him from Eton to Paris, and encouraged him to indulge in vice at the age of fourteen. In his youth he had been a dandy and the leader of the young macaronis, who startled the town with their exaggerated toilettes; but now he had become slovenly in his dress. His black hair, streaked with grey, was ill-brushed, and he took no measures to restrain the great, ugly paunch that seemed every moment to threaten to burst his silk breeches.

  Mrs. Armistead, a lady of uncertain age, still possessed a certain coarse beauty, but she showed an admirable restraint in both her dress and manners; evidently being well content to play the moon to her distinguished lover’s sun.

  Roger greeted them both with the utmost politeness, but he had no eyes for either. The second he had made his bows his gaze fastened on Count Vorontzoff, and he felt that Georgina had given him a very fair description of the Russian.

  The Count, Roger judged, was not less than forty, but his face, figure and movements all bespoke a forceful, virile personality. He was of medium height, well-made and very dark. His rather flat face, high cheekbones and jet black eyes suggested Tartar blood, and the last had all the inscrutability of an Oriental’s. His clothes were evidently London made, but his wig and the rich jewels he was wearing at his throat and on his hands added to the foreignness of his appearance.

  He stood for a moment quietly smiling at Georgina before he bowed to her. The smile lit up his rather sombre features, giving them a strange attraction; but there was something more than greeting or frank admiration in his glance; something insolent, cocksure, possessive, that made Roger itch to slap his face.

  When the Russian spoke it was in French, and with the greatest fluency. Two of his servitors, rough hairy men, had entered behind him carrying a small, leather, round-lidded trunk. Having reached out, taken both Georgina’s hands with the greatest assurance, kissed them, and murmured some most lavish compliments, he went on to say that he begged to be permitted to offer her a trifling present—a bagatelle quite unworthy of her but in which she might care to dress up one of her servants for her amusement
. Then he beckoned his men forward.

  Roger, having spent four years in France, and speaking French like a native himself, had understood every word of this; so he was not surprised when the two moujiks went down on their knees before Georgina and, opening the trunk, took from it a costume. But he and everyone else present were filled with admiration at its richness.

  It was the gala skirt and bodice of a Russian peasant girl, the rainbow-hued embroideries of which had been stitched with infinite care; and with it were the filmy white petticoats, a pair of soft, red leather boots and a splendid headdress tinkling with gold coins, to complete the costume.

  As Georgina exclaimed with delight at this exciting gift Vorontzoff bowed again, and said in his slightly husky voice: ‘Should my Lady take a fancy to try on these poor rags before casting them to her maid, she will, I trust, find that they fit her exquisite figure perfectly.’

  ‘But Monsieur le Comte! How can you possibly be sure of that?’ smiled Georgina, her eyes widening.

  The Russian’s strong white teeth gleamed for a second in a confident grin. ‘If they do not, my steward’s back shall make acquaintance with the knout; since the rogue was given ample funds to secure the correct measurements from your dressmaker.’

  ‘Indeed, Sir; I am prodigious grateful to you for your forethought,’ Georgina replied a trifle breathlessly. Then, beckoning over one of her footmen she added, ‘Here, Thomas! Take these lovely things to Jenny. Tell her that I desire her to press them at once and place them in my wardrobe.’

  As the footman took the costume from the moujiks Georgina placed her hand upon the Ambassador’s arm and led him across the hall towards the drawing-room. The others followed, Droopy Ned and Roger bringing up the rear.

  The latter, unheeding of his friend’s casual chatter, was cursing the Russian beneath his breath. His sole source of income was the £300 a year which his father allowed him. Having no establishment of his own to keep up, that was normally ample for his needs; but his extravagant taste in clothes left him little over, and during the past few months he had strained his resources to buy Georgina presents. Yet, even so, to a wealthy woman of fashion, his gifts had been no more than knick-knacks; whereas this confounded foreigner could produce a present of greater value than them all, by a mere wave of his hand. Moreover, as Georgina loved dressing up, few gifts could have been better calculated to appeal to her.

  After passing through a long suite of reception rooms the party arrived at the Orangery, in the south-western extremity of the house. It was something more than a conservatory for the cultivation of semi-tropical plants such as citrus fruits, banana-palms, mimosas and camellias; since Georgina spent much of her time there, and had had sofas, chairs and tables set in alcoves formed by pyramidal arrangements of exotic greenery.

  The tables now carried an assortment of wines and spirits for the refreshment of the male travellers, and hot chocolate for the ladies. It was as yet only a little past mid-day, but the custom of the time was to breakfast late, making it a full dress meal, and to dine at four o’clock, or shortly after.

  As Colonel Thursby poured Selwyn a glass of Madeira he inquired: ‘Have you been to any executions lately, George?’

  The question was a perfectly natural one; as, although there was nothing the least ghoulish in Selwyn’s appearance or morbid in his manner, he was well known to have an insatiable interest in hangings, exhumations and everything connected with death. It was even said that when the body of Martha Ray, Lord Sandwich’s mistress, had been exhibited after her murder by an unsuccessful suitor, he had bribed the undertaker to be allowed to sit at the head of the corpse dressed in the flowing weeds of a professional mourner.

  ‘Nay, Newgate has been plaguey unproductive of recent months,’ Selwyn replied; then added with a smiling glance at Fox: ‘ ’Tis my belief that all our most desperate criminals must have taken refuge in the House.’

  ‘Oh, come, George!’ Fox exclaimed with his ready laugh. ‘How can you pass so harsh a judgment on those amongst whom you sat for twenty-six years as Member for Ludgershall?’

  ‘In my day they were of a different metal, Charles. My Lord Chatham would never have allowed the impeachment of so great a servant of the Crown as Mr. Warren Hastings; or this miserable trial which still agitates the nation and threatens to drag on interminably.’

  ‘ ’Twas the only way to bring the natives of India some measure of protection from the rapine of the Company’s servants. Pitt, himself, admitted that, when condemning Hastings’ action in mulcting the Zamindar of Benares of half a million sterling; and made it clear that the case was not a party issue, but one upon which members should vote according to their consciences.’

  ‘Yet, Sir,’ broke in Droopy Ned, ‘The Prime Minister stated on on more than one occasion that Mr. Hastings is placed at a grave disadvantage; in that many State papers which would show good reason for his acts cannot be made public without disclosing the secret understandings that we have with certain of the native Princes.’

  ‘In the government of an Empire, my Lord, ’tis not particulars which should concern us so much as general principles.’

  Droopy waved a scented lace handkerchief airily beneath his long nose. ‘Perhaps, Sir, you can tell us then what principle it was that governed His Highness of Wales when, before the India debate early this month, he filled Mr. Erskine so full of brandy that his language to the Prime Minister would have made a Billingsgate fishwife blush?’

  Fox laughed again. ‘If you would have us all set a limit on our potations before entering the House, my Lord, you should start with the Prime Minister. ’Twas but two nights later he was so indisposed as to be unable to answer me; and that from having been drinking through the whole of the previous night at My Lord of Buckingham’s with Harry Dundas and the Duchess of Gordon.’

  ‘Yet, Sir,’ interposed Roger. ‘I’ll wager that he never forgot his manners.’

  ‘Nay. I’ll give you that, young Sir. And I will admit that the language Erskine held in his personal attack passed all bounds of decency. But, as Lord Edward says, the Prince had primed him before he spoke, and we all know His Royal Highness’s irresponsibility.’

  Fox spoke with restraint; yet he had ample reason to have used a far stronger term. The unnatural hatred that the Heir Apparent bore to his father had caused him, from his first entry upon manhood, to become the most ardent supporter of the Opposition. Fox being the King’s bête noire, the young Prince had deliberately cultivated his friendship, and in return, that generous-hearted statesman had obtained from Parliament grants totalling many score thousands of pounds to enable His Highness both to set up an establishment of his own at Carlton House and to indulge his wildly extravagant tastes.

  More, when the Prince had fallen desperately in love with Mrs. Fitzherbert it was Fox and Mrs. Armistead who had, night after night, consoled him in his tearful fits of despair because the lady would have none of him. Apart from the undesirability of any official union of the Heir Apparent and a commoner, on account of it being morganatic, Parliament viewed such a prospect with particularly grave alarm in the case of Maria Fitzherbert because she was a Roman Catholic; but she made no secret of the fact that her price was marriage.

  In consequence, on his publicly establishing her in a larger residence, members demanded a plain answer, if he were married to her or no, and made a further grant of funds to pay his mountainous debts dependent on the answer. Faced with this impasse in the previous April, the despicable young man had allowed Fox to issue a categorical denial on his behalf. Thus he had secured the supplies he needed by causing his bosom friend to appear a most barefaced liar; for Mrs. Fitzherbert, refusing to remain longer in what she considered an intolerable position, had forced the Prince to admit two days later, to Earl Grey, that he had been married to her on 15th December, ’85—over sixteen months earlier—and it seemed impossible to everyone that Fox should not have been a party to their secret.

  On learning the truth of the matter fro
m Sir James Harris, Fox had felt so ashamed that he had absented himself from the House for several days, and his resentment against the Prince was such that he had refused to speak to him for the best part of a year, But rumour had it that they had recently bcome reconciled; since should any misfortune befall the King, it was certain that the Prince would call upon the Whigs to form a Ministry, and Charles James Fox was far too ambitious a man to allow a personal treachery to deprive him indefinitely of the chance of becoming Prime Miniser.

  Among the men grouped round the table in the Orangery there was a momentary silence, as all of them were thinking of the unsavoury episode that Fox’s words had recalled, but Colonel Thursby swiftly filled the breach, by remarking:

  ‘A more narrow-minded and pig-headed man than our present Monarch it would be hard to find; but for all his selfishness ’tis difficult to believe that he deserved two such sons.’

  ‘You are right in that, Sir,’ agreed Droopy Ned. ‘And the Duke of York even outdoes the Prince in the besotted, boorish way he takes his pleasures. So plebeian are his tastes, and so little faith is to be placed in his word, that the nobility of my own generation have now abjured his Grace entirely, and count his company mauvais ton.’

  ‘In that, Charles, we have the advantage of you at White’s,’ smiled Selwyn. ‘I must say that I pity you at Brook’s, across the way, in having to support the frequent presence of these two uncouth young rakehells.’

  ‘ ’Tis so no longer, George,’ Fox countered swiftly. ‘Had you not heard that on H.R.H. proposing that fellow Tarleton, and Jack Payne, for membership we blackballed both of them, and that, in consequence, the two Royal sons have left us in a dudgeon? With some of their cronies they have started a new club of their own called Welzie’s, at the Dover House, where General ‘Hyder Ali’ Smith and Admiral Pigot are said to be rooking them of from two to three thousand guineas nightly.’