On Friday, the eleventh day of October, we set out for London in a sort of cavalcade of coaches. The Prince’s return to Town meant a return to the metropolis of his court followers. And probably of his would-be murderer.
As the view of the sea receded, a mental image of the girl Freddie and I had found dead on the beach flashed through my mind. Who was she? Who missed her? Would I ever know?
Ahead of me, Lord and Lady Perry rode at a careful pace in their coach. They had invited me to make the journey with them, but I cannot help feeling that a married couple is most comfortable on their own, so I declined.
Nonetheless, the Perrys were not left to their privacy. Victor Tallarico accepted Lady Perry’s kind invitation, kissing her hand and ignoring his cousin’s muttered curse.
I travelled with only Chakkri to keep me company. I hoped our normal fellowship would return once we arrived home. The cat had hopped into his lidded wicker basket eagerly enough, as if he knew our destination. He had promptly fallen asleep with a grin on his feline face. Yes, a grin. Would I exaggerate?
As for Robinson, he made the journey under circumstances which could only be abhorrent to him: He rode in a coach hired for the servants. These included Lady Perry’s maid, Betty; Lord Perry’s valet, Mr. Hearn; and most disturbing to Robinson’s equilibrium, his archenemy, Mr. Digwood.
Petersham and Munro, you see, had decided to quit Brighton the evening before, leaving Mr. Digwood to close the house they had been renting. Thinking of Robinson and Diggie riding shoulder to shoulder, animosity oozing between them, I almost shuddered at the atmosphere in that conveyance. At that very moment they were probably in a heated debate as to whether cedar shavings or chippings of Russia leather were best for protecting clothes from moths.
There was one person of importance to me who would not be travelling to London.
Alone, with nothing more to do than reflect while the coach rambled along the London Road, I thought of Freddie on her way back to Oatlands. Much as I had tried to persuade her to come to Town for a bit, as usual she preferred the comfort of her country estate to the uncomfortable sight of her husband, the Duke of York, cavorting with his mistress all around London.
My thoughts turned away from the Duke—you know I try not to think of him—and I contemplated the previous evening. Dinner at the Pavilion had been a solemn affair. True to his word, the Prince had dined with Mrs. Fitzherbert in his chamber. Doctor Pitcairn had asked for a tray to be brought to his room so that he might be close at hand in case his royal patient had need of him.
This left Freddie and me, the St. Clairs, and Mr. Ainsley the only Pavilion guests at table. By tacit agreement, the chair in which Sir Simon had partaken of his last meal remained vacant. Despite the empty place, Sir Simon was very much on everyone’s mind, and conversation was sparse. I thought the St. Clairs pensive and Mr. Ainsley exceptionally nervous. He looked like a man about to burst from his skin.
I knew I should try to draw him out, but he excused himself the moment he finished his meal. You think I should have followed him from the room? Well, I suppose you are right, but I chose not to. Freddie was present, clad in a most fetching gown, gold-coloured with blond lace. I convinced myself that questioning Mr. Ainsley could wait. Mr. Townsend and
Mr. Lavender might call at any time to interrogate Freddie. I needed to stay close to her.
As soon as the empty syllabub glasses were taken away, I approached Freddie. “If you wish to take Humphrey for a walk on the Steine before retiring, I should be glad to accompany you.”
Freddie quickly agreed to the plan, sending a footman upstairs for Humphrey and her cloak. I could not suppress a sigh when Ulga appeared, dressed for the outdoors, bringing the cloak and the dog to her employer.
Outside, I found the cold air refreshing for once and did not regret the lack of my greatcoat. The Pavilion had been stiflingly hot.
With Ulga several yards behind us, we walked along. I outlined for Freddie the details of the afternoon of questioning by the Bow Street men, as well as my study of Mr. Ainsley.
“What are your thoughts, dear?” she asked when I had finished. We paused so that Humphrey could sniff an irresistible tree.
“I am concerned for Petersham.”
“You do not think he could have been the intended victim, do you?” Freddie asked.
“No, he is too lazy to have made any enemies.”
“Quite right.”
“Freddie, the entire affair makes no sense to me for one simple reason: I cannot believe anyone present at that dinner had reason to kill the Prince of Wales. Even Mr. Ainsley, who has been the subject of my own inquiry, does not appear to have enough motive.”
“From what you have told me, I agree. But perhaps we do not know all there is to know about Mr. Ainsley, George,” Freddie suggested. “And if by nothing else but process of elimination, he must be our chief suspect. Did you mark how his nerves were all to pieces tonight at dinner?”
“Yes. And in my mind I have replayed the minutes last night after the meal when the ladies retired to the Saloon and the gentlemen mingled. Ainsley approached the side table where the snuff box sat more than once,” I told her. “But anyone in that room could have gotten to the snuff box. I do not know what to think, Freddie.”
Freddie tugged on Humphrey’s leash. The short-legged dog obeyed the command. “The day has been long, dear. You will pursue the matter back in London and will discover the truth. I have no doubt of it. Look at what an admirable job you did clearing Miss Ashton’s name in that recent unpleasantness.”
I gazed down on her upturned face. The moonlight glowed on her skin and she looked very young. I knew we would write to each other, and one weekend soon I would ride out to Oatlands for one of Freddie’s weekend parties. Still, at that moment, I could not bear the thought of having to part from her.
I experienced a moment of supreme irritation when our peace was disturbed.
“Egad, Harold, take a look at the Duchess’s hound. That’s a new one, isn’t it?” came Viscount Petersham’s voice from the darkness.
“No, Charles, I’ve seen Brummell with the Duchess time out of number,” Lord Munro quipped as the pair came into view.
“Harold,” Petersham remonstrated, but then spoiled it by chuckling. Reaching us, he bent and patted Humphrey.
Over his head, I gazed at Lord Munro in silent contempt. Had Freddie not been with me, his lordship would now be tasting sea-water.
The two bowed to Freddie and she greeted them in a bright tone.
“We were just coming to say good-bye,” Petersham informed us, surreptitiously wiping dog drool from his hand. “Brighton is as flat as champagne flowing from a fountain. We’re for London tonight.”
I stroked my jaw. “Have you told Jack Townsend your plans, Petersham?”
The viscount looked puzzled. “Why should I? If he wants to see me, he knows my direction in London. Well, we’re off then. Hope to see you at Oatlands soon, Your Highness. Brummell, I’ll see you at White’s.”
And with a cheerful wave, Petersham turned on his heel and headed back across the Steine, Lord Munro at his side.
I stared after them. “Freddie, do you see how Petersham is so completely oblivious to the . . . awkward, shall we say, position he is in?”
“I think it is because he is innocent and finds it impossible to think anyone would judge him otherwise,” Freddie observed.
“Let us hope Bow Street conforms to that view.”
Strolling back in the direction whence we had come, I saw the very men of whom I spoke. Mr. Townsend and Mr. Lavender were walking through the entrance to the Pavilion.
“Freddie, have you been questioned by the Bow Street men yet?”
“Why, no. Do they intend to speak to me?”
“Yes, it was my understanding they would. I see they are at the Pavilion now. Shall we go back?”
“If we must,” she answered. I could not help but be pleased that she did not seem eager to end our walk.
Presently, while rambling along in the coach, I recalled how the meeting went. I remembered Jack Townsend’s respectful bearing toward Freddie, Mr. Lavender’s attention to
Humphrey—which afterward caused Freddie to tell me she thought Mr. Lavender a fine example for Bow Street—and Lady Bessborough’s appearance on the scene. That lady had no qualms letting it be known that she viewed Lord Petersham as the obvious guilty party. Everyone knew he was, as her ladyship put it, “odd.”
Upon hearing this witless remark, I had fixed my expression to one that clearly indicated Lady Bessborough could not be taken seriously, while Freddie, very much the grande dame, said she had known Lord Petersham for many years.
The farther we got from Brighton, the more I wondered how long it would be before questions about the death of Sir Simon, and whispers about who might be responsible it, would fly around London. Since Jack Townsend had sent word of the Prince’s jeopardy to the King and Mr. Pitt, the Prime Minister, it was entirely possible we would return to gossip-loving London to find the bibble-babblers having a hey-dey.
All of a sudden, my driver pulled the coach to a stop. I reached a hand over to make sure Chakkri’s basket remained secure on the seat. I let down the window to see the Perrys’ vehicle halted in front of me. A farmer led a herd of black-faced sheep across the road. Amongst much bleating and scrambling, the man hurried the creatures as best he could, recognizing from the crest on Lord Perry’s coach that he delayed the journey of a nobleman.
The chilly air entered my coach. I went to close the window. In the process of doing so, a sad sight made me pause. A woman of middle years walked by the side of the road, looking dazed and muttering to herself. One does see such unfortunates on occasion, but what made this woman different was her bearing and dress. Instead of the rags usually to be seen on persons fallen on difficult times, this woman’s dress was fine. Though dirty and torn at one shoulder, exposing a sliver of white flesh, the gown was of an expensive-looking dove-coloured silk. Her brown hair, heavily streaked with grey, had been messily pinned to the top of her head in a disordered knot.
On the seat next to me, a rustling sound came from the wicker basket. Chakkri woke. A minute later a brown face, followed by a fawn-coloured body, emerged from the lidded container. The cat stretched his neck to an almost impossible length, placed one paw on my shoulder to brace himself, and looked out the window. He uttered a sharp “Reow.”
The farmer drove the last of his sheep across the road. We would be on our way in a moment. My gaze swung back to the woman. She looked the same age as my favourite aunt.
Impulsively, I opened the door to my coach and alighted from the vehicle. Making certain the door was shut tightly so Chakkri could not get out, I shouted to Perry’s coachman to wait before proceeding. Then I took a few steps toward the woman.
“Good afternoon, madam. Do you need some assistance?”
Instead of welcoming my offer, the woman shrank from me, terror clearly written across her face.
Surprised by this response, I did not attempt to step any closer. “Do not be alarmed. I only want to help you.”
The woman’s plump form began to tremble. Her eyes were wide with fear despite my assurance. In a heavy French accent she whispered, “No, no, no.” Then she crossed herself as if to ward off evil.
Switching to French, I asked her again if I might help her. Instead of the sound of her native language reassuring her, the woman remained paralyzed with fear.
Then her gaze went past me. Lady Perry had emerged from her carriage and walked toward us, Lord Perry waiting for her at the coach door. “What is wrong, Mr. Brummell? Is the lady hurt?”
“I do not know. I think she is French, but she will not speak with me in English or French. She seems greatly afraid.”
Lady Perry smiled reassuringly at the woman. “I am Lady Perry. Can we help you? Are you lost?”
The woman reached a shaking hand out to Lady Perry, but then her gaze darted back to me. She cringed, took another step backward, and resumed muttering the word “no” over and over.
“She does not seem as frightened of you, Lady Perry,” I said in a low voice. “She reminds me of a rabbit, easily startled, and ready to flee at any second.”
“Indeed. May I make a suggestion, Mr. Brummell?”
“By all means.”
“Will you go and stand next to Anthony? Perhaps this poor creature will be more willing to tell another woman what has happened to her.”
“Very well.” I made a slight bow in the woman’s direction as a way to reassure her I meant no harm. Then, casually, I joined Perry. Victor Tallarico had alighted from the vehicle as well.
“What is amiss with that woman? Is she mad?” Perry asked.
“She looks harmless enough, like someone’s governante,” Tallarico said.
“Governess or not, who can say?” I told them. “Lady Perry is going to try to find out what happened.”
Perry frowned. “I wish Bernadette would not walk in the brush like that. She could trip and fall.”
I clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Relax. Lady Perry is all that is graceful. Nothing of the sort will happen.”
Lady Perry had taken a step toward the woman. Although the frightened creature did not move away, her gaze remained fixed on Perry, Tallarico, and me. She shook her head at whatever Lady Perry asked her. From where I was standing, I could hear her repeating the word “no.”
Robinson chose that moment to emerge from the servant’s coach, standing behind mine. “If I might inquire as to the nature of our delay, sir?” he called.
The effect of yet another man’s presence on the strange woman was startling. She shrank behind Lady Perry as if seeking to protect herself. Her entire body shook.
“Robinson, wait in the coach,” I ordered. He pursed his lips and put his foot in the doorway of the vehicle.
Lady Perry said, “Robinson, if you will be so good as to ask my maid to come out.”
“Here I am, my lady,” announced Betty, easing her bulk out of the servant’s coach and pushing past Robinson. Betty is a practical country girl. Lady Perry had first hired her as housemaid. Later, when Lady Perry could no longer tolerate the snobbish ways of her lady’s maid, she had let the woman go and given a grateful Betty the position.
Betty joined her mistress and the Frenchwoman.
Above her and Lady Perry’s gentle talk, I could hear the mysterious Frenchwoman saying, “No, no, ze animals, ze animals.”
Could it be she had merely been afraid of the sheep? But she had cringed from me, Perry, Tallarico, and Robinson. She was afraid of men.
While Betty put a comforting arm around the Frenchwoman, Lady Perry walked over to us. “The poor thing is in a state of hysteria. We cannot make any sense out of what she says for all she will say is ‘no’ and ‘the animals.’ Anthony, I would not be able to live with myself if we simply left her here.” Lady Perry looked at her husband, her velvet-brown eyes pleading.
Perry sighed. “What do you propose to do with her?”
“I have an idea,” I said. “I know a woman in Town who runs a shelter for ‘destitute and downtrodden’ women, as she puts it. Miss Lydia Lavender is her name. The shelter is called Haven of Hope.”
Lord Perry’s eyes narrowed. “Would this woman be a relation of John Lavender from Bow Street?”
“Er, yes. His daughter,” I replied, a bit uncomfortably.
“Oh, Mr. Brummell, do you think Miss Lavender would help? If so, it would be the very thing,” Lady Perry said. “We could take this poor woman to our Town house, and you could send word to Miss Lavender.”
“How are we going to get her to London?” Perry asked. “She would need to ride in the servants’ coach. She does not seem inclined to let a man near her and since Robinson, Diggie, and Hearn are there . . .”
We looked toward where Betty tried to calm the Frenchwoman.
Lady Perry spoke. “Anthony, darling, I am persuaded the woman would ride in our coach with Betty and me. If Mr. Brummell would not mind, perhaps you and Victor could ride with him.”
“An excellent scheme, Lady Perry,” I said.
“Va bene,” Tallarico agreed.
My gaze shifted to my vehicle. Chakkri’s face was at the window. The cat was watching the proceedings. His mouth opened and he voiced a “reow” I could not hear.
Perry did not look at all pleased at the thought of being separated from his wife, but I knew he would not deny her wishes.
As it turned out, I was right. However, the matter was not easily accomplished. Lady Perry had to explain the scheme, in French, three times before the woman agreed. Still, no explanation of what had happened to her, and no other phrases could be coaxed from her other than “no” and “ze animals.”
Once Perry, Tallarico, and I were ensconced in my carriage, the woman allowed herself to be taken up with Betty and Lady Perry. Our cavalcade started out once more, with an added member to our number.
Little did I know then of the ramifications there would be from our having rescued her, and how she would hold the key to questions I had not yet even asked.